The band was hot, playing some sort of Latin-Afro funk-world music groove that made it impossible not to shake your hips like Shakira.
Sara couldn’t help but notice the attractive middle-aged man on the dance floor.
“Kat, he’s cute, isn’t he?”
“Yeah, and he moves well. I think you should dance with him.”
“He might be here with someone.”
“Nah, he’s been dancing with a different woman every few songs. You don’t dance with other women if you’ve brought a date. Go for it!”
Sara started to work up her courage when she felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Mr. Dancer, who smiled, reached for her hand and began gently pulling out out onto the dance floor.
They stayed there for a long time, their bodies moving as smoothly as a “Dancing with the Stars” episode.
I was ready to go home, so I signaled her to come over.
“So?” I asked.
“God, it feels so good to be in a man’s arms again,” she sighed.
“I’m happy for you, but I’m tired. Can you get home OK?”
“I think I just might have a plan,” she said, winking at me as she headed back to the dance floor.
When the music stopped and the crowd at Servino’s started to thin, Sara didn’t want it to end so soon.
“I don’t live too far from here,” she said to Mr. Dancer. “Care for a nightcap?”
“I was thinking the same thing,” he said, as he took his hand and ran it slowly down the contour of her back. It sent tingles everywhere.
As they made their way to her home, Sara debated how the night might turn out. It had been a long time since she’d had sex—should she try to seduce him? Just the thought of that made her slightly intoxicated with desire. We’ll see, she thought.
