Read Online Don't Bet On It by J. L. Salter - Free Book Online

of Greene County, from senior citizens to young adults.”
    â€œI didn’t see any teenagers here, though.”
    â€œProbably out at the quarry.” He chuckled. “They wouldn’t be caught dead at a place like this — not cool enough.”
    â€œIt’s cool enough for me — I love moving to music. When you suggested this, I thought I was dreaming.” I still couldn’t believe I was dancing. “How’d you learn to dance, anyhow?”
    â€œFor a year or so, I thought I might like to be a high school coach, so I was taking classes in kinesiology. Had one full semester of a dance course and we did everything but the foxtrot.”
    â€œWhat a shame.” I tried to dig a knuckle into his ribs. “I’ve always wanted to see a fox trot.”
    During the break after the contemporary band’s set, I freshened up in the ladies room and then rejoined Brett at the open huge overhead doorway where the cool night air mixed with the much warmer inside atmosphere. May was the last dance with doors open — in the hot months, they ran the A/C full blast.
    Lots more people danced during the headliners’ set — C&W was clearly a crowd favorite in Greene County. We only sat out a few, and mainly because the dance floor was so congested.
    Everything seemed perfect: the night, the music, a chance to dance again, and the comfort of having a partner who actually knew where his feet belonged. But, most of all, I loved our contact. We fit so well together that at times we seemed to be a single body with four legs… which is pretty much what ballroom dancing is all about. Some women never get to experience that, but there I was with Mr. Smooth for nearly every dance. When we walked off the floor, I saw looks on the faces of several women and knew exactly what they were thinking, so I kept Brett ’s hand clasped possessively. No way would I let any of those crafty females get their mitts on my partner.
    During the slowest dances, our body heat seemed so intense I actually thought I might swoon, but figured if I did, that I’d die happy… in the arms where I’d started to feel I belonged. In one song, I’d pretty much tuned out the lyrics and melody and just flowed along with the rhythm and Brett , wherever his graceful leading moves took us.
    During that number, my mind drifted. I thought about how we’d met when I was obsessed with a bargain priced laptop; though only a week ago, that memory seemed so distant. On Friday after school, using Brett ’s laptop and staying up very late, I had more than made up for the two weeks I’d been without a computer. Somehow, on his machine, my fingers typed as gracefully and rhythmically as our feet seemed to glide on this concrete motor pool floor. If I could keep his device another couple of days, I’d probably have my story ready to submit… and available for Brett to read, if he really wanted to.
    I was jarred back to the present when Brett stopped moving as that song ended. Some of the older folks had drifted away, but we stayed for the final song… our last dance. With the muted noise of refreshments being put away in the distant kitchen, we swayed through a beautiful rendition of Ray Price’s timeless classic, “For the Good Times,” which most people know by the words in its chorus, “Lay your head upon my pillow.”
    It made Brett sigh… and caused me to cry. They repeated the final chorus two additional times and I wished they would have continued until morning. But the music stopped and I just stood there in his arms, as we lightly swayed back and forth.
    Then he kissed me. Not as urgently or as questioning as our kisses on his porch last night, but very warm and quite intense. It surely didn’t last exactly ninety-eight seconds, but that was what I planned to tell Joan.
    The band was already breaking up their stage set when Brett finally cradled my elbow