The lights were dim and the air was thick. Sweaty bodies spun by me and I got a few annoyed glances from couples who almost stepped on me. As if it was my fault that they moved a little too far off the dance floor and into the area where normal people who couldn't dance hung out.
What self-respecting girls in the '40s couldn't swing dance?
Me.
The answer was me.
It's not like there was a special class that girls had to take to learn. If there was, I didn't know it existed. Lord knows where the boys learned how to dance. I mean, they barely paid enough attention to learn math, much less dance steps. If I had a dollar every time someone tried to tell me that swing dancing was easy I'd be at least $50 richer. Come to think of it, it might be a good idea to start charging people.
Anyways, you get it. I can't swing dance and yet I find myself dragged to every swing dance my girlfriends were going to. They had dates, they could dance, and boy did they look good doing it.
Elizabeth had her rich brown hair in bouncer curls that whipped around her shoulders like her red skirt did when her boy spun her around. Her pale cheeks were flushed pink, partial from her blusher, partial from the effort it took to dance so gracefully. And there was Abby with her blond hair pulled back and her baby blue dress swirling around her knees.
I brushed a hand down the front of my purple dress subconsciously. Maybe if I could dance like them a handsome boy like theirs would want to court me. Oh, but if I could look like them too. Their bright smiles and perfect hair no matter how messy it was. They were so pretty I almost hated them, but we'd been thick as thieves since primary school. I'd only ever be happy for them.
Sighing, I plopped down at our empty table. I dropped my chin in my hand and watched the skirts twirl. A wannabe Louis Armstrong was playing "In The Mood" on a hand-me-down trumpet, and I was too distracted by people watching to notice the perfect specimen of a man approaching me until he'd pulled out the chair beside me.
My head popped out of my hand.
"What's a pretty girl like you doing sitting here all alone?" He asked, flashing a perfect smile that would have glittered if we weren't in a dimly lit club.
"Just -um- watching," I said weakly, very aware that my lipstick was probably faded and I'd had 2 cups of coffee today. My smile could never compare to his.
"You prefer that over dancing?" He asked again.
"Oh, I'm not much of dancer," I shrugged.
"Does that mean you'd say no if I asked you to dance?" He said.
"I don't make it a habit to dance with strangers."
He stuck out his hand. "Peter. Peter Parker."
I took his hand and shook it. "(Y/N)." His hand was warm in mine and it lingered a little longer than a normal handshake lasted.
"Beautiful name for a beautiful girl," He grinned.
I blushed.
"Now that we're no longer strangers, would you care to dance with me?" Peter asked.
"I'm rather out of practice and I wouldn't want to step on your shoes," I said, not wanting to make a fool of myself with him.
"Nonsense," He stood up and held his hand out again, "I'm sure you're not bad. Besides, I'd be honored to have you step on my feet."
"Alright, but don't say I didn't warn you," I took his hand and let him help me to my feet.
Peter didn't let go of my hand as we made our way through the crowd to the dance floor. I pinched myself when he wasn't looking just to make sure I wasn't dreaming. This man was one easily worthy of either of my friends simply based off his looks. And judging by the uniform and badges, he was morally respectable too.
Then there we were, in the thick of the dancers and we were dancing. I couldn't believe that I hadn't tripped over my feet in the first three seconds. This was a new record for me. I mentally patted my own back.
I couldn't help the smile that was on my face.
"Look at you," Peter grinned back, spinning me with practice ease, "you're a natural! Born on the dance floor, I'd reckon."
"Don't speak so soon, I can still prove you wrong and ruin your shoes," I said.
He smiled and I watched the light catch his light brown hair in a way that made it look almost golden.
Abby spun by with her date and flashed me an 'OMG he's pretty!' look. My smile only grew.
**********
I couldn't tell you how long we'd been dancing, but eventually, Peter and I agreed to take a break and get some fresh air.
His hand never left mine until he pushed open the door and we were out in the nipping cold of October. I shivered and he noticed. He shrugged off his uniform's coat and draped it over my bare shoulders.
"Thank you," I tucked my arms close to my chest.
We stood there for a little while in comfortable silence. It was quite, save for the music drifting out of the building behind us and the night had that clean air smell that makes you feel just a little more alive.
Peter was resting his arms on the railing in front of us, his eyes fixed on me.
"So, you're not much of a dancer?" He asked, a little teasing in his voice.
I rolled my eyes, resting my elbows beside him. "You were practically telling me what to do the entire time. I don't know how to dance."
"Could've fooled me," he said. I could just make out the color of his eyes, brown, in the fading light of the setting sun. They were perfect, just like the rest of him. I watched his gaze drop down to my lips, then back up to meet my eyes.
He shifted closer, and then a little closer, giving me the chance to run if I didn't want him to kiss me. But I would be lying if I said I hadn't thought about kissing him a few times that night.
His lips pressed gently to mine, a hand moving cup my face. Then he backed off a little again, ever the gentleman not wanting to force himself on me. That's probably one of the most attractive things a man can do.
I bunched my fingers in his buttoned-up shirt and pulled him back to me. His lips were a little less gentle as the fit over my top lip. I'm pretty sure I audibly sighed, but I didn't care. I hadn't been kissed like that in a while, or ever at all if I'm being honest. The way he held me and didn't move too fast. Everything he did, from his breathing, to the way his tongue was just a little involved, was slow and deliberate.
We paused, resting inches apart, breathing each other's air.
The door swung open behind us and Elizabeth and Abby came out, arm in arm with their lovers. Peter and I moved apart, but not too apart.
"Oh there you are, (Y/N)," Elizabeth chirped.
"I grabbed your coat and purse, " Abby said, holding up said belongings.
I fought the urge to pout. This was the one night of dancing I never wanted to end.
"Don't worry," Peter whispered in my ear. He reached around me and fished in the pocket of his jacket and pulled out paper and a pen. I quickly wrote down my home address and phone number. I folded it and tucked it into his waiting hand and put the pen back into the jacket I was still wearing
"Don't you dare not call me," I warned, only half-joking.
Peter grinned at me. "I would never dream of it." He paused, "Is tomorrow afternoon too soon?"
I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding. "It can't come soon enough."
"Come on! Let's go (Y/N)," Elizabeth tapped me on the shoulder and handed me my things.
"I suppose you should go," Peter sighed. I nodded, sticking out my lower lip.
He helped me by taking his coat and holding my purse while I shrugged my own coat on. He snuck a little kiss on my cheek when he handed my purse back.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he whispered.
"Yes you will," I whispered back.
As I walked away with my companions, I couldn't help but sneak a glance back at Peter as he stood where I left him, coat in hand, and a perfect smile on his face.
Hi, I have not died of COVID-19. Stay safe inside folks :)
-nostalgics
