A Tangled Web We Weave (Completed)

15. Scraped Elbows and Broken Noses

Andy

Cal slammed the car door and, running around the front of his car, hummed a popular 50s show tune. But he stopped dead in his tracks when he caught sight of me. "Wowza," he winked at me as he skipped every other step. "When I said dress like it's a 50s dance, I didn't mean a Hollywood gala, but I'll take it."

I laughed, blushing. I was wearing a vintage black halter dress with polka dotted shoes. I curled my hair and actually put on a little makeup. What can I say? I guess I can try for a guy who has taken me out four times already, right? "Thank you, but it's not really that impressive."

He chuckled, taking my hand. "Let me be the judge of that." I tried not to flinch at his touch. Cal wasn't going to hurt me. What was wrong with me?

I flushed even worse. "How did you even find this dance?"

"I heard about it from a friend a year ago. They throw these parties once a month with a different decade every time," he said, running a hand through his hair. It was slicked up and smoothed over, kind of like Elvis, but not as tall. "And you supposed to wear a different outfit each time. They put a Polaroid by the door so you can take a picture with your friends and hang it on the wall."

"Which decade is your favorite?"

"80s, without a doubt."

"This sounds like blast," I sank into his car and sighed. "Do they play music from just that decade or-"

"Yes. And most of the people there are college students or old people, but I go anyway." He started his car and we drove down the highway, listening to Frank Sinata. We pulled up to nice hotel, where valet parking took his car away. He held my hand as we walked up the stairs. "Excited?"

"Of course. Are you sure I'm not underdressed?" I asked, pressing my cold hand into his warm one, his callouses rough against my skin.

He laughed, looking down at himself. "I'm wearing my dad's old letterman jacket, a white t-shirt, and jeans. If anything, you're perfect."

I looked down at my shoes as he paid for our admittance. Perry Como was crooning over the speakers and everyone in sight was jiving like it was 1959. There was a woman who looked exactly like Katherine Hepburn and her dancing partner looked like a Cary Grant in the making.

Cal popped his knuckles before leading me onto the dancefloor. He put one hand on my waist and lead me with the other. My skirt swirled around as we spun and kicked and dipped. "So, Andy, what do you think?" He asked as we rocked back and forth to Dean Martin's crooning.

I grinned. "It's amazing." I laid my forehead against his cheek and we swayed in silence for a minute before he pulled away slightly to look at me.

"I have a question," he hesitated, biting his lip.

I nodded, looking up at him even with my heels.

"I know it's really fast, seeing as our first date was me hijacking someone else's, but do you, uh, would you consider-" He stopped, shaking his head. "Will you be my girlfriend?"

I froze, smiling a little. "Are you sure? Me? You really actually like me?"

He laughed out loud. "I saw you sitting alone in a crowded restaurant and sat down with you without knowing you at all. I liked you from the first time I saw you."

I sighed, grimacing a little. "Well, I don't know. I mean, you are attractive, smart, funny, nice to be around, charming, but I don't want to inflate your ego."

He pressed his forehead against mine. "I trust you to keep me grounded. I won't get a big head with you around."

I smirked. "Then, of course, I'll be your girlfriend."

He let out the breath he had apparently been holding and leaned towards me, looking at my lips. "That's all I wanted to hear."

I grinned, my hand winding up into his hair. "Then I'm happy to accommodate."

And the lights went out and someone knocked into me, causing my head to hit his nose.