You're standing in the crowd with Ellie, your warmth radiating on her cold, shivering body. You stand in the middle of the dance floor, some old, sappy love song from the 80s is playing. You're teaching Ellie how to slow dance, and you can tell she seems a bit embarrassed.

"Babe, what the hell do I do with my feet?" She whispers to you, squeezing your hand. You can feel the soft crevices of her skin on your palms, one hand on the small of your back right above your rear.