Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Brendan sat forward a little, anticipatory tension running through his body language in taut lines, his eyes gleaming. “It’s about to start. Keep your legs away from the edge of the floor.”
With a little oop, Cillian swung his stretched-out legs under the table, while the saxophone-player-turned-MC called out something he didn’t even quite catch. Whatever it was, it was a signal: the room plunged into darkness with a sudden drop of the lights, raising hushed gasps from all around, before abruptly bright spots switched on over the various clear areas of the floor. In each open circle, a couple stood in their own unique dramatic poses and boldly colored matching costumes, holding stock-still and ready. Their excitement shivered on the air, and Cillian found his arms prickling, his breaths catching as he strained forward in his chair, absorbing that breathless, tingling surge of emotion into himself.
The music rose in a bright, sharp staccato of brass counterpointed by bass thumps. Slam. Slam. Slam. Jolts of sound like a heartbeat, smashing into Cillian’s chest, before the song launched forward at breakneck speed.
And the room exploded into color and motion as if confetti had burst all over the crowd.
He couldn’t even follow it—turning his head to try to see all of the dancers simultaneously as they launched into swirling, swinging motion, coats and skirts splaying out in time to the music, fast-moving feet in shining shoes, the crash and clatter of soles against the floor defining the rhythm as much as the bass and drums. Everywhere he looked, it was like watching pure joy bursting into kinetic motion, wildly charged energy in twisting steps, swirling slides, leaps and spins and acrobatic twists that made the crowd gasp every time. Cillian gasped with them, completely hypnotized, straining toward the pair performing in the closest circle.
Exhilarating.
Pure, bright exhilaration to watch, and he didn’t even realize the crowd was clapping in rhythm until he was clapping too, rising into the rush of emotion, the gestalt of it, the wildness and excitement of every dancer pulling the crowd in. He couldn’t help stealing a glance at Brendan, even if he didn’t want to miss so much as a second—and found Brendan clapping to that steady beat, too, his expression calmer and more neutral than the many bright eyes around them, and yet something in the way he watched, so fixed, so intense…
He was in it, too, Cillian realized.
Just as absorbed as Cillian was.
And with a laugh, Cillian threw himself into the rhythm, clapping until his hands stung, setting the beat and letting it lead him at the same time.
Barely five minutes must have passed, the song rushing forward at a chaotic pace, yet he felt like he’d been under that spell for hours by the time the music built to a frenetic crescendo and then cut off on a lyrical scream of saxophone that left each pair of dancers flinging themselves into their final dramatic poses, panting and dripping with sweat. The moment the music stopped, the clapping all around turned uproarious, cheers and whistles rising. Grinning, Cillian raised his arms, clapping as hard as he could, then slipped two fingers between his teeth and whistled.
Brendan chuckled. “Enjoyed that, did you?”
“It was—I—that—yes!” Still grinning breathlessly, Cillian gestured out at the dancers picking themselves up off the floor. “I so want to see you dance like this.”
With a lazy smirk, Brendan flicked a mock-salute. “Come back next week for lessons. Give it a shot yourself.”
“I will fall on my face.”
“Everyone does,” Brendan said, yet something about the mocking lift of his brows said he’d enjoy watching Cillian eat the floor over and over again.
Cillian laughed. “Maybe.”
“I’ll take a maybe.”
The lights shifted then, dimming; he glanced over, watching as the nearest pair of dancers straggled off the floor, talking to each other animatedly. A few other people—dressed in regular casual or evening wear, rather than matching outfits—stepped out onto the floor as the band began to play again; something slower this time, soft winding notes, as couples drifted into lazy, sidestepping turns.
Cillian rested his hand on the table, watching them sway and step. “That’s it…? It’s over just like that?”
“For now,” Brendan said. “That was just an opening routine for the crowd. They’ll go through the competitive part with judging in stages, and leave the floor for everyone else with rest periods in between. Did you want to stay all night to see it?”
“Yes.” Cillian nodded just a little too quickly. “I mean…ah…”
“Yes is good.” Brendan smirked and set his empty cup down, then angled his head toward the dance floor; a few loose strands of hair fell across his brow, arcs of black with a few shining threads of silvery white. “You want to…?”
Cillian’s eyes widened. “Are you asking me to dance?”
“Might as well do a photo op.” Brendan craned to look over his shoulder, scanning the crowds still seated. “Most people are looking the other way, but we’ve had a few lurkers with their phones pointed at us for a while.”