Hearsay by Taylor V. Donovan

Author:Taylor V. Donovan [Donovan, Taylor V.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Derrick bent his knees, leaned his torso forward, and managed to complete five twist-heels, kick-foot combinations before losing his balance.

Laughing off his misstep, he made a funny face and quickly apologized to the woman next to him.

"Don't worry about it," she said, even though it was the third time Derrick had almost bumped into her. "It takes a while to learn the steps."

"I'll do my best not to injure you in the process," he promised, ignoring the way in which she caressed her wavy middle-parted bob and slid her fingers down the side of her throat.

"A little bump and grind never killed anyone." She shot him yet another flirty smile, and Derrick gave her a polite nod before retreating as far as he could on the cramped dance floor.

Why are you wasting your charms on the wrong guy, sweetheart? He mentally wondered. I may look like it sometimes, but I'm definitely not heterosexual.

"Is this your first time?" she asked over the jazz music playing on the phonograph. "You look a little surprised by your surroundings," she added, pulling the string of pearls around her neck and touching it to her lips.

Derrick nodded. "I had no idea they had speakeasy-style dance bars in Manhattan," he said, taking in the 1920's décor and the crowd dressed in vintage or vintage-inspired attire.

"Oh, there are plenty," she assured him, taking a step closer to him. "I'm here every week."

Derrick nodded again. "That's what my boyfriend told me on our way here," he informed with a wink. "This one's his favorite."

So Roman wasn't his boyfriend—yet—but Derrick was working on it. Besides, same as the 'bump and grind', a little white lie never killed anyone. However, it helped put an end to her misplaced interest, which was exactly what Derrick wanted.

Mission accomplished, he thought when the woman finally backed off.

Derrick rolled his shoulders, shook his arms, and refocused his attention on the Josephine Baker look-alike dance instructor.

Following her steps, Derrick hopped on his left foot and brought the heel of his right foot backwards to his left butt cheek. Next he kicked out his right foot in what should've been an easy forty-five degree angle. The move was far from graceful, but he gave himself credit for remaining vertical.

And for not letting his two left feet—or the potential legal mess hanging over his head—hold him back from having fun.

I got this.

Undeterred by his lack of mad dancing skills, he squatted forward and broke into a move that was all waggling knees and crossing hands. Everyone around him executed the combination without missing a beat, but Derrick felt like he was having a seizure. Even worse was the fact he probably looked like he was. Extremely unattractive, to say the least, and definitely not something he wanted Roman to witness on their first night out.

Okay, I don't have this, he conceded.

Trying to learn a dance made popular in the 1920's while Roman procured a private table for them had been fun, but the time had come for Derrick to give up and go back to his date.

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