I went up to the bar and ordered myself a club soda, then ambled over to the alternative side, where Pet Shop Boys was playing. I looked out onto the crowd clad mostly in black, as Kit came out of the darkness to stand next to me.

“See anyone you like?”

“Not yet,” I replied. “You?”

“There’s that new MIT professor Rafe, but he rejected me already.” Kit motioned with his head in a direction. “He’s that stocky guy in the purple button-down. Only the British can get away with wearing that outfit to a club.”

“Maybe I should check him out.”

“I’ll introduce you,” he said. I always appreciated how my friend wasn’t possessive about his crushes.

We meandered our way to the dance floor, where Kit said hi to Rafe, then introduced me as someone he knew from Harvard.

“Why are you wearing a Hoover shirt?” he asked, noticing the circle with the familiar lettering of the vacuum cleaner logo.

“It says Hooker, actually,” I replied, and enjoyed his look of mild shock before he laughed.

The three of us danced for a while, but Kit wandered off eventually. Though Rafe moved well enough to the beat, he did have the air of feeling out of place, his body self-conscious and hesitant. I could also tell that he liked the way I danced, as I got closer and noticed him steal glances in my direction. It was amusing to have the social upper hand, especially with a professor.

“So what do you teach?” I asked between songs as I assessed his square, open face, which managed to feel both rugged and kind.

“Philosophy. You?”

“I don’t teach anything, but I study English.”

“You’re not a grad student?”

“I’m a senior.”

I sensed his body tighten, but this New Order song I loved started up and I ignored his hesitation, started to dance closer, swaying and singing along to “Every time I see you falling, I get down on my knees and pray” while I placed a hand firmly on his back. From this distance, I could see the progression of his thoughts, the panic and the urge to excuse himself, then the decision to stay because he was too polite but also maybe tempted. His loss of composure pleased me, as I made it a game to find creative and not too lascivious ways to put my body in contact with his, my shoulder grazing his chest, my hip meeting his thigh, in small enough increments that we soon fell into a wordless understanding that we were dancing together, and our bodies touched because we were attracted, without anything getting too wild.