Free Come Dancing by Leslie Wells Page A

enough.”
    “You pick all that up every night?”
    “Once in a while I just sleep on the couch.” Nice one, Julia. You sound like some lonely spinster .
    Jack went to the sofa and pushed down on a cushion. “You’ve got a few springs poking up.”
    “I’m used to it. Do you want to sit there and I’ll get changed?”
    Jack sat and took a gulp of beer. “Hey, did you lose my number?”
    “Oh no, I still have it.”
    “Show me where you wrote it in your little black book.”
    I fetched my address book and showed him the scrap of paper he’d given me. “See, it’s right here in front.”
    “This could fall out. I’m going to write it in permanent. D’you have a pen?”
    Thinking this was a good sign, I handed him one. “I’m going to get my dress on. I’ll just be a minute.” I went into my cramped bathroom, quickly stripped, and stepped into the beaded sheath. I caught a glimpse in the mirror; my cheeks flushed with excitement, my eyes a deeper blue than usual, the pale curve of my breasts rising and falling above the shimmering dark fabric. My hands were trembling so much, I had trouble doing up the zipper. As I struggled with it, Jack called out, “Who’s George?”
    So now he was poking around in my addresses. “Friend of mine. Really great guy. Gay.”
    “Hmm.” I heard pages rapidly riffling. “Ted?”
    “Friend from college.” Quickly I slipped on my heels.
    “Jane?”
    Laughing, I walked out of the bathroom. “Friend from publishing. You really are kind of nosy, you know.”
    “You’re only just now finding that out?” Jack mused, turning another page. He looked up at me and rose from the sofa with an odd expression on his face.
    Oh no, maybe the dress is all wrong . “Is this okay?” I asked.
    “Verrry okay,” he replied after a moment’s pause. “Better than okay.” He went to get his jacket and gazed out the window as he put it on. “Nice view.” For a minute he stared at the sooty rooftop across the street, then turned and held out the notebook. “Here, I’ve put my number in ink. Non-erasable.”
    I laid it on the table. “All right, I guess we’re all set. Can you keep my key? My backpack doesn’t quite go with the dress.”
    “Sure, I’ll hold onto your key. Anytime.”
    I followed him downstairs, my knees practically knocking. I’m going to a party with Jack Kipling of the Floor. I hope he can’t tell how jumpy I am—but he must be used to girls going into shock .
    Rick opened the back door of the car. Jack turned, dark eyes sparking, and gestured me in with a flourish.
    “Come into my lair,” he said, his accent heavy on “lair.” “Enter at your own risk.” He smiled, and I shivered as I slid across the leather seat.
    Jack climbed in beside me and we took off. I was conscious of my bare legs in the short dress, right next to his rangy limbs in the black pants. Maybe I should have worn hose . I gave my hem a tug, then realized I’d just exposed a good inch of cleavage. Hastily I yanked up the neckline. I glanced at Jack, who seemed to quickly erase a grin.
    He crossed his arms, his shoulder touching mine. “So what did you do last night, more editing?”
    “I went to a movie with my friend Erin. This is a big weekend for me; I don’t always go out two nights in a row.”
    Jack gave me an appraising look. “You live kind of a quiet life for someone your age. You’re what, twenty-three?”
    I wondered how old he was; I assumed in his early thirties. “Twenty-four. Not that quiet really. Maybe compared to you.”
    “My life isn’t that thrilling these days. I’ve had to mend my ways a bit in recent years; too much burning the wick at both ends. I had a couple of close calls a while back. But when I was twenty-four …” He shook his head. “Everything came on so fast, I kind of insulated myself with various chemicals for a while. You seem so well-behaved, though. What do you do to cut loose?”
    “Dancing, I guess. Sorry I don’t have anything