When We Dance - Page 8
My jaw hits the floor.
Is he suggesting he is an impulsive man––which he is––in the most tranquilizing voice I’ve ever heard?
“I guess the cat is out of the bag now… And she already knows.”
“You have a ring and all that?” the man asks, smelling something fishy and probably enjoying it while I’m horrified.
“Of course.”
Francisco shifts in his seat, reaching inside his back pocket.
He does it so naturally that I freeze, my heart skipping beats, my breaths no longer flowing.
Is he that big of a bluffer?
If he is, he’s in a different league than me.
The man flicks his hand up, stopping Francisco from showing me the ‘ring’ and ‘ruining the surprise’.
“Have a nice evening,” he says, moving away from the car. “You should continue your conversation in a parking lot,” he adds. “It’s safer for everyone.”
With that, he nods in our direction and retreats to his car, followed by the other officer.
The windows go up, but not all the way.
“See. It wasn’t bad,” Francisco murmurs, checking the two men in the rearview mirror.
I stare at him, my mouth agape, until he brings his gaze back to me. He already signals and steers his ride away when the words explode on my lips.
“A ring, Francisco? You wanted to show him the ring??”
His chuckle tears into the warm night, increasing the hypnotizing sensation of this surreal evening.
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