A Preview of Grease Monkey Jive

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A romance about changing the game, finding the truth, and fancy footwork


When ballroom teacher Alex Gibson dances with Dan Maddox she’s reminded of the time she stuck a knife in the toaster, gave herself an electric shock, and saw stars.  He’s precisely the type of man Alex’s mother warned her off – a player, like the father who abandoned her. 

Dan Maddox comes from a long line of men who were hiding under the hood of a beat-up car when the ‘successful relationship’ gene was given out, but he was first in the queue for an extra jolt of chick-pulling power. 

The chicks in Dan’s life are universally gorgeous, random, and disposable, until one drunken night when he picks the wrong girl, hurts a good friend, and realises that unless he does something to change, he’ll end up like his violent, unstable father. 

It’s Pimp My Ride meets Dancing With The Stars as Alex and Dan come together to compete in a ballroom dancing competition that changes the way they both feel about relationships and love.


The Moment


When Alex was a kid, she gave herself a nasty electric shock by sticking a knife down the slot of the toaster to rescue her breakfast.  As the electricity gripped her in the seconds before shutting off, every muscle spasmed and the air crackled and fizzed with blue sparks.

She was twelve years old, had burned fingers, and was in lot of trouble with Mum and Gran.

She was twice that age now and hadn’t forgotten the intensity of that electric zap and how wildly it made her heart beat and her thoughts fly, from the sheer physical surprise and the recognition that she was in serious strife.

There was no toast, no toaster, and no knife anywhere to hand, but the sensation that struck her body when she looked into his eyes was the same.  Electricity pulsed through her nerves, leaped in her muscles, and fired inside her brain.  She was in deep trouble. 

All he’d done was lower his chin and raise his eyes, looking at her from across the room.  That’s all.  It barely counted as a movement.  It was more a re-positioning, more an adjustment than a conscious action, but everything changed in that moment.

The breath sucked out of her; the room closed in.  She felt energised and inspired beyond the bounds of her training and the encouragement of the music.  There was nothing she couldn’t achieve.  Her feet flew through the steps, her placement never more accurate, her leaps and kicks never higher, her body positioning and posture never prouder or more abandoned at the same time.

She danced on air, as a beam of sunlight might chase a shadow across the floor.  It was physically effortless and without the need to think.  She was carelessness and precision, passion and control, pure energy and heat.  She was the blue fizz and crackle, she was the shock of power, and she adored it.

When she got closer to him she could hear him breathing hard, see the dark blue of his bright eyes and their expression of wonder.  She caught fire.  When she circled around him, she saw tension flick along the ridge of muscle in his back and across the breadth of his shoulders.  The line of his jaw tightened and his lips twitched into a smile as he looked for her and the fire caught, flared, lifting her higher, giving her iridescent wings and divine purpose.

When the music stopped, the silence was hopelessly profound.  Her body became her own again and she felt the old stiffness behind her left knee and the too tight strap of her shoe. 

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