by Ines Saint
“Right, I’ll lead,” he agreed before pausing, “How exactly do I lead?”
“You have to tug me a bit. Gently, like this.”
He led, slowly moving them in a circular pattern to the left. “How do I spin you?” he asked, feeling adventurous.
She hesitated. Finally, she shrugged and explained, “When you step back, separate from me like this,” she demonstrated, moving away from him. “This is called open position and I then slide under your arm, like this,” she expertly twisted and turned, and he got a good and much appreciated look at her back side. Hello, J-Lo, he thought. When she met his eyes again, it was clear by her expression that she’d caught him looking. But she only shook her head and said, “And then back to close position.”
He tried spinning her, but was so distracted by the way she turned her body, he messed it up and she ended up tripping into him. Tenderly tugging her closer, he said, “I think I’m better at close position.” He held her gaze and leaned into her like she’d taught him as they continued to move together, holding the pattern.
Time passed, different music played, but he didn’t really notice. He felt lost to her and the music as they laughed while trying and sometimes messing up different steps.
He spun her again a few times, feeling an odd sense of pride the moment he got it right. She smiled up at him, as if she knew what he was thinking.
They began to dance smoothly and the underlying energy he’d been trying to ignore flowed between them more freely. He saw his awareness mirrored in her eyes. Their breathing was equally shallow, and though a consistent, balmy breeze prevented them from breaking into a sweat, her skin was aglow and she smelled amazing, like tangy coconuts, if there was such a thing.
As he looked down at her and studied her, he wondered why he was reacting to her the way he was. She wasn’t the first pretty girl he’d held.
She studied him, too, but while he knew his eyes never gave anything away, her expression was open and easy to read. She was curious about him, too, but her hesitance about it showed. He didn’t like seeing it there and without thinking, he gently tugged her closer.
• • •
As the steady and rhythmic “Ave Maria Lola” played, Keila continued to move to the music. Without thinking, she allowed him to pull her closer … and closer.
Lola, Ay Lolita Lola, a back-up vocalist’s melodic voice rang out, louder than the rest, and he might as well have been singing Keila, what are you doing Keila?
What this man had was what Tania had been warning her about for years. Sex appeal. She’d never really experienced its magnetic pull, and she’d begun to think she was probably, and thankfully, immune to it. But here it was, reeling her in.
Even his sweet and spicy scent was almost unbearably sexy. Keila made herself think of her boyfriend Mark, and wondered if she was, in a sense, cheating. Yes, it was just a dance lesson. But her body’s response to the man holding her had to be some sort of betrayal, especially in light of Mark’s constant complaints as of late.
Lola, Ay Lolita Lola.
The last chords of “Ave Maria Lola” died away and Rojita’s seductive salsa version of Frank Sinatra’s “Strangers in the Night” came on. Sensual salsa was danced closer, more slowly, and they continued to move together, completely in tune with one another. She felt enveloped in addictive sensations she hadn’t yet encountered in her twenty-six years.
It began to rain, just a trickle, and a few people began to leave, while others laughed and stayed. The rain tickled her cheeks, her lips, and her shoulders, and the sweet, earthy scent of wet grass permeated the air. But they continued to dance, their gazes never wavering.
Then, in the distance, Keila heard Tania’s voice calling her. Finally breaking eye contact, she looked up at the sky, taking in a deep, awakening breath. With great effort she put mind over body and decided it was time to leave. “I have to go.”
“Why?” he stopped dancing, but continued to hold on to her. “My sister’s calling me,” she explained.
“I don’t hear her calling you.” His voice was so low, it reverberated in her chest.
She laughed. “That’s because you don’t know my name.”
They’d stopped dancing, the rain coming down just a little bit harder.
“That’s right. I don’t.”
As they continued to stand there, Keila realized he wasn’t going to ask for her name. She realized she didn’t want to tell him anyway, and didn’t want to know he who was, either.
He was looking at her lips and she didn’t like how good that made her feel. It also made her feel guilty. She let him go.
Seconds later, as the last notes of “Strangers in the Night” died away, he released her.
“Bye,” she said, unable to think of anything else to say.
