“Feel it?”
“Is there a version of Strictly Ballroomfor club dancing?” Andy asked, but he was grinning again, teasing, leaning back into Scooter’s arm and letting his head fall back against Scooter’s shoulder. And he was moving, just a little—his hips, swaying in the rhythm, pressing back against Scooter’s body.
Both hands on Andy’s hips now and Scooter moved, rocking his pelvis, his fingers tapping the beat against the skin between Andy’s tee and the waistband of his jeans. “There you are,” he said encouragingly. Every third beat, Andy’s perfect backside brushed against Scooter’s thigh, and Jesus Christ, Scooter was going straight to hell.