This is terrible. This afternoon I thought we were easier with one another, more relaxed, but now my spine feels like a steel rod. We're not talking - we're just making polite noises at one another.
She pours out two glasses of pink wine and passes one to me. "Zinfandel," she says. "Kind of training-wheels stuff, but I'm a cheap date these days. I hope it's okay." She sits beside me and holds up her glass - she's trying so hard to play the perfect hostess but the ripples once again give her away.
"You're shaking," I say, as our glasses clink.
"I know. This is big - for me. Huge, actually. Isn't that stupid? I walk into a different room and it's some kind of progress."
"Amber, it's not stupid at all."
"It is. You don't have to pretend I'm not a freak."
"You're not a freak," I say. "You've obviously got some things going on. That's all."
"You're very sweet," she says.
I laugh it off. "Nah. Not really. But if you ever want to talk...you know."
She reaches out and gives my fingers a quick squeeze. "I know. Thank you."
We sit there in stiff silence for a while. I watch the light play on the surface of the pool. "When are you gonna teach me to swim?" I ask, eventually. I've no desire to get in the water, but I have to say something.
She laughs. "I don't know. When are you going to teach me to dance?"
"Why not now?"
"Now?"
"Why not?" I get to my feet and hold out my hand. Her face is a study in comic anxiety. "Come on. I'll show you something."
Amber sets down her drink. "Oh my God. I can't believe I'm even thinking this - I'll be awful. I hope you like your toes being crushed."
"Pfft. You're like a hundred pounds wet. I'm gonna teach you a basic tango step, okay? Eight beats. Watch me."
We stand shoulder to shoulder as I show her the steps. She shakes her head. "I'll never remember that."
"Sure you will. Do it along with me. Weight on your right foot - one forward, two side, back three four, and cross left over right..."
She crosses her legs the wrong way round and groans. "Jimmy, I'm hopeless. It's like my brain and my feet are wired all wrong."
"You barely started. Everyone sucks at first. Do it again. One, two, back three four and cross on five, shift back on six...that's it. You're doing it. Side seven and close eight. You see? You got it."
"I won't remember it," she says, staring down at her feet. "How does it even work when you put it all together? Won't we step on each other, doing the same steps?"
"Nuh uh. When we do it for real I dance different steps, so don't try to copy me."
"Oh shit," she says, laughing. "You mean I can't just follow you? I have to remember?"
"You can do it. Give me your hand. We'll put this together."
She stares down at her feet as she goes through the steps. She crosses a beat too early and swears. "Relax," I say. "You know what you did wrong - that means you know how to fix it. Don't mind what I'm doing. Back three four..."
This time she gets the cross right, but I can feel her trying to take the lead. That prompts all kind of wrongheaded thoughts and I feel my cheeks turn warm. Her waist is nothing under my hand, but she moves with a kind of persuasion that makes me wonder what the red in her hair might mean. A hot temper, a bossy tongue.
"Relax," I say. "You're doing great."
She laughs. "Great at what? Stomping all over your poor toes?"
"You're not stomping. You're good. See?"
We're moving a little easier now, but then she steps forward when she's supposed to go back and our toes bump. "Shit," she says, looking up. "Told you I was hopeless."
Her smile fades fast as soon as she sees the heat in my eyes. I should let go of her, but she doesn't release my hand. Instead she leans forward, and the next thing I know my free hand is full of her hair and my mouth is full of her taste, her tongue. She lets out a low groan deep in the back of her throat, almost a growl, and my blood runs that little bit faster. I can feel the soft press of her small breasts against my chest and her thigh works its way between mine, seeking hardness. This time I'm the one off balance and I fall on my butt on the couch.
Amber stands over me. Her lips are soft and her hair tumbled, but there's a gleam in her eye that makes me ache. She reaches up under her dress and I can't believe what I'm seeing - her tiny black lace panties coming down over her long white thighs. She steps out of them carefully, one high heel at a time, and smoothes down her dress.
"Are you crazy?" I whisper. What does she think is going to happen now?
"Yes," she says, raking her hair back with her fingers.