He takes her other hand and moves with her, finding the beat and guiding her along. There’s no force in his actions, there doesn’t need to be. She...isn’t drunk, not with classes in the morning, but it’s late and the club is packed, turning his warm, solid form an island of tranquility in the madness. He wraps an arm around her waist and she places the hand he has let go of on his chest. He’s at least a seven or an eight, she notes idly, a tall, gentle future doctor in a suit – miles out of her. "The man's expression relaxed, his eyes now those of a knowing confidant."Look, have you seen her?" Steven asked finally. "Black dress, brown hair, very pretty..." Ahh, yes. I do believe I have. But she couldn't be your wife, sir. She was..."He stopped in mid-sentence, his eyes now drifting upward as he seemed to savor the memory."Why? Why couldn't she? What do you mean?" Steven asked in near panic."I had a wife once, a very pretty one, much like yours, if I may say so, sir. She had tastes,. More

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