By joining in the dancing, duh!

Fuck it, you think, when in Rome. You cautiously make your way further onto the dance floor as the woman goes back to her chaotic, and casually graceful, dance. You get close enough to talk with her, but this isn't a time for words. This is a time for action.

You bust out your best moves, the ones that got you through all your high school and college formals. Unfortunately for you, your best moves aren't all that great. You just about manage to keep time with the song, but anything more than swaying from foot to foot, nodding your head, and occasionally moving your hands in what you hope is a rhythmical way is beyond you.

Your dancing partner seems to enjoy your lack of skill, however, and you quickly find yourself swept up by her hurricane of movements. She enfolds you in her skill, somehow drawing you into the rhythm of the song. Wordlessly, she manages to break you out of your shell, and you leave behind all the worries of making a fool of yourself. You start moving from side to side, letting your hips take control, and feeling her lead the way through the song.

Before long, sweat is running down your face, and you feel your breath coming hard and fast. You hadn't realized dancing was this much work. You also hadn't realized just how good of shape this girl must be in. She senses, more than sees, you starting to slow down, and she effortlessly guides the dance away from the dizzying chaos of the middle of the dance floor, and towards the subdued outer edges. Once you are far enough away from the crowd of people, she slows down her dance until it is little more than swaying side to side, letting you join her and catch your breath.

She turns to face you, hitting you again with one of her stunning grins. The music is less oppressive here, although still too loud to have a normal conversation. For a while you both dance together slowly, her enjoying the music, you desperately trying to compose yourself. You take a moment to really look at her. She is easily a foot shorter than you, with long bleach blonde hair and piercing green eyes. Her body has the toned look of an athlete, and while no one would accuse her of having ample breasts, her slender figure fit her well. She was wearing a baby blue tank top and a pair of yoga pants, which you couldn't help noticing accentuated her quite toned ass whenever she spun around. You felt a little bad for ogling her, but you're a hot blooded man, and no one could really resist that.

Finally, you caught your breath, but before you could think of anything to say, she looks right into your eyes, nearly stopping your heart.

"You're pretty good!" She shouts, forcing her voice over the sound of the music, "where did you learn to move like that?"

"Uh, thanks, I guess," you reply in what you hope is a suave voice, "I don't really dance a lot. That was pretty much just flailing around." You didn't mean it as a joke, but she graces you with a tinkling laugh anyway.

"So, you're a natural then? Great! I love newbies!" She seems to take great delight in your embarrassment at that, laughing loudly again. Before you think of a response, she starts speaking again. "Hey, it's loud here, wanna follow me somewhere less noisy?"