On Sunday, Helen stepped back and let Eric take the reins. After trying out the gym at Hart Recreation Center, Eric showed me around Dinand Library again. Somehow I'd lost all sense of time. Whole hours seemed to evaporate right before my eyes.

Especially near him.

"I'd better head back to Helen's room," I said with a reluctant sigh. "She'll kill me if I turn up to our dancing lesson looking like a sack of potatoes."

"You don't have to let Helen dress you up unless you want to," Eric whispered behind me as I browsed the French section. "I like you just the way you are."

"That's kind of you to say, but she pointed out my decided lack of style."

"Let me ask you a question," he said. He brushed a bit of my hair from my shoulder. Just like in my daydream before bed, only without the kiss. Goosebumps rose on my skin--the good kind. "If I hadn't changed, would you still be here with me?"

I turned to face him, suddenly all too aware of our proximity. But neither of us backed away. We simply stood there, lost in one another's gaze as his eyes searched mine.

"Of course I would," I said. "Helen still has a photo of you. The old you. And I kind of had a bit of wistful nostalgia. I'd like you just the same. I don't care about fashion."

"Well, there you go," Eric said in that rich, deep voice of his. "Neither do I. Some of us play the game, but I do so out of necessity."

"Is it weird that I kind of miss you in glasses?"

"If you got rid of yours, I'd be very sad," he said, curling his lip. "So no weirder than me, I guess."

"Well, I do have a dress with me, but it's very chaste..." I shrugged. "Floral. Ankle-length."

"How about this?" he said. "I'll put on my old graduation outfit, and you can wear your chaste little dress, and we can pretend it's my senior prom. The one I never attended...in all its awkward glory."

"Oh my gosh!" I exclaimed in a muted whisper. "Really?"

"Yes," he said with a chuckle. "Really. I'll even wear my nerdy glasses."

I hardly suppressed a squee of delight, earning some dirty looks from nearby students. "Okay, let's do this. Oh, my gosh! Are we crazy or what?"

"Who cares what the others think?" he said, his eyes twinkling. "Let's just be ourselves for once."

"I don't even know what that means," I said with a wistful twinge in my heart.

"Then let's figure it out together."

***

Helen gave me a disdainful look later that evening, glaring at my empire-waist dress with short cap sleeves. "You're hiding your gorgeous figure. At least wear a cute belt or something."

"That wasn't the agreement," I said.

"But I've got the cutest little black velvet stretch cocktail dress that would look so good on you."

"That's not the point, Helen."

"Ugh, it is the point. You want him to pant like a hound when he sees you..."

"Another time, gladly," I insisted. "But I made a pact with him. He'll wear his graduation suit--"

"Oh, God! If I see that corduroy monstrosity one more time, I swear I'll burn it," she growled. "For real, now. This date is going to be a disaster. Have you seen it?!"

"It's right there," I said, pointing to her shelf. "He's adorably dorky, and I love it."

"What--?" Helen threw her hands up in the air. "Argh...I give up. What is wrong with you nerds?"

"It's about showing each other that it's not about looks."

"Everyone with an IQ of at least fifty knows it's not about looks with you two," she said with a huff. "So what's the deal with this pointless experiment?"

"Scientific inquiry," I retorted.

Helen rolled her eyes. "If I don't hear that there was at least some grinding going on by the end of the evening, no matter how nerdy, I'm going to be very disappointed, Jess."

"Ugh! No, thanks..."

"Dude..."

"They don't even allow grinding at prom, Helen. That's a club thing."

"Fine," she said, crossing her arms. "But don't say I didn't warn you. If you change your mind, come back here and let me turn you into a princess."

She escorted me to Loyola Ballroom, grumbling the whole way. A wave of nerves raked down my spine. What if Eric was kidding? What if he turned up looking like James Bond? They'd all have a great laugh at my naivete if I'd fallen for a practical joke.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Eric fidgeting with nerves in front of the ballroom, dressed in his reddish-brown corduroy suit with big-framed glasses. He grinned when he saw me and gave me the hugest hug, pressing me to his chest like I was a precious treasure.

"I'm so glad you made it," he said.

"Me too. I mean you. You know what I mean."

"Wow, you nerds have fun," Helen said, shaking her head. "I'll be right down the hall if you decide to join the '90s."

We exchanged the broadest grin, and Eric held up a huge boombox. "Ready for your lessons?"

"Am I ever!" I said with an excited squee.

Eric led me into the ballroom and plugged in his device. I swear my heart was a damned boombox with anticipation.

"We're going to start off with fast dances first," he said. "Mostly, you can just go with the beat. But there are a few simple moves that can give you confidence."

He raced towards me, and I still couldn't take my eyes off him and his adorable look. In fact, I was pretty much flat-out staring.

"What's wrong?" he asked, pushing up his glasses in a way that made my heart jump a little.

"Nothing's wrong," I said as I drew a step nearer to him.

"We'll start without music first," he said, clearing his throat. "Shift your weight from foot to foot with a little tap."

I tapped as he counted the beat. Once I slipped into the rhythm, he observed me from different angles with an analytical gaze. "Your upper body is a bit stiff. Loosen up."

I tried again and he shook his head.

"Relax, Jess," he said with an encouraging smile. "It's not basic training."

"I am relaxed!" He raised a quizzical brow at me. "I just suck at this."

"You don't suck," he said. "Don't give up before you start. May I?"

I nodded.

He placed his hands on my shoulders. "You're tense through here. Feel this?"

Do I ever...

"Tense your shoulders on purpose and let them fall." I did as he asked. "Right, and again. Once more. Good..."

"I studied Irish dancing for years," I said.

"Ah, like Riverdance?"

"Yes, but more traditional," I explained. "We don't use our upper bodies. We keep them perfectly straight."

"Ah, that explains it," he said with a smile. "Here, place your hands in front of your hips here for now until you get the steps. That's it. Good. Now tap. Shift your weight. Tap."

He rushed toward the boombox and played Best Hits of 1990s, including TLC's "No Scrubs." For that song, he introduced me to hip movements.

"Give a little scoop with your hips as you move," he said, demonstrating in front of me. "Good, good. Don't forget the tap. A little more from the hips. May I?"

"Of course, I have to learn."

"Right." He placed his hands on my hips. Despite his professionalism, that firm touch still gave me warm tingles everywhere. "Swoop a little more like this. That's it. Good. Much better."

He assessed me from different angles with that same determined look he had at the gym. I should have found it nerve-wracking. But there was something enticing about it.

Exciting...

"Now let's add the arms. You can keep it conservative with low arms like this. Or energetic with high arms like this. Or you can be more seductive..."

It wasn't easy to convince myself to move my arms and legs together after so many years of Irish dancing. While I practiced moving my arms and legs in sync, the mixtape changed sides. More recent hits blared out of the speakers like Ricky Martin's "Livin' the Vida Loca."

On a whim, I did something that would have given Mom a heart attack. I twirled and sauntered towards Eric with my hips swooping and tracing my hands down my curves.

Mean of me, I know. But I couldn't resist.

He blushed crimson and approached me. "May I have this dance?"

"Yes, please, good sir," I said, teasing him with a smile.

Eric used much more sophisticated moves than he'd taught me, but somehow our ensemble worked. Every once in a while, whether on purpose or by accident, his fingertips would graze some part of me. A hand. An arm. A shoulder. Nothing untoward, but definitely tingle-inducing.

The combination of music, dancing, and his occasional touch swept me away into a fantasy world, a place of true freedom with just Eric and me. Back in the real world, I lost my focus and tripped.

Eric held out his arms as if to arrest a potential fall, and I grasped his forearms to steady myself.

"Oops, sorry," I said with a sheepish smile. "Got a bit carried away there."

"That's fine." He gazed into my eyes. "You're doing well."

I found myself unable to look away as the mixtape changed sides. It started with a slow song. "Heaven" by Bryan Adams. A sentimental song from the eighties that would have made me roll my eyes a few months ago.

But I didn't this time.

"Are you ready for a slow dance?" he asked in that low, deep voice I craved.

I nodded, breathing heavily both from exertion and excitement.

"If you want to keep your distance," he said, taking my hands gently in his, "put your hands on the man's shoulders like this."

The room began to spin. I stared at Eric's chest to hide my nerves.

"If you know the man well and want to show him that you like him," he said with an audible swallow, "you can cup your hands around his neck."

"Like this?" I asked as I braved a quick glance at him. Eric blushed and nodded before I returned my hands to his shoulders.

"You don't have to move them," he said in a soft whisper that made my insides pool.

"I don't want to distract you."

"You do that already. Not that I mind."

I slid my hands towards his neck and cupped them. Eric placed his hands on my waist. "Now just gently sway. Not with the tap. Just sway and follow my lead at first. You can lead when you get more confident."

Gently we swayed in sync with one another in rhythm to the music. The songs melded into one another. Time stopped and slipped away all at once.

I felt so at ease in his arms that I almost fell into a kind of trance.

Eric whispered near my ear. "It's a good idea to look at your dance partner. To show him that you're enjoying it. And that you're not bored or uncomfortable."

"What if I'm too shy?" I whispered back.

"Just try," he said. "I'm sure he'll be shy too."

I braved a longer glance at him, and he gazed down at me with a mixture of admiration and reassurance. A smile spread across my face, and he returned it with his bashful half-smile.

When the mixtape finished, the play button popped up. He reached out and kissed my hand like a gentleman from the nineteenth century. A little squee of happiness escaped my lips, and his whole face lit up, his eyes twinkling.

"Better than any prom," he said. "That concludes our first lesson."

"Thank you. I loved it."

"My pleasure, Jess."

"I wish you could be there. With me. At prom. I feel at ease with you, but with a stranger?" I said, pursing my lips. "Or on my own? Care's great, but she's no better at dances than me."

"If you want me to be your prom partner," he said as he strode towards the boombox, "all you have to do is ask."

"Really?" I exclaimed. "But you're in college now. You've left all that behind. Aren't you glad?"

"Jess, I like you." He held up his hand to stop my humble protestations. "Maybe prom isn't your thing. Or mine for that matter. But if you decide to go, I'd love to join you."

My heart welled with happiness, and I discovered a confidence I didn't know I had. "I wish you would go with me, Eric."

"Then it's settled," he said with a grin. "Now go back to Helen before she thinks I kidnapped you."

When I looked at my watch, it had almost gone midnight.

Holy crap! How the hell did that happen?