Of course, my dancing with Aaron was limited due to my rebuilt ankle. All three doctors who reconstructed that part of my body would have surely agreed the activity was strictly off-limits. The professionals’ scripted advice didn’t deter me from allowing the tight end’s arms to wrap around my body and hold me against his hulking chest, though.
In truth, he did all the dancing. I turned to mush in his arms, wooed by his good manners. I enjoyed his musky aroma, captured like a damsel in distress by his uber-sweet spell. I didn’t push him away when he kissed me in a sultry and mind-numbing way. We stayed there, among the frisky bar men and their flaming cocktails and bitchy bantering.