Re: Near the Entrance
"'Samuel' is just fine," he said, looking down to the point of her nail pressed against his chest. He stepped a bit closer, making up for the distance she slyly put between them. "If my mother had wanted me called 'Sam,' she'd have put it on my birth certificate."
Her needling found its mark. Though Samuel had not the slightest inclination to dance, and in fact found the prospect more than a little daunting, her insinuations could not go unanswered. One hand tightened around his glass as the other reached for her, snaking close and tight around her upraised wrist. "Ashamed, am I?" he sneered, pulling her away from the bar and out into the crowd. The mesh-clad boy slunk back into their space the moment they were gone, throwing them both a look full of smoldering, impotent anger.
At the first small pocket of empty dance floor Samuel stopped, his thumb tracing the inside of her wrist as he moved her to face him. Though the music slid from one thumping, griding track into another, Samuel drew her as close as any slow dance, his free hand far lower at the small of her back than it had any need to be. As the leather- and latex-clad patrons twisted and gyrated around them he shifted against her, at first far more subdued than their fellow patrons. His hips brushed hers as he moved, finding the track's arrhythmic beat after a moment's fumbling attempt.