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Summary
“You done much dancing, Bible?”
“I’ve done my share,” Boyd said, electing to ignore the unwelcome nickname in the same way that he was ignoring the soft heat that had started pooling under the collar of his uniform, “at church events and the like. Cookouts, barn-raisings, baptisms. That sorta thing.”
Don shook his head, slow. He was still smiling but it was a smaller, tighter thing, with an edge to it that made the hair on the back of Boyd’s neck prickle and rise. “I mean the kind of dancing you think I’m talking about,” he explained. “In the dark. Close and slow.”