Charles rolled his eyes. “That’s what all dancing is so you don’t have to act like you’re some fraud. Just tell me which videos. I want to watch them.”
I ran my hand over the strap to my duffel bag, toying with responses and wondering why the hell I was being shy. I’d never been shy. Even as a little kid, I’d been kind of entitled and demanding. A product of my mother treating me like a little prince up until the teenage years when she’d realized I needed a lot of sense slapped into me. I was better at it now, but until Charles I’d never skirted what I wanted for fear of rejection. But he was a fucking wild card. One I really wanted to keep in my back pocket.
“Why don’t you come in and I’ll show you?”
Charles crossed his arms over his chest, shutting me out with that one simple movement. I held up a hand to caution him that I wouldn’t press, but he surprised me by saying: “Sounds good.”
***
Charles
His apartment was nicer than mine. It shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did. I’d put a lot of effort into finding bits and pieces on Craigslist and various apps people used to hawk their old furniture, but it was still sparse. Mostly because Landon had considered my attempts at decorating the place to be a waste of time and money. Money that he’d never contributed to.
Luis, on the other hand, seemed to live for knick knacks. His front door opened to his makeshift dance studio the same way mine did, but he’d had the wooden floors polished to a shine. There was a Dominican flag in one of the big picture windows, and long sheer dark blue curtains hung around it. Besides those two items, and an enormous television spanning one wall, the room was empty. However, from what I could see of the living room beyond, it was decorated in rich earthy colors with random pops of color, little figurines and statues in a giant bookcase, and an entire wall of vivid island art.
“Wow.”
Luis dumped his duffel bag in a closet by the door. “Wow what?”
“Your place is…” I couldn’t help walking deeper into the house so I could get a better view of the artwork. They all looked like originals and were on a variety of canvases. “I’m impressed.”
“You should be impressed with my mom,” Luis said with a fond smile. “She collected a ton of art over the years on various trips to DR. She’s all about supporting local artists.”
He came to stand beside me. I knew he was surveying the paintings, but I couldn’t help but notice how close we were. I could smell his cologne, and it brought me right back to the basement. His body pressed against mine in the dark. Then his tongue swiping across my face. My dick stirred, and I cursed myself.
“It’s beautiful,” I said quietly. “Your affection for your heritage is really apparent.”
Luis winked. “Because my heritage is fucking amazing.”
After finding myself smiling at him again, I quickly turned back to the dance space. “So, the videos?”
“All business, huh?” Luis tsk tsk’d at me but returned to the studio and faced the television. He controlled it with his phone, using it as a remote control. “I’ll cast them from YouTube to the TV, but do you really want to see them all? I told you—I’ve been watching a ton for years. That act was a mix of like twenty videos plus just me growing up dancing to bachata and salsa.”
I unzipped my jacket, then my hoody, and sat on the spotless floor facing the screen. “I’m just curious. I haven’t…” A twinge hit me, but I knuckled past it. “I haven’t done my own choreography since school.”
“School?” Luis swiped at his phone, still standing. “Were you on a dance team or something?”
“I uh… I went to a performance arts college called Julliard. It was part of my—”
Luis looked back so fast he probably had whip lash. “You went to fucking Julliard?”
Heat flooded my face and my body. It was a struggle not to zip my jacket up and hide behind my scarf again. “Yes,” I said with an edge. “I know it sounds ridiculous since I—”
“My man, you’re basically professionally trained. Why are you making me play myself by showing you my bootleg-ass way of learning shit?”
It was the last thing I’d expected him to say. His somewhat embarrassed expression was also the last thing I’d expected. The combination of his bunched brows and him shoving his phone in his pocket jerked me out of the defensive conclusions I’d jumped.
“No, no, don’t say that.” I sat up on my knees and waved my hands in front of me. “Please show me? I just spent six months on a cruise being forced to do stilted cabaret for audiences who only attended because it was free.”
“Okay and?” Luis still wasn’t buying it. He’d shoved his phone in his pocket again and was still looking embarrassed. “How is this gonna ruin that weak ass memory?”
“Because I haven’t felt this excited about dancing in a long time. I avoided it for years after dropping out of Julliard, then I did that, and started to forget why I fucking love it. I was starting to feel like an idiot for missing it so much.” I sat back on my heels. “But watching you dance tonight, like, breathed the fucking life back into me. You were amazing. And knowing it’s all-natural talent? God. I’m obsessed.”
The sly expression returned to Luis’ beautiful face. “With me?”
“No, stupid. With your choreography.”
He sighed tragically but pulled his phone out again. “Fine. But if we’re gonna watch YouTube videos together, you need to take off your jacket and shoes. I don’t play that shoes-in-the-house bullshit.”
It reminded me so much of Stephanie and Jace that I laughed again. And this time, I didn’t try to hide it. Or the way I smiled wider in the face of his dazzling grin.
The little knot I’d carried in my chest for the past several weeks loosened. Once my shoes were off, my layers discarded, and I was sitting in the middle of his studio with music flowing around me, I almost felt at home.
Chapter Ten
Luis
It hadn’t taken long for watching to turn into dancing.
Charles seemed to experience performance with his entire body. He didn’t just watch or listen, he moved to the music seemingly unconsciously while analyzing each video and absently moving his feet as if mimicking the steps. I could tell he was itching to try them out. When I suggested he do so, he showed zero hesitation.
In nothing more than his bare feet, leggings, and a tank top that looked more like a shredded rag, Charles threw himself into it. I expected some degree of self-consciousness because it was obvious dancing to salsatón and reggaetón was new to him, but once he started moving I saw nothing but confidence. And that confidence drew me in.
By the time he’d upgraded from slowly following the steps and rewinding the video to perfect each part, to working up a sweat, I was dying to join him. I drummed my hands on the floor to the beat, nodding my head and grinning as my boy lost himself in the beat. Within an hour, he had every hip thrust, turn and twist, and step almost down to a science.
The only thing missing was…
“Muéve ese culo, papi.”
Charles looked back at me with his hair wet and sticking to the sides of his face. He stopped dancing, breathing hard, and nodded at me. “Can you show me?”
“You sure?” I teased, wiggling my eyebrows. “You’re the big shot Julliard grad.”
Charles rolled his eyes. “And you’re the one who actually dances professionally.”
“Professionally,” I drawled, getting to my feet and pulling off my shirt. I did not miss the way those big brown eyes absently took in my torso and tats. “You’re probably the first person to describe stripping that way to me.”
“Because most people are dumb fucks. Pole dancing is legit hard. I wouldn’t even have the leg strength or strength in my core to do it now.”
“I rarely pole dance,” I admitted. “But I’d love to watch you do it some time.”
Charles’ mouth twitched at the side. “Let’s focus on this for now.”
“Yeah we can.”
I winked. “For now.”
We replayed the video again, and this time I danced while he watched me. We went through it multiple times, pausing in some sections, with me demonstrating in slow motion how he needed to move his ass, before he did the same. I guided his hips at times, then stood behind him with our bodies pinned so he could feel the motion of my hips and follow through with his own. He got it just like I knew he would, but I didn’t sit down again.
Him practicing, and me teaching, evolved into us dancing together. Side-by-side and then modifying the dance as if we were partners showing off for each other. We let my playlist cycle through videos, dancing to each one. By the time we collapsed to the floor for a break, it was three in the morning, and I was drenched from sweat and exhausted.
“So hungry,” Charles moaned. His arms were flung out dramatically as he sucked in breaths, still recovering from a routine we’d bungled multiple times before getting somewhat right. “And I have nothing upstairs but champagne and cheese.”
“Fancy.”
He snorted. “Yeah, Ashton and my other friends brought it for me. They are fancy.”
There was a little edge in his voice when he said it, which hooked me in. I’d wondered about his lifestyle—how he managed to seemingly not work and stay home all day while I busted my ass to afford the apartment. After seeing him with Hollywood, I’d kind of assumed he was rich. Now? That seemed doubtful.
I rolled onto my stomach, leaning on my forearms, and ran my eyes over him. I deserved a fucking award for not getting wood while grinding all up on his ass the way I had while we were dancing. My body knew this was a precarious situation. Hitting on him was still uncertain territory. But us connecting through dance? That was a go.
“You can eat something here,” I said after a while. “Raid the fridge.”
“Really?” Charles rolled over to look at me. “Because I’m dying.”
I snorted and squeezed his chin. “Get whatever you want, lindo. If you don’t mind sharing that champagne.”
Charles’ lips curled up. “Go get it while I scavenge. Apartment’s unlocked.”
“Bet.” I bit my lower lip, still holding his gaze, then kissed his cheek. “I’ll be right back.”
I was on my feet and leaving my apartment before he could make a thing about the kiss. There was a chance he wouldn’t flip while lapsed in this post-dance euphoria that had his face rosy and eyes alight, but he was unpredictable. Leaving well enough alone was the right thing to do when it came to Charles. Letting this angry complicated man work things out on his own was the best plan—I knew that with every brain cell I had. But I also knew that his body called to mine and made it absolutely impossible to create the distance we probably needed.
“Luis, you stupid asshole,” I muttered to myself after letting myself in through the battered wooden door leading to his place. “Coño. Yo tengo que dejar de pensar con el ripio.”
His apartment was a big improvement from when I’d last visited. Besides the mess of his angry destruction, Landon had kept the place a mess. Now, even with the evidence of Charles having been in hermit-mode with one too many bottles of wine, the place was tidy and eclectic. There were paintings on the walls that I hadn’t noticed before—abstracts and water colors all themed with dance or performance. I wondered if Landon’s trifling ass had taken them down to further the impression that he’d lived alone.
Fucking scumbag.
Shaking my head, I found an unopened bottle of champagne in his completely empty fridge, and headed back downstairs. The music blasting through my door put a smile on my face. He’d switched from dance videos to stream a Princess Nokia album, and the sound of her old school hip-hop beats filling my apartment immediately uplifted me.
I padded to my kitchen all ready to tease him about raiding my playlists, but stopped in my tracks. He’d skinned out of his sweaty leggings and was standing in front of my fridge in nothing more than a pair of tight black briefs and his tank top. The refrigerator door half-hid the front of his body, but I drank in the miles of long legs, muscular thighs, and that tight round ass. His tank top was hanging off one shoulder, and his hair was wilder than usual as he half leaned over and studied the contents of my fridge.
Someone being that fine should be illegal. The fact that he looked fine while more than halfway naked and standing in my kitchen like he belonged here? That was just straight-up hacking.
“You haven’t found nothing yet?” I asked, setting the bottle on the counter. “Because there’s a bunch of—”
“Oh shit.” Charles leaned down, sticking out that big ass of his, and popped back up cradling several foil containers with plastic tops. “Please fucking tell me this is what I think it is and that I can have some?”
“Dominican food from R.A. Deli?”
Charles bounced on his toes. “Oh my fucking God. Please share?”
I burst out laughing, legit charmed by him being all bright-eyed and excited about DR cooking that tasted like my mom had come down from the Bronx to put it together. The place was a total hole in the wall on Forest Avenue, but someone’s abuelos were in the kitchen putting in serious work.
“Please, Luis?”
“Mmm. How can I resist you saying my name like that?”
“You can’t,” he said, arching a brow that disappeared into his halo of messy hair. “So gimme the food.”
“Heat that shit up then. I don’t fuck with cold food.”
Charles grinned again, so big it lit up his entire face, and began raiding my cabinets for plastic containers. I literally had none because I tended to heat up everything on the stove, so he settled for making two huge plates of food as I popped the bottle. With Princess Nokia rapping about New York, the smell of food filling the kitchen, and Charles sitting on the edge of my counter with his long legs dangling, all remnants of my earlier bad mood were totally gone.
Once both plates were hot, we sat in the middle of my dance studio with the lights dim and the music lowered. I drank from the bottle of champagne and watched him bite into a platano maduro.
“Mmmmm,” he moaned, closing his eyes and shivering. “So fucking good.”
“Is that why you took them all?” I teased. “Greedy.”
Charles’ mouth turned up again at the side. He was so stingy with his smiles. “I only took one more than you.”
“Still greedy.”
“Split one?” he asked hopefully. “I’m desperate for good food. This is dire.”
“Oh, well since it’s dire….” I leaned in. “Gimme a bite and we’ll call it even.”
He chewed slowly, eyelids lowered as he studied me. It was only after I parted my lips did he hold the remaining platano to my mouth. My lips brushed against his finger as I ate the second half, so I licked the sweet greasiness from his fingertips.
I chewed and swallowed, mindful of his gaze on my throat and my mouth. Before he could catch himself, I pushed forward and kissed him. It was brief, just a slight press of marginally parted lips, but he sighed against me. Emboldened, I kissed him harder, slicked my tongue against the seam of his mouth, and groaned when he let me inside.
There always seemed to be a high chance of me never getting to kiss him again, so I poured myself into it. Closed my eyes to the dim gold lighting, and the food and the bottle, while the music syncopated and everything faded but the taste of Charles’ mouth. The feel of his hand on my shoulder. His tongue sliding against my own. The way he sighed against me and slanted his mouth so I could taste even more of him.
He released a raw moan as my lips moved over his, and my dick throbbed in response. I slid my hand into all of that hair and curled my fingers into a fist, jerking him against me. He liked that. God, but he fucking liked that. He showed it by moaning again, louder this time, and attacked my mouth with the same hunger he’d showed for those tin takeout containers.
My entire body was burning, and I knew it was time to back off before I pushed the envelope a little too far, but he started sucking on my to
ngue. Yeah, he was as desperate for this as I was.
With my breathing already erratic, and my heart racing, I decided to give myself a heart attack by brushing my hand against Charles’ dick. He was rock hard and poking through his underwear. I dragged my fingers against the length, and he pulled away with a long throaty groan.
It was my cue, and I instantly took it. I sat back on the floor, still sucking in hectic gulps of air, and stared at the food. Thankfully, it still looked delicious even when juxtaposed by the magic of kissing Charles. Instead of saying some wack shit that would ruin the chill vibe we’d had going all night, I leaned down to shovel moro de guandules into my mouth.
“I need to learn how to cook,” I said around the food. “My mom isn’t trying to drive down here to feed me every weekend anymore.”
Charles took another deep breath, then grabbed another platano. “Did she when you first moved in?”
“Yup. She was paranoid about me living so far away.”
“You’re from the Bronx?”
“Yup. Val and Ashton live not too far from where I used stay at, although now they’re in some gentrified condo thing.” I leaned against the wall and balanced my plate on my lap. “Me and Val grew up talking shit to each other like every night at the boxing gym. We had different trainers who were both determined to make each of us the next motherfucker with the big name who would shine a spotlight on Cadet’s. Then he matured, and I kept messing with him just for the fun of it. And because I had a feeling dude wasn’t exactly hetero.”
Charles watched me for a second, then shifted so he was sitting beside me with his back to the wall. He relaxed visibly, shoulders dipping down as he tucked into his plate. “Why didn’t you try to bond with him instead of fucking with him then?”
“Psh. Because if I was wrong, and I went up to him all hey guy, I’m pansexual, and you are? There was a high chance of me getting my fucking ass whooped when he blabbed to everyone. Even when I kinda hinted at it while flirting with Ashton, I couldn’t bring myself to just come right out and say I wasn’t straight. I made it out like I’d make an exception for him.”
North Shore Page 10
