When We Dance

“Do you think someone has called the police?” I ask, a steamy breath rolling off my lips.

He runs his fingers through his hair, inspecting his face in the mirror, unfazed, before checking the building next to us.

“I doubt anyone cares, but never say never. Maybe someone glanced out the window and saw us.”

Saw us? They couldn’t see us. Oh, no. Please don’t tell me they could see us. The windows are tinted. And it’s dark outside.

Fairly dark.

He moves his eyes to me and winks.

His mind is not here. I mean, it’s here but soaked in what happened moments ago, and he’s still high.

And that is bad.

The police might think he had too much alcohol and couldn’t drive, and that’s why we stopped.

Shit.

I wish I knew how to wipe away the smugness from his face. He has every reason to be cocky, but this is not the time to be a showoff.

“He’s coming…” I say in a strained voice, trembling inside.

My eyes go to him again.

Has he fixed his fly? Is his belt fastened?

“Your shirt…” I say, feverishly working closed more buttons.

The top remains open when two police officers stride to us, one checking the plate with a flashlight.

I’m not happy with the result of my sloppy work. The top of his chest is in plain view, smooth, tanned, glistening with a drop of sweat.

Fucking great.

I worked another button closed. Still, I don’t think I’m fooling anyone. My eyes go down as my hand trails his buttons, metallic buckle, and bumpy fly. Inadvertently I give him a long stroke.

His bulge is unruly, his length standing at attention.

“I thought you had softened.”

He gives me a sexy, throaty laugh.

“I thought that too, but you babying me like that didn’t help me at all.”

“I didn’t want to give you a hard-on.”

“Too late, baby.”

“Listen… listen…” I hiss under my breath. “You do the official talk. The license and registration, and all that stuff. But if he gets to uneasy questions and pokes his flashlight in your eyes, at least try to look sober and let me do the talk…”

He shoots me a questioning look. He’s not taking me seriously.

“We’re a couple…” I say. “And we got wrapped up in a conversation about where we wanted to eat this evening.”

His face beams with an amused smile.

“Are we in love? Engaged? What phase are we in?”