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family and without a mentor. There was this anger
inside me that nothing could get rid of.”
    “ Mhm.”
    “ Are
you cold?”
    “ Yeah.”
    “ I
must apologize for all the storytelling.”
    “ It’s
all right. I said I'd listen.” And, believe it or not, I'm not
angry anymore. “But not to that music all night long.”
    “ Shall
we dance, then?”
    Oh, he's thick.
    “ Please?”
    Shit, those eyes.
    I pull my sleeves to cover
my hands.
    He chuckles.
    “ I
said no touching.” I'm about to take the hand he's offering me
when I have to ask. “Or you can do it through fabric too?”
    “ No,
not through fabric, and only through my fingertips on the person's
temple or forehead. The nearer the brain, the better.” I still
hesitate. So much for covering my hands. “If I do it I'll let
you push me off the ledge.”
    “ You'll
float back up.”
    His eyebrows ride up to his
hairline. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
    Jackass.
    I let the sleeves uncover my
hands and put my right hand on his left and let him hold on to my
waist.
    It feels good.
    Dammit.
    It's slow and romantic and
I'm craning my neck to look into his eyes and they talk, no, they
scream, that he's not bad, that his intentions are good.
    He didn't do anything I
didn't want him to do, or that I secretly wished for, after all.
    I'm so caught up in his
smile that I don't notice we're floating until we sway too close to
the edge, the floor disappearing for a moment.
    “ Fu-”
    “ I've
got you.”
    His hold tightens around my
waist and his chest feels so warm against mine.
    I try to fight him.
    Nothing happens.
    I snake my arms over his
shoulders and clasp my hands behind his neck.
    Another mental push, try to
block my thoughts, force him away.
    Everything remains the same.
    He's literally sweeping me
off my feet; we're levitating together to the music and he's doing it
for real.
    “ Not
a fantasy,” I say.
    He bites his lower lip. “No.
Not a fantasy.”
    Don't do that, the lip
biting, just don't.
    If anyone looks up the
building, they’ll see us. He doesn't seem to care, though.
    Neither do I now, not while
he's beaming at me like that.
    The song ends, we land on
our feet on the gray floor, and I think he's about to kiss me when he
turns away, doubled over, trying to catch some air.
    Right, like with the thief.
    “ Are
you all right?” I touch his heaving back, wait for him to
recover a bit.
    “ I'm
okay,” he gasps.
    I grab his hand and take him
back. To the elevator, to my floor, to my apartment.
    “ Here.”
Push a glass of water into his hand while he's leaning back on the
sofa.
    “ Thank
you.” He takes it to his lips.
    Having seen him choking
after dancing makes me feel kinda guilty I wished it upon him before.
    Nah, not telling him that.
    “ So...”
To sound accusing or not? That is the question. “That was not a
fantasy.”
    “ It
wasn't.”
    “ It
was nice.”
    He sets the glass on the
coffee table. “I rather liked it.”
    “ But
don't go thinking it undoes the previous incident.”
    He rolls his eyes and it
looks so cute.
    Mental slap.
    The music stops.
    We glance at the ceiling in
tandem.
    “ Well,
there goes that.”
    “ I
should go.”
    I don't want him to.
    He gets slowly on his feet.
    “ Are
you sure you're all right?”
    “ I
am,” he blurts, then peers into my eyes, considering the
question a bit further. “It's late and you have to work
tomorrow.”
    “ Yeah.”
Snap out of it! “Work.” Smile, come on. “Let's get
you home.”
    The drive back goes
smoothly. He's happy, looks happy, talks happy.
    I can't help but feel the
same.
    Anger forgotten, locked
away.
    “ Here
you are, mister.” I park the car in front of his house.
    Say the word and I'll
turn this motherfucking car around and take you back to my place.
    Where the hell did that come
from?
    “ It
was great.” Apprehensiveness shines through his eyes. “Thank
you.”
    It was awkward, and weird,
and yes, great. “I have to pick up my mother at the