Dance?

“I don’t know, you think that’s a good idea?” Gary started in on a series of hamstring stretches. “Maybe in the spring, after we get out booster shots.”

“I’m not talking about going to a club.” Kenneth dug a clump of Gelato out of the container. “They have online lessons. No Covid contamination involved.”

“Okay, it’s been a while,” Gary said, switching legs, “but I don’t think we need lessons on how to grope each other to music.”

Kenneth slipped the lid back on the container. “Not that kind of dancing. Real dancing. You know, like the waltz,” he said, popping the Gelato back in the freezer.

“Oh, my God. This is about that TV show.” Gary gave up on his pre-run routine and and waved a hand over his ratty T-shirt and faded sweatpants. “Do I look like Fred Astaire?”

“Who?”

“Shut up.”

Kenneth laughed. He figured the more he teased Gary about the age difference between them, the sooner the man would get over his ridiculous sensitivity. Maybe. He crossed the kitchen, fisted his hand in Gary’s T-shirt. “You look like the man I want to dance with.”

Inspired by: My non-existent dance skill, and Hugh’s Theatre of Memories.

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