Caught In Your Web (Peter Parker/ Spider-Man x Reader)

31: Swing With Me

  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."