Free Behind Your Back by Chelsea M. Cameron Page B

favorite song?”
    “‘Fire and Rain’ by James Taylor.” The words are out of my mouth as if they aren’t under my control. I didn’t mean to tell her that. I meant to tell her something by U2 or Queen or Jimi Hendrix. Not the real thing.
    “James Taylor? Interesting. Do you play guitar?” I shake my head. I’d always wanted to learn, but could never bring myself to do it. I’ve brought Saige close to uneven ground that I don’t want to tread on. So I turn things back on her.
    “I told you mine, now tell me yours.”
    She purses her lips and then sighs.
    “Fine. It’s ‘Take Me to Church’ by Hozier. And I liked it before it was all over the radio, by the way.” I chuckle. That is a good song. I can’t fault her taste.
    This particular restaurant plays soft piano music over a loudspeaker and I have an idea.
    “Would you excuse me for a moment?” She nods and picks up her wine, taking a sip. Her creamy throat ripples as she swallows.
    I go to the hostess and ask her for a favor. I also hand her some cash to help her agree to help me out. I go back to the table to find Saige finishing her wine.
    “What was that about?”
    “Nothing.”
    The piano music clicks off and changes to Hozier’s ‘Take Me to Church’. Saige recognizes the song and smiles at me, her eyes crinkling at the corners. Good. I’ve pleased her.
    “Would you like to dance?” I say, holding my hand out.
    “This isn’t really a dancing song,” she says.
    “Dance with me anyway,” I say, and she gives me her hand. I pull her into me and she fits against my body so well. Curves matching valleys, her give, my take. She exhales, as if she’s surprised by something.
    “What?” I ask as I put my hand on her lower back.
    “Nothing,” she says and I start to sway her back and forth to the beat of the music. She’s right, this isn’t a song for dancing, but I don’t care. Her fingers grip my shoulder and I inhale her perfume. It’s spicy and sweet. Like her. I wish her hair were down.
    People are probably staring at us, but I don’t care. All I care about in this particular moment is the beautiful woman in my arms and how easy it is to get her to do what I want her to do. To lead her. She’s pliable, soft. But something tells me beneath all that, there’s something sharp and unyielding. Like a blade sheathed in silk. We sway together and I try not to think about how close her hips are and how much I would love to fuck her while listening to this song.
    Her heart pounds against my chest. A frenetic drum that seems to spur my own into faster action. She sighs softly and melts even more into me. For just a moment, all I see is her, all I feel is her, everything is her.
    And then the song ends and she’s smiling and I notice that she has four barely-there freckles on her nose.
    “Thank you. That was wonderful.” She’s pulling herself from my arms and it takes a moment for me to let her go. I shake my head to clear it and smile back at her. We sit down again and our meals arrive.
    I wait until she cuts a tiny piece of the duck with her knife and spears it on her fork.
    “You scared?” I ask as she studies it.
    “I’m not scared of anything,” she says before putting the fork in her mouth and then drawing it out slowly. She chews for a moment and then nods.
    “It’s delicous.” I pick up my napkin and spread it on my lap before I start to eat.
    “You’re a good dancer,” she says, taking a sip of her wine. I stare at the red residue of her lipstick on the glass for a second.
    “That wasn’t exactly dancing. You should see me with enough floor space and a good song for waltzing,” I say, giving her another smile. It’s difficult sometimes, maintaining the balance of smiling too little or too much. Too little and you seem cold, too much and you don’t seem genuine.
    “That’s something I’d definitely like to see,” she says.
    “Maybe you will.”
     

     
    W e don’t touch again until I take her hand to lead