Dangerous Rock (Dangerous Noise 3)

He takes my hand and leads me back into the living room.

He crouches down to take a look at the bottom shelf, where he keeps his records. "Any band or song you like?"

"I like girl power stuff. Lady Gaga, Rihanna, Gwen Stefani, the Veronicas. That kind of thing."

He turns back to the shelf and picks out an album by the Bee Gees. He goes to the turntable and pulls open the top.

Something in his posture shifts. He's not putting on a flirty facade.

He's not pretending like he's this fun, party animal guy.

His guard is down.

No, it's gone.

He blows on the record then sets it on the turntable. Slowly, he places the needle on the record.

Music fills the room as Joel pushes himself to his feet and moves towards me.

He sets his hands on my hips. "Close your eyes."

"But—"

"You want to see if you like music or not?"

I do. I always feel like I'm missing some important part of life when Anne gushes over how much she loves a song.

"Bella?" Joel runs his fingertips over my sides. "This isn't exactly slow jam material."

I close my eyes and try to take in nothing but the sound of the song.

It's peppy, fast. I shift my hips, trying to catch the beat. It's not like the music I hear on Top 40 stations, the ones with a thumping drum machine. The beat is a little harder to find.

The more I hear of the song, the more I want to move.

I want to dance.

Like last night.

I want to feel the way I did last night. Excited, floaty, free.

Joel slides his arms to my lower back. He pulls my body against his, swaying in time with the beat. "If you want something easier to dance to, I can put on some Spanish music and teach you to Mamba."

"Mamba?"

"Or we could do cha-cha, salsa, merengue. I can teach you to tango too, but it's more complicated."

"You know how to tango?"

"Mom made me take ballroom dance lessons."

I have to laugh at the thought of Joel in some spandex dancer's outfit. Not that I'd mind the sight of him in skintight material.

"Relax." He pulls me closer. "Follow my lead."

"But, can you really dance to 80s pop?"

"Fuck yeah." He presses his palms into my lower back.