Come Dancing by Leslie Wells

secretary somewhere.” He opened his eyes wide. “And you’re a big reader, or something,” he added, blowing smoke toward me.
    “Yes, I like to read.”
    “Oh really. What kinds of things?” he asked, scanning the room.
    “All kinds.”
    “Like what?” he prodded.
    I couldn’t imagine why he wanted to know. I threw out “Proust,” although I felt like saying “the Sunday comics”.
    “I never got past the madeleines. Lis-tu en francais? ” he asked.
    “No, I read it in English. My French isn’t good enough.”
    “ Mais tu comprends ce que je dis .”
    “I can speak it, but reading Proust in la langue is beyond me.”
    “Ah, I see.” Patrick puffed on his smoke. “Well, enjoy yourself,” he said with a little smile before he moved on.
    I decided to look for Jack; I’d had enough of this snarky crowd, particularly his world-famous bandmate who felt the need to be rude to a mere publishing assistant. Easing my way through a scrum of laughing women, I spotted Jack at the far side of the room. I touched his elbow as he was about to be enveloped in another group.
    “There you are,” he said. “I was looking for you. I got stuck with those guys flapping their traps about how they’re gonna flog our new album.”
    “It was fun watching everyone. What a turnout.”
    It sounded like he said “Bunch of assholes,” but I couldn’t be sure with the din. The music switched to a reggae tune, and more people started dancing. I shifted my feet to the lilting rhythm.
    “Want to dance?” Jack asked. When I nodded, he led me to a less crowded spot.
    At first I was a little restrained, but then the song worked its magic. Jack’s dark gaze stayed on me as he moved, looking consummately cool with his choppily layered hair and sensuously rocking hips. People kept coming up to talk to him, but his eyes tracked me as he carried on his conversations. Two slinky girls in minis came up on either side of him and wrapped their arms around his waist.
    “Patrick’s blow just ran out. You’ve got some, don’t you?” the brunette said. She plunged her hand into his front pocket and felt for more than his change.
    “I left mine at home,” Jack said, smiling at her.
    “Sure you did.” The second one stuck her tongue in his ear and gave it a big lick. “Share it next time, then we’ll all get to play.”
    They wandered off to accost a bearded guy in a suit. Of course Jack gets hit up everywhere he goes; just another reason to be careful , I told myself. When a dreadlocked brother put his arm around Jack’s shoulders, I shut my eyes and lost myself in the pulsing drums. The song ended and a slow number began. Jack was smiling at me, holding out his arms.
    “Shall we?” he said. I threaded my fingers in his, and he clasped my waist as I rested my hand on his shoulder. My heart was hammering as I met his intense gaze; being held this close in his arms made me dizzy.
    “Where’d you learn to move like that?” he asked as we swayed to the song. “You don’t dance like a white chick from the sticks.”
    “Once in a while us white chicks can get our groove on.”
    Jack nodded and drew me closer. I could hardly breathe for the sensation of his hand on my waist, our chests lightly brushing, his body heat warming me. Every single place he was touching me created sparks. I raised my eyes to his, so turned on I was light-headed.
    Suddenly the music stopped and people started clapping. Jack turned to see what was happening; I was so disappointed our slow dance had to end. A gargantuan cake was pushed into the room on a wheeled table. As the crowd started singing happy birthday, a woman and man, each wearing only a g-string, burst through the middle and started licking icing off one another’s bodies.
    “Time to split,” Jack said, taking my elbow. “This is only going to go downhill from here.”
    It felt good to be out in the soft summer night. A queue of stretch limousines was parked all the way down the block, so