Dancing

-His hands dance upon the table, his left collapses and lies inert, his right dangles near the edge, the empty space of ambivalence. She sits to the right of him, to the side of him. Her hands wrapped around her knee. She’s holding it, not loosely, but with a certain clench. Creating warmth perhaps, the tightened muscles visible along her hand’s structure. And he continues. He feeds off of her sweet giggling, the smile that catches her face by surprise every couple of minutes when their eyes meet anew. His own face is taken as well in the sweet encounter between them, he can feel it, a certain lightness that carries him off his seat a couple of inches, perhaps, maybe he doesn’t even move, but he can feel it.
She begins to tap her fingers lightly on the seam of her pants. He thinks, this could mean something. His hand reaches out toward her and falls upon her side. She’s very ticklish. He feeds off of her giggling. She let’s out a sweet sound. Her laughing. He feels lifted. His eyes fall to see if he’s actually floating. Her hand leaves its post at her knee and sets off for his. She finds his, still dancing on her side and encouraging her wide smile. She pushes his hand away, gently. Being insatiable, at times, he returns his hand to the dance at her side. She looks at him, a glimmer in her eye and smiles. She reaches for his hand again, with the same hand as before and she takes possession of it. They fall, together, the hands, and linger there, in between them. Two. He gazes at her a moment, this could mean something. He looks at the table and spots the pack, the red pack with twenty fine Class A cigarettes in it. He hesitates. Looks back at her, still smiling. With his left hand he reaches for the pack and opens it, a little awkward, takes one out and lights it. He smokes with his left hand, a rarity. He’s right handed. The hands still dangle between them, an ambivalent hold.
Her hand moves. Both her hands. They wrap themselves around the cup before her. She does this. This is how she’s been drinking her coffee all night. Maybe it has to do with the cold. She shivers slightly. She will not admit to being cold. He’s asked at least thrice. And still she shivers. Shivers like when you feel the hand of god running along your spine. But it stops. It stops quickly. Just as quickly as it started. She drinks, sipping gracefully. Like she’s been doing this since she was five. She puts down the cup and smiles at him. Her hands return to cupping her knee and she looks at him, sweetly. This could mean something. He inhales deeply.