Page 22 of For the Record

I guess that was a universal thing? I wondered how many more of his tattoos related to something in his past and how long it would take me to find out.

“Yes, sir.” He nodded.

“You’re still active.”

“I am.”

“Hmm.”

They stared at each other, some kind of silent back-and-forth happening between them. Maybe being in the military just ensured that you learned how to communicate telepathically.

Adam was taller by almost a foot, but my dad was strong. He never let a day go by where he didn’t work out in some kind of way. He used to say it was so he could keep up with my mom’s looks. A sad waste, considering she was currently somewhere in California, probably trying to seduce some poor man who owns a yacht into taking her on it and feeding her succulent grapes while she fans herself. Now I figured he did it because, though his mind was slipping, he wouldn’t allow his body to as well.

After an unusually long staring contest, my dad nodded, and a slow smile yanked his lips up. “How do you know my Rachel?”

Adam and I made eye contact, blood rushing to both of our faces and our eyes widening. It would be in his best interest if we didn’t mention how we’d met or what followed after.

“Layla is my brother’s fiancée.”

I waited for Dad to ask me who that was, but today must have been even better than I thought, because he nodded. “She’s a nice girl.”

Adam nodded back, and they went back to their silent stare off. This was…odd.

The beat over the speakers picked up, and I instantly recognized it as Four Tops “I Can’t Help Myself.”When I looked over at Dad, he smirked at me, raising his brows, and I laughed.

“I know, I know.” I reached for his hand to get in a free spot on the floor.

Dad turned to Adam, who had his arms crossed and was looking out at the floor like it was going to kill him to get anywhere near it. Looking over his shoulder, Dad asked, “You coming?”

He looked from the floor to us, making eye contact with me and widening his eyes in a look that screamed help! I winked back at him. Sorry, the look said. You’re on your own.

Adam cleared his throat. “I’ll, uh, watch.”

I chuckled. We would see about that.

“Put your hips into it, son!”

“I, uh. I’m not really a hips into it kind of guy, sir.”

I spun on my heel, turning away from where my dad was doing a samba, to face Adam. “Don’t listen to him, Dad. He totally is.” I winked with a laugh.

Adam groaned and followed my steps as I did a grapevine. He cursed when he almost stepped on Margaret’s shoe. She eyed him, and I wondered if she was going to threaten to pepper spray him again. It had happened four times since Adam joined us.

After fifteen minutes of sitting in the corner, several people from the group began pulling Adam into the circle. Probably from being hip-bumped back and forth like he was in a game of monkey-in-the-middle with some geriatric women that made him give up and join us.

“I’m only doing this so they will leave me alone,” he grumbled. I turned to see half the woman in the room now behind Adam, ogling as he made some attempts to follow the steps.

“Sure, you are.” I laughed and reached for his hand, letting our fingers slip together. The smallest hint of a smile tugged at his lips as I turned myself under his hand in a twirl.

The tempo picked up for the last round, and I moved next to Adam. I smiled over at him as he watched my dad’s feet move effortlessly. Dad had done each dance so many times by now he didn’t even have to think about it. It was pure muscle memory. I would be willing to bet money he even practiced the first couple of months at his house, making sure he knew it all perfectly before the next class.

As the song ended, everyone clapped, and we all attempted to catch our breath. It always managed to shock me how much work it took to keep up. No wonder some of the ladies were taking breaks. Between that and the way Adam’s pants clung to his behind, I could understand.

I sighed, taking a seat next to Adam, grateful when he handed me a new water bottle.

“Phew. It really tires you out, huh?”

Dad blew out a breath and stood in front of us, wiping the sweat off with his shirt.