Page 8 of Blueline Baby

“You came, though.” He’s very happy about this. He plants a hand flat on the wall right above my head and leans down toward me, close enough that I have to tilt my chin up just to look at him. It's a calculated move designed specifically to make me do exactly that. I’m positive he knows it.

“You never told me your name,” he says.

“I told you my name. You were just basically unconscious when I did it.”

“Doesn’t count.” He flashes a slow grin. “I want it awake.”

“Chloe.”

“Chloe.” The grin gets wider. “I thought about you all week, Chloe.”

“That sounds like a personal problem and also super creepy.”

“You knew the neutral zone,” he says, completely ignoring my insult. “In your pajamas, at one in the morning. Do you have any idea how rare that is?”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That thing where acting like a woman knowing hockey is a miracle to you. Half the girls here know hockey.”

“Not like you.”

The song changes to something much louder. He steps back and holds out his hand. “Dance with me.”

“No.”

“One song.”

“This isn’t a dancing song.”

“Every song is a dancing song if you have the right moves.” He doesn’t wait for me to take his hand. He reaches down and grabs mine instead. “Come on. What else are you doing?”

“Making sure my roommate gets home alive.”

“She’s over there. She’s fine. One song.”

He tugs, and my feet actually move forward. He’s aggressively cheerful in a way I have never been in my entire life. He also hasn’t taken his eyes off me since he crossed the room. I hate that it actually works.

He’s a horrible dancer. He looks like someone attempting both the robot and some bizarre version of a club rave at the exact same time. He definitely does not have the right moves.

“You’re so bad at this,” I tell him, trying hard not to laugh.

“I never said I was good.” He turns me under his arm and nearly elbows a guy in the head. “You’re not bad, though. You’re just not letting yourself feel the music.”

“Because it’s not a dancing song!”

“Relax, you’re just holding onto everything too tight.” He drops his mouth down near my ear so I can actually hear him. “You’re allowed to have fun, you know. Nobody’s grading you.”

“Somebody’s always grading me.”

He pulls back to stare at me. “That’s the saddest thing anybody’s ever said to me at a party. And I go to a lot of parties and dance badly with a lot of women.”

I actually laugh and he lights up like he just scored a game-winner.

“There it is,” he says. “I’ve been after that since I woke up on your couch.”

The song ends and I try to step away from him, but he keeps his hand on my lower back and turns me gently away from the crowd instead.