Ever since, it’d been her secret indulgence. She searched the internet almost daily for videos of couples dancing the tango. That’s how she found Nicolás…she just stumbled onto one of his competition videos one day and she was hooked.
Nicolás Aguirre was one of the world’s premiere tango dancers. Together with his many female partners, he’d won tango competitions all over the world. His movements were so full of grace and the way he responded to his partners—the closeness of their bodies, the suggestion of intimacy—inspired the most intense thoughts...
Sue teased her for her fascination. But she only knew half of it.
Nicolás had a studio downtown. Roni looked it up and she was shocked to realize he lived in San Antonio when he wasn’t flying off to Buenos Aires or Italy to compete. She went there sometimes and sat outside in her car, watching him through the huge windows that comprised the front wall of the studio, watching as he tried to teach housewives and executives the beauty of the tango as well as other Latin and ballroom dances.
None of those people could ever really appreciate the true art of the dance.
As she watched, Roni would often imagine what it would be like to dance in his arms. How amazing it would be to feel his touch, to be that close, to move with such elegance. But then she’d come back down to Earth when she remembered that she could hardly walk across a room without tripping over her own feet.
“We’re here,” Callie said, grabbing Roni’s hand to drag her out of the car.
Roni looked up at the restaurant and laughed.
“How did you know?”
“It’s your favorite.”
Sue slipped her hand through Roni’s arm. Callie took her other arm and Jane took hers. Together, the four of them marched up to the front of the Dairy Queen, laughing like a group of teenagers instead of the twenty-something computer system analysts they were.
“How can you not love a BeltBuster?” Roni asked Callie as she picked at the limp salad she’d ordered.
“Oh, I love cheeseburgers. But cheeseburgers don’t love me.”
“It’s my birthday…calories don’t matter today.”
“For you.” Callie picked up one of Sue’s fries and threw it across the table at Roni. “For people like you who could eat like this every day and never gain an ounce, it’s fine. For me…it would take me a month to work off all those calories.”
“Yes, but wouldn’t it be worth it?”
Roni took a big bite of her burger and Callie cringed. Then she reached over and stole a handful of Roni’s fries.
“Good girl,” Sue said, adding a few of her own to the pile.
“So, how does it feel to be twenty-five?” Jane asked.
Roni groaned. “I don’t feel a minute over sixteen.”
“You don’t act it, either,” Sue said.
“It would be sad to be too responsible. Then we’d be our parents.”
They all groaned. And then fell into a gale of giggles again.
As they were finishing their meal a few minutes later, one of the employees brought over four small Blizzards. Roni clapped her hands, eager to dig right in. Jane kind of looked at hers like it was an alien she didn’t understand while Sue and Callie looked at theirs with longing.
“What flavor is it?” Jane asked.
“Birthday cake, of course!”
They all laughed again, causing a couple a few booths away to get up and move. Roni pressed a finger to her lips, indicating the couple with a movement of her elbow.
“I guess we should try to act a little closer to our ages. Otherwise, we might get ourselves tossed out of here.”
They grabbed their desserts and stumbled out the doors, still laughing for reasons they probably couldn’t quite define except that they were happy. What was there to not be happy about? They were young, healthy, and single. The world was theirs for the taking.
Sue blasted the radio on the way back to the office, rocking the car with songs by everyone from Bruno Mars to The Weekend to Taylor Swift. And, the sad thing was, they knew every word of every song.
Roni was exhausted by the time she was back behind her desk, a dozen emails waiting for her immediate attention. Jane dropped a birthday card on the corner of her desk and Callie slipped a small box into her hand before she rushed off to get back to her own cubicle. Roni didn’t even have a chance to thank them for the gifts—an Amazon gift card and a new cover for her cellphone—but they knew her well enough, a funny email was more than enough.
She got a call from her mom almost the moment she walked through the doors of her apartment, Sue right behind her. They talked for a while, mostly about her brother’s inability to grow up and get a job. Her mother had been set to retire from her job as a high school principal two years ago. But then her dad died suddenly of a heart attack and Sean, Roni’s brother, decided to have a midlife crisis at the age of twenty-two. Roni did what she could, sending money to her mother every month, but it never seemed like enough.
“Love you, Veronica,” her mother said. “Go out and have some fun tonight. It’s not every day you turn twenty-five.”
An image of Nicolás crossed Roni’s mind. That would be her idea of having a little fun. Dance lessons…his arms around her. But, even if she had the coordination, the cost of the lessons was more than she could afford. It was never going to happen.
But she couldn’t tell her mother that.
“I will, Mom,” she said. “I’m sure there’s some club just waiting for Sue and me to come and stir up a little trouble.”
As Roni hung up, she caught Sue watching her from their small, galley kitchen, chopping onions for whatever concoction she was making for dinner.
“She worries.”
Sue nodded. “She wants to tell you to stop sending all that money, but she relies on it too much.”
Roni dropped into a chair and kicked her shoes off. “Well, I had a good time at lunch, so I wasn’t really lying. I just wasn’t completely honest.”
“Your birthday isn’t over. I’m making that soup you love so much for dinner.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to. And I have a gift for you. It’s over there in my bag.”
Roni glanced at her. “Now, you really didn’t have to do that. Putting up with me every day is gift enough.”
“You’re telling me. If you leave your shoes in the middle of the living room again—I nearly broke my ankle trying to get a glass of water last night.”
“Sorry.”
Sue shrugged. “It’s the white envelope on top.”
Roni got up, making a show of picking up her shoes and tossing them into the corner as she did. Then she pushed the flap back on Sue’s purse and spotted the envelope immediately. She assumed it was another birthday card, another gift card tucked inside, but then she saw the logo on the top left corner of the envelope.
“Oh, no, you couldn’t have!”
Sue was watching her, a satisfied smile on her lips. “I knew you would never do it for yourself.”
“But it’s so expensive.”
“I make good money.”
Roni opened the envelope and stared at the certificate inside. His name was written across the top, tucked into the logo of his dance studio.
Nicolás Aguirre.
“It’s enough for a week of private lessons,” Sue said. “I would have gotten you more than that, but they wouldn’t do it. Something about Nicolás not wishing to waste his time on those he doesn’t feel meets his requirements.”
“You met him?”
“His assistant.”
Tears filled Roni’s eyes. It was the most thoughtful gift anyone had ever given her. She rushed into the kitchen and threw her arms around Sue.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!”
Seduced by Two Magicians
By Celia Styles
I fluffed my hair in the mirror one last time, and dabbed at my lipstick with my ring finger; well, I might be hitting the town
without my fiancé tonight, but at least I looked damned good.
My heart did a little, unhappy leap when I remembered that Victor and I wouldn’t be spending our big, make-or-break trip together; that said, it could hardly come as a surprise to anyone who had been paying attention over the last few weeks.
Victor and I had been together for two and a half years when he’d proposed. And it had been as romantic and perfect you could hope for; after a quiet dinner, on a bridge, in Paris, where he’d swept me away for a short surprise break last year. And of course I said ‘yes’; this was a guy who I’d been in love with for years. There was no way I was going to turn down the chance to make him mine for life.
And then came the commitment phobia. I guess that a lot of people would argue that, since Vic proposed to me, he had quite the opposite of commitment phobia; to those people, I say it’s amazing what the prospect of actually marrying your girlfriend will do to a man. And it wasn’t as if he’d hired a bunch of prostitutes and fucked them in my living room (though sometimes I wish he had, just because at least then it would have made a good story). No, it was nothing as interesting as that. But Victor started flirting with my friends whenever they came over, spending more money that he specifically had on drink and pot, and generally doing all the low-level shitty things that dumb fiancés who haven’t thought about how their future wives might feel about all this have been known to do. And, though before I had consoled myself with the knowledge that I could get the hell out whenever I wanted with no real kickback, it was different now. I had officially said yes to spending the rest of my life with this.
There was a nagging little voice in the corner of my mind that told me I shouldn’t have said yes, but that voice became pretty insistent by the time I picked up Vic’s phone to answer it and heard an unfamiliar woman on the other end. That in itself wouldn’t have been so bad, but the look on his face when I went to pass on the message was enough to tell me that he felt guilty, even if he hadn’t actually done anything yet. Her name was India and he had met her through his work as a music promoter; she was a singer-songwriter, he was the skeevy older man who kept his number on his phone a little too long.
I’m sure you can picture what came next for yourself; screaming, yelling, shouting, bawling. There was a falling out. There might have been some storming-off and some slamming of doors (guilty as charged). But it wasn’t long till Vic had convinced me to let him take me on an all-expenses paid trip to Atlantic City, courtesy of the label he was working for. He got to poke around a few new bands, I got to soak up the sun, sex, and gambling of this knockoff Las Vegas. In retrospect, it probably wasn’t the best reason to give the relationship one last parting shot, but hey, it was a holiday. So I booked the time off work and hopped on a plane, letting Vic book up an expensive hotel on the label and ordering champagne through room service as soon as we walked through the door.
Then, of course, the reality of actually trying to pull off a make-or-break holiday set in. Within minutes, Vic was out the door and on the phone while I sipped on the cheap champagne, wondering if we would get to have make-up sex on the hotel bed. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to or not, but felt like I probably should.
Then, of course, Vic came wandering back in, shoving his phone to the bottom of his pocket, with that look of “oops-I-did-something-bad-ask-me-so-I-don’t-have-to-bring-it-up” I’d seen only a few days before.
“Vic,” I asked, trying to stay calm, “Who was that on the phone?”
He looked down, scuffing his feet on the carpeted floor before he answered. I knew even before the words came out of his mouth what his answer was going to be.
“Um, I was talking to Wanda.”
Wanda. Fucking Wanda. After all this time, and all those rows, Vic could never quite seem to shake the allure of his ex-wife. I’d met her, and sure, I totally understood why Vic still pined after her as much as he did- she was tanned, tall, smart, with the kind of smile that made you want to split your face in half just to match her. But it wasn’t until that very moment that I realized why she and Vic had broken up; because she was way, way too good for him.
“Vic,” I snarled, climbing out from the rubble of the suitcase I’d been unpacking.
“Rachel, please, you know she called me, and-”
“Like goddamn hell she did!” I exploded. “I know just as well as you do that Wanda has no fucking time for you any more, just like most women in the world, and that you were calling her because you wanted to make sure you couldn’t find your way back into her pants before you shacked up with me for good!”
“Look, I admit I called her, but it wasn’t like that,” wheedled Victor.
“Oh come on, Vic, let’s not make pretend any more. Maybe I should just fuck off for a while so you can go listen to your precious bands. Hey, maybe one of them’ll suck your dick, ‘cause I sure as hell won’t!” I snapped, grabbing a skimpy dress and heels and stuffing them in my handbag. If I was going to be stuck in Atlantic City on the brink of a break-up with my fiancé, then I wanted to at least look good. Hey, maybe I might even end up getting laid. I barely suppressed a grin at the thought. C’mon, Rachel, you’re not even out of his room yet.
Grabbing a handful of make-up, I swung the long strap of my handbag over my shoulder and stomped past Vic. “Have a great time in Atlantic City, you douche. Don’t expect to see me back here any time soon.”
I brushed by him and out the door, slammed it, then leaned back against the wall outside, letting out a deep, long breath. That had felt way better than it had any right to- sure, I had just broken up with my fiancé, and my heart twinged a little when I thought of it that way. But I had just chucked Vic, and when I thought of it like that, I wanted to dance up the corridor and sing out loud. It was about time that the dumb bastard got what was coming to him. I was pretty sure that this meant I didn’t have to marry him now. Thank God we never set a date or sent out invitations.
Stamping down to the hotel lobby, I found a bathroom and quickly changed into the clothes I’d grabbed from my suitcase. A short, black and blue dress that skimmed over my curves, tight around the breasts and ass, along with some towering black cage heels that made any outfit look badass. While Atlantic City probably wasn’t the best place for a stylist like me to display her wares, it wouldn’t hurt to know that I looked smoking hot as I hit the town. Fuck it, I had nothing to lose, and I might as well have some fun while I was there.
Slipping on my heels, I inspected my make-up in the mirror. Re-touching my eyeliner, I slicked on a layer of blackberry-purple lip stain and wiggled another coat of mascara over my eyes. Stepping back so I could admire myself, I had to admit I didn’t look half bad. Fluffing out my dark brown, breast-length hair, I pulled my dress down so it showed a little more cleavage (of which I had plenty), and smoothed it over my ass so it showed off every curve. I didn’t work this hard for this body so I could hide it every day. But the main thing I noticed in my reflection was the sparkle in my eye; the kind of look that said “hey, anything could happen tonight, because you just dumped your good-for-nothing fiancé”. And that was a look I really liked. Only one more touch- I slid my engagement ring off my finger, and left it sitting next to the sink. I didn’t need it any more.
Marching out into the lobby, I caught a couple of heads turning to look my way- damn, that felt good. I usually avoided looking as straight-up sexy as this, but it was awesome to be noticed, and the feeling sent a little shiver of excitement through my whole body, spreading over my belly and down my groin. It had been a long time since I’d last had good sex, and I promised myself that tonight I would find someone to hook up with. Maybe now was the time to explore those fun lesbian fantasies I was always having? Slow down, I thought to myself- you’ve only just broken up with him, and you’re here for three nights. Might as well spread out the debauchery a little.
The hotel was attached to one of the bigger casinos in the area, and, as I stepped out on to the floor, I could see why this was such a popular dest
ination. It was opulent in a completely over-the-top way, packed with gilded gold this and deep scarlet that, the whole room studded with that kind of cheap luxury that generally leads directly into dirty sex in a hotel room after a big win and a lot of cocktails. Or maybe I was just getting a bit ahead of myself. I sincerely hoped not.
Suddenly, I spotted a large, bustling crowd across the room, packed around a garish pair of auditorium doors. There must have been a couple of hundred people, at least, and there were more people gravitating towards the crowd from across the room. What the hell was going on in there that made it so special?
Wandering over to one of the many bars peppered around the casino, I casually glanced over at the sign over the auditorium door. In glittering gold letters, it read “White & Brown”.
Well, even for me, those were two names that didn’t need any introduction. White and Brown were one of those double-acts that became eponymous with the industry they were working in; Laurel and Hardy for comedy, Woodward and Bernstein for journalism, and White and Brown for magic. I had never been much of a fan of magic myself, but the thought of getting a few cocktails and shooting glances at handsome strangers as the night wore on was very tempting, so I casually wandered over and joined the queue. It was surprisingly liberating to be doing this by myself.
Suddenly, the crowd surged forward in one motion as the doors opened. There was a rush for seats near the front, and I idly wandered to the middle till I found a one-seater table that gave me a perfect view of the stage. Catching the eye of a passing waiter, I asked for a rum and coke- make that a double- and settled back in my seat. Now that I thought about it, I remembered spotting White and Brown posters up at my local theatre, and almost losing my train of thought as I ogled at the pair of handsome men that stared back at me, grinning mischievously. Hmm. Maybe I wouldn’t have to look too far to share some meaningful looks tonight. The waiter arrived with my drink, and I took a long sip, trying not to grin to myself, as the lights went down. Damn, that was quick; I wanted to scope out any surrounding hotties to flirt with during the show. Oh well, I would just have to try and enjoy the magic for what it was.
Romance: TOXIC (Forbidden, Pregnancy, Taboo Romance, Stepbrother Romance, New Adult Short Stories) Page 4
