Flirtinis with Flappers (20 page)

As David Bowie would say, "Let's Dance."

I sucked down my third shot (no sense just leaving it on the table where someone could spike it or something) and jumped up from my chair. My foot caught under the table leg, and I almost tripped.

Hm, maybe that last shot wasn't such a good idea.

I managed to right myself and grabbed Nick by the hand. "Come on!" I cried. "Dance Party USA!"

Nick stared at me as if I had two heads, then shrugged and tipped back his drink. He stood up and led me over to the tiny dance floor. He wrapped his arms around my waist, and soon we were swinging to the beat.

We weren't very good. After all, neither of us was actually from the 1920s or had any idea what we were doing. At the same time, we both had to fake that this was something we did all the time. It made for some amusing moments, as well as some painful ones when Nick inadvertently stepped on my toes. He never was a very good dancer, even in modern day.

Still, at the same time, it was kind of fun. What had I been so worried about? So sad about? The music was bright and cheery. Nick as Sam was dashing and sexy. What more could a flapper chick want?

Maybe one more drink…

I broke away from Nick, motioning to the bar. He raised a skeptical eyebrow, and, for a moment, I thought he was going to try to cut me off. As if he had a chance. He wanted someone fun? Someone not uptight? Well, tonight was his lucky night.

A few more couples entered the bar as I downed another gin. Even though it was only early afternoon, they seemed quite intoxicated, laughing and joking as they grabbed drinks and then started dancing.

I watched them as I headed back to Nick, envious of their carefree smiles and easy laughter. What would it be like to be them? To hang out afternoons in bars without a care in the world?

Since I was watching them, I was not watching where I was going. I suddenly tripped over who knows what and lurched forward, right into Nick. I grabbed his arms so I wouldn't splat on the floor, and as a result, my fifth gin sloshed down his white shirt.

D'oh! Even in Louise's body I was still the clumsiest person in the universe.

Nick sighed and shook his head, staring down at his now-dripping shirt. "Maybe you should slow down, kiddo," he said. He grabbed a white cloth from a nearby table and dabbed himself with it. "I mean, just a thought."

"Don't be silly," I said, plucking the napkin from him and playfully wiping it down his chest. "I'm sooo not drunk. I just tripped. The floor is totally uneven. Made out of, like, lawsuit-waiting-to-happen wood or something." I ran the napkin down the contours of his perfectly sculpted abs. "Ooh, you really have a nice chest," I cooed. "I love the six-pack."

"Uh, thanks," he said, prying the napkin from my fingers and throwing it in the trash. "Nice of you to say."

I scowled at him. What was his problem all of a sudden? He was normally so hot and bothered to get into Louise's pants. And now that I was paying him actual compliments he was backing down? Puh-leeze. What a loser. Loser with a capital L stamped on his forehead, in fact. He should be honored to be getting compliments from such a sexy siren as Louise. After all, she was the cat's pajamas.

"What's your problem, man?" I demanded. "Are you, like, still mad 'cause I kicked you last night?"

"It isn't my fondest recollection of an evening," he admitted. "Next time, a simple, 'I think we're moving too fast and I'd like to stop' would be quite effective."

I felt my face heat. If only he knew…

That's it! I should tell him! I should totally and utterly and completely tell him the truth. The whole truth and nothing but the truth, in fact! I mean, think about it. What if I just came out and told him I was Dora? Explain why I was here. What I had to do. Wouldn't that be the simplest solution? Just go ahead and spill all the beans and then tell him why it was so important that we didn't change history? Would he listen? Would he believe me? Would he agree to do what I said?

No. I forced my racing thoughts to make a pit stop. This was the alcohol talking. I wasn't being sensible.

I couldn't tell him who I was or why I was here. As The Rat had said, that would ruin everything. He'd end up furious and more determined than ever to make sure he accomplished his mission and changed history. Just to spite me.

No, it was better to go the subtle route. Play the seductress and get him to think he was abandoning his mission for the love of a good woman. A good random fun-loving flapper woman, not his uptight, high-strung ex-girlfriend.

The music changed, and the other couples started cheering. I recognized the tune: "Yes, Sir, That's My Baby." A twenties classic.

"The Charleston!" I cried. "I've always wanted to learn to Charleston!"

Nick cocked his head and scrunched his eyebrows. "You don't know how?" he asked incredulously.

Great. Bigmouth strikes again. The gin was really making me Loose Lips Lola. Of course Louise would know how to Charleston. There was no way she wouldn't know.

"Well…do you know it?" I asked, turning the tables on him, knowing the answer before he could open his mouth.

He blushed. Ha! Got him. "Well, I haven't done it in a few years," he stammered.

I laughed, glancing over at the other dancers. They looked like they were having a blast! Suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to join them. To stop worrying and caring and hurting so much and just start dancing.

Ground control to Major Louise. Please put mission on pause.
I was going to take five and have a good time.

"I bet they'd teach us if we asked," I suggested. Before Nick could protest, I approached the dancers. "Can you teach us the Charleston?"

"Absolutely!" cried one of the female dancers. She must have been about eighteen. All flapper'd out with her requisite black bob, fringed green dress, and Mary Jane shoes. "You'll be hip to the jive!"

She motioned to her two guy friends to clear away the tables and chairs. Then she headed over to the bartender and asked him to start the song over from the beginning.

"Okay. Now, first yah step back with your right foot," she instructed. "And then you kick back with your left."

I mimicked her movements. Okay, got that.

"Then you step forward with your left foot. And kick with your right."

"OK. Step with my left, kick with my right."

"Then repeat."

"Forward right, kick left. Forward left, kick right." I was getting this. If only in my gin-fueled buzz I could remember which was left and which was right.

I glanced over at Nick. He seemed to be getting it a little easier than me. But then, he was still on drink number one.

"Now you're on the trolley!" our instructor praised, clapping her hands. "Time to add arms."

Oh, shoot. I forgot about the arms. This was going to throw off my coordination big time.

"Arms out," the girl said, holding hers raised in example. "Then bend at the elbows." She walked over and bent my arms and positioned my hands facing up. "Now swing your arms from the right to the left." She watched for a moment. "No, no, your other left. That's right! No left!"

I tuned her out. I was doing it! I was dancing the Charleston. In the actual 1920s. How cool was that? I felt like a real flapper now. Woo-hoo!

"Hey, this is fun!" I cried. The flapper grinned and started dancing herself. Her two guy friends joined in, and soon the place was rocking out like a mini-jazz rave.

I glanced over at Nick. He'd stopped dancing and was leaning against the far wall, taking in the scene. Oh no, he didn't! If I was able to have fun in the 1920s, he was going to, too.

"Come on, Sam!" I begged, dancing over to him. "Swing those arms. Step those feet."

He gave me an amused look but shook his head. Spoilsport. I grabbed his arms and pulled him away from the wall. For a moment, it was just me dancing and him standing there. Then, as the music played on, he gave in and started bobbing a bit. Then came his feet. And finally he was swinging with me. Totally getting into it, grinning like an idiot.

That was, until somehow I managed to trip (stupid floorboards again!) and fell into Nick's arms. He laughed and kissed the top of my head before righting me. Then we continued dancing, and he spun me around. We were probably terrible. Probably a shame to our twenties bodies. But it was just so darn fun. I couldn't stop laughing.

Soon we were dancing as good as the guys from the movie
Swingers.
I half expected a Big Bad Voodoo Daddy song to come on and for someone to tell me that I was "money."

"Woo-hoo!" I cheered. "This is fun!"

There's just something about dancing. It's one of those activities that sticks you in the here and now. When you're dancing, there is no past. No present. No future. There's just you and the music.

And the guy who wraps you in his arms.

 The song ended, and the next one up was a slow ballad I didn't recognize. The other dancers, exhausted and sweaty, abandoned the floor and lined up on stools at the bar where they ordered more drinks.

Nick and I were alone on the dance floor. It was totally a movie moment, and I half expected some spotlight from above to illuminate us as we suddenly broke into a tango. Instead, Nick pulled me close, placing a hand around my waist and taking my other hand in his. I could feel every contour of his body as he pressed against me. It was a waltz, sweet and quiet. And my feet barely touched the ground.

"This is more my speed," he whispered in my ear.

I laughed appreciatively. I wasn't exactly complaining about having him this close either. It felt nice. Good.

I suddenly wanted him with a vengeance. So what if it was under false pretenses? So what if he thought I was someone else? I was supposed to be seducing him, right? I was supposed to put myself in the position where he would change history for me.

And besides, it wasn't even like I would be hooking up with a stranger. This was Nick. I'd slept with him a billion times already. Technically, it wouldn't even be another notch in my belt. Just sex with the ex.

Satisfied with my justification, albeit gin-soaked logic, I grabbed his hands in mine and looked up at him, trying to send him sultry bedroom-eyes vibes. Vibes that would make him unable to resist swooping me into his arms and—

"Are you okay?" he asked, cocking his head. "You look a little…constipated."

Okay. My sultry bedroom eyes were perhaps not as sultry as I had imagined them to be. I should have practiced in the mirror first. But fine. I guess a girl couldn't be subtle in this day and age.

"Let's goh to your plathe," I suggested, realizing suddenly my words weren't forming as easily as I would have liked. Maybe that last gin had been a mistake. Oh well, who cared, right? I didn't need my tongue to form words—I had other plans for it tonight. And I was sure it was still up for that sort of business.

Nick studied my face with all-too-serious eyes. "You want to?" he asked slowly, carefully. "Are you sure?"

I laughed. "Shorr, I'm shorr."

"'Cause truthfully, you seem a bit… I guess intoxicated would be the proper word." He scratched his head, still watching me carefully. "I don't want you to do something you're going to regret in the morning."

I groaned. This was ridiculous. For the last few days all he'd tried to do was get me in bed. Now here I was making the offer straight-out, and he was hesitating? And for what purpose? 'Cause I'd had a few drinks? I mean, hello? Since when did a woman having a few drinks make a man not want to sleep with her? For a lot of guys, that was their whole MO.

"Look, buddy," I said, draping my arms around his shoulders and tipping into him with what I hoped was a sexy lean. "Do you wanna make love or not? 'Cause if you do, you have exactly ten seconds to sweep me off my feet and carry me out of this bar. Otherwise, I change my mind."

Nick's eyes widened. Heh. I knew he, like most guys, could never resist an ultimatum. Especially one that involved sex with a hot girl.

"And you swear you won't…kick me anywhere remotely uncomfortable this time?"

"Yup." I winked and nodded my head up and down, trying not to let it loll backward as it seemed wont to do for some reason. "Ten, nine, eight…" I counted.

"And you won't run off into the night halfway through?"

"Cross my heart—seven, six—hope to die—four, three…" Oh, shoot. I think I forgot a number. This counting ultimatum was a bit more tricky than I'd thought.

"Five…two…"

"All right then," he said, still sounding a little hesitant. He grabbed his coat and swathed me in it. Once bundled up, he reached down and scooped me into his arms. "Here we go."

I cooed in delight as he cradled me like a baby, his hands tucked under my back and my knees. I leaned my head into his shoulder as he carried me out of the speakeasy, off into the sunset like some pirate romance hero, ready to ravish his virgin bride. I could hear the other patrons cheering and voicing their approval back in the bar. I smiled, rejoicing at the sound of his heartbeat in his chest.

Now
this
was romance.

I lifted my head to study him, wanting to better assess his current level of turned-on-ness. Had I morphed him into jelly with my sultry seduction?

Hm. I frowned. It was hard to tell, actually, if those beads of sweat were from him lusting after me or…lifting me.

I leaned in to place a wet kiss on his mouth. Mmm. His lips were so soft. So delish. So— "um, Louise?" I could feel his mouth struggling to form words from its trapped position under my lips. "Itth kinda hard to walk with you kithing me like that."

I pulled my head away, a bit offended. How dare he reject my oh-so-valuable kisses? No-good, ungrateful jerk. I considered kicking him again, then reassessed. To be perfectly honest, I guess I could kind of see how blocking his vision would hinder his forward movement. And since we were talking about movement that was carrying me to his apartment where I could kiss him plenty and have my wicked way with him, I guessed I could wait.

"Okay, no problem, baby," I whispered, flopping my head back on his shoulder. "Carry on."

He stopped. I raised my head, stifling a groan. What now?