Short Story attempt #1: Dance with Me

This is a writing attempt for @gmuxx's writer's prompt, inspired by an image by @yusaymon. I forgot to include the image. Sorry.

As was typical, the cousins had wandered off on him, leaving him alone in the corner of the large room that served as the dance floor. They dragged him out every other weekend, ignoring his pleas of contentment in his routines. Last time it had been to Bingo where he had watched with bemusement the many, little Grandmas dabbing six, eight, twelve cards at a time while he struggled with the one card he thought he could manage. Tonight it was a dance. With real people. Some of them his age.

He wished he was at home. He had just started the new Jim Butcher novel and wanted to get a good ways through it before he had to be back at work. He wasn't the best at social interaction, he liked to point out that Charlie Brown meme about being socially awkward as his totem in situations like this one: dragged out and abandoned. He knew it was a falsehood, the dragged out part, he was quite capable of refusing to go anywhere if he chose to but he let the cousins drag him out here to these events. Still, that novel wasn't going to read itself…

It was too loud, he thought glumly, too dark in here. How do people function in this place? He watched the various silhouettes gyrate rhythmically, smelled the sweat that was joyously flung through the air in anarchic displays of pleasure. He could appreciate dancing. Rhythm was something he understood but this was beyond his comprehension, it was too loud.

As he silently calculated the distance home and tried to determine if it was within his ability to walk it, a hand snaked out of the dimness to his left and took hold of his, curling fingers around his and delicately pulling it upward. He looked down, taking in the fingers, smaller, smoother than his own, rings on two of them. He followed the curve of the thumb up to a wrist and up a smooth arm to the crook of the Elbow and farther to the shoulder.

She was wearing a sleeveless blouse, all he could recall later and wore her a crown of flowers in her curly hair. She leaned in close and whisper-shouted in his ear, “Dance with me!”

Her eyes bore into him and he was entranced even though he could not figure out their colour in the dark of the dance floor. It was too hard to determine but he let her walk him onto the floor and start the gentle dance. Sadé was playing on the loudspeakers.