Taking her hand, Bruce guided Selina to where the others were dancing, his other hand moving smoothly to her waist as though it belong there. "I'll do my best," he said, smirking faintly. "You know me - too much champagne and I'm about as graceful as a gorilla in roller skates."
He hadn't touched a drop, the glasses he carried around were purely decoration, their liquid dispersed as if by magic into other glasses around the room, but it was all part of the act. Selina didn't know that, but somehow, Bruce sensed that he never quite fooled her with his pretenses as the drunken idiot. Or, at least, she saw beyond it to something most people didn't, which was always surprising.
Beginning to move to the sweetly melancholic strains of an old Julie London song, Bruce let his eyes wander over her face again, his voice becoming softer and almost dropping out of the higher, "Brucie" register entirely into one that would be familiar to her in a far more surprising way. "You look lovely," he said.