Soaking up the view

We’d been dancing for over an hour when I had to call a time-out. We snaked our way back to the bar and sat for a moment, taking on water and allowing our bodies to cool.

We were far enough from the dance floor to shout a simple conversation, but most of the communication was visual. She kept running her eyes over me and smiling. She clearly liked what she saw. For myself, I couldn’t take my eyes off her hair. Set free, it would have fallen past her shoulders in red-gold waves but tonight, three French plaits converged at the back of her head, criss-crossed, then spiralled back around in a crown; the remainder was gripped in something toothy enough to scare an aligator.

She finished her drink and caught me staring. She grinned and hit me softly.

I leaned my face down to her cheek. “Jo,” I said, “I’ve got to make a visit.”
She laughed. “Me too.”

Ducking, weaving and shoving, we forced our way towards the facilities. She went left, I went right.

It turned out that left would have been the better option.

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