Dancing wasn't exactly your thing, not because you didn't like it—but because it seemed kinda challenging to dance in a crowded gym like there was no tomorrow. Riff said you were thinking way too much, no one would pay that much attention to you... Bullshit, there was no way to be with him and not draw attention.

Was there any way to get this idea out of his stubborn mind? Exactly, no, not even you—who he treated like royalty living on the Upper West Side—could make him give up on taking you to a night where the dogs dance.

After much insistence, the kind that tested your patience and made you accept his invitation with a shout—he got what he wanted. You had dressed up so well for your first time at the gym that you had almost become a human version of those expensive dolls that rich little kids loved. Riff felt like he had forgotten how to breathe when he saw you.

It was strange at first, to say the least. You were more amazed by the way people danced than dancing with them, it was like the night was young, you were spellbound—until you felt large hands running down your waist, his whispers of affirmation giving you the confidence you needed that night.

Before you could think straight, you had already let yourself go more than you ever imagined—dancing and enjoying the moment you had, Riff was looking at you like you were someone he didn't expect. That was good, even though he couldn't take his eyes off you, especially when you danced looking directly at him.

He tried, he tried really hard to keep his hands off you for a few minutes—he wanted to see you dance for him, but he couldn't. His calloused hands found their way to yours as your back softly hit his chest. “You seem to be having a great time, if I may say so,” he whispered against your ear, leaving a soft kiss against your lobe.

Suddenly, he spun you gracefully in the air and you were facing him, a smirk on his lips as his hands returned to your waist—they were made to be there. “You don't look like you can't dance.”