I told Ethan to go home and put on something nice, and to pick me up at seven. We’d been spending almost all our down time together – being with him was addictive, and I never found myself wanting to fight it. But something about tonight felt different. I wanted to look extra gorgeous for him when I felt his body grinding against mine in the heat and noise of the club.
I swiped some mascara and long-wear red lipstick onto my face and swept my hair half-up. I knew I'd be covered in a sheen of sweat within fifteen minutes of dancing at Ponce Pequena, and nobody liked trying to unstick hairs from their face. I slid my feet into my strappy black heels, which were actually designed for dancing and other footwork. I'd picked them up on an LA set when I'd been one of the stunt doubles for a ballroom fight scene.
As I was finishing up the quick check of my apartment to make sure lights were off and heat was turned down, I heard Ethan's knock. I hustled over to the door, loving the unusually feminine feel of my breasts jiggling in a standard bra, as opposed to being held firmly in place by my typical sports bra, and my hair swishing against my mostly-bare back.
I pulled the door open and was treated to the sight of Ethan's face going from his calm-and-cool pre-date smile to completely shocked in less than a second. "Wow," he said. "You look..."
My lips twisted into a smirk. "Watch where you tread here, my friend."
"You look ready for a night out." He reached out, smooth as anything, grabbed at my waist, and tugged me to him. He lowered his lips to my ear and murmured, "I'm not used to seeing you in a dress. That's all."
My breath hitched at the way he ground the words out, as if seeing my curves through my clothes was very much different than seeing them without my clothes.
"Stop that," I said, trying to make my breaths even, "or we'll never get out of here. And I heard the band is going to be incredible tonight."
"As long as you promise we can come back here," Ethan said as he pulled back, his eyes sparking. "After I see those curves in action." He kissed me once more, soft and slow. The gesture had a patience to it that I rarely experienced with him. It spoke of something abiding and true.
“I love you,” I breathed, responding to the sweetness of his kiss with words.
“Is that why we’re going on a relatively calm date now?”
My brows furrowed at him. “I don’t understand.”
He leaned in to kiss right beneath my jaw, which he knew made me weak in the knees. His question had set me on edge, though. “I just mean that if we’re going to be together for a good long while, like people in love plan to be… maybe you’re thinking of laying off the life-threatening hobbies just a little bit? So I can sleep at night?”
“Are you saying that you only love me if I agree to stop skydiving?” I stepped back and planted my hands firmly on my hips. If it weren’t for my skimpy salsa dress, I would look like my mother standing in the kitchen, reacting to one of my brothers saying they wouldn’t be attending Sunday dinner.
“Natalia,” Ethan said, his expression instantly softening. “No. That’s not – I’m sorry, okay?”
“No, not okay. What did you mean when you said that?”
“I didn’t mean anything. I spoke without thinking. It’s just – I’ve been on cloud nine since you told me you loved me, and I guess my thinking just got away from me. I want a future with you, Natalia.”
A lump formed in my throat. “And you only want it if I agree to calm down, stay home?”
“No. That’s not what I meant. If it sounded like that, it was wrong. I swear.” Ethan got down on one knee, and the sight made my heart kick against my ribs. Half a second later, though, he got down on the other one, and raised his clasped hands up in front of his face, the very picture of a begging man. “Please. Forget I ever said anything. I love you, I love your dangerous hobbies, and I’m sure I will love salsa dancing. Just… please promise you’ll be as careful as you can.”
I didn’t know exactly what he meant by that, but hopeless affection for this man rushed through me. I didn’t agree with what he’d said, but I still reached my hand down, motioning for him to take it. “Get up, Ethan,” I sighed, making sure he saw my smile.
Looking giddy, he pulled himself up, then glided his hands over my arms, thumbs brushing my biceps. “Have I ever told you how sexy it is that you’re so strong?”
“You can stop with the groveling, mi amor,” I muttered.
“Good,” he grinned. “Because I don’t want us to be late for our date tonight.”
"You actually sound excited for one of my dates," I said as I stepped into the hallway and locked the door behind me. "Maybe I didn't try hard enough to shock you."
"Don't get me wrong," he chuckled. "I am like one percent excited for the dancing and ninety nine percent excited to see you doing the dancing. Besides, I thought this was one of my dates."
“Going to a salsa-dancing nightclub is your idea of a safe, calm date?”
* * *
“Well, it’s not skydiving. Besides, I asked you to take me, didn’t I?”
* * *
“I guess you did,” I said with a soft smile. "Okay," I said as I followed him down the dingy concrete stairs to his car. "I guess this date belongs to both of us, then.”
“I like the sound of that,” he said as he opened the car door for me. I wondered if this date was only time we’d ever be able to find middle ground on something we truly enjoyed. I wanted to believe it wasn’t, but Ethan’s comment from earlier haunted me. Could it really be possible for us to find a space of compromise between our two lives?
We'd gone on so many dates by now that our routine was like breathing. In the weeks we’d been together, we’d been to farmer’s markets, horseback riding, rock climbing, and cooking classes. Whichever one of us had planned the location would punch it into the GPS, and we'd let the robotic voice direct us. The surprise of the location was part of the fun. Though the salsa dancing date was no surprise, the location of Ponce Pequena would be.
About twelve minutes later, we'd arrived halfway across the city, in a section of a North Philly not known for much of anything – unless you were into salsa dancing. Not the kind of salsa with glow sticks and flashy lights and half assed 'classes' for newcomers, either - this is where those of us who had grown up surrounded by the music and the moves could come to blow off some steam. I loved it so much here that I'd made it a point to never date anyone I'd met at one of these places, or to even go home with one of them. I wanted to keep this place separate. All to myself.
Until Ethan.
Maybe that was what tonight was about. I wanted to show him the real heat and chaos and recklessness of an authentic salsa club, because, in some way, it was a metaphor for my life. Nothing more, nothing less.
The club was simply the very large concrete basement that stretched underneath a couple of unassuming office buildings in North Philly with worn-out signs. If you went around the side of those buildings to the alley, there was a heavy metal door that you could tug on just the right way to wrench open, which opened to a narrow concrete stairwell with flickering lights. I didn't miss the uneasy look on Ethan's face as he took the whole process in, and I let myself smirk a little at his Philly innocence. This city was nowhere close to the craziness of Manhattan, but for any smaller town, an underground salsa club probably seemed exotic and a little dangerous. Which, I figured, would make this fit into our date parameters. Technically.
With a slight pang, I realized I didn't know exactly where Ethan had grown up. Didn't know that much about his childhood, or life before UPenn, at all. But I shook the thought off. I could ask him about those things later. Tonight was for amazing music and dancing.
"When they ask you the question at the door, say L.A. style," I said to him with a grin.
"Okay...." Ethan trailed off as we approached the second door.
A tiny woman with a long, shiny ponytail, fingerless gloves, and a tight-fitting leather jacket opened the door. She tilted her chin up at me, ta
king me in. "Natalia. It's been a long time, chica."
"I know, Solana. I'm here for just a few weeks, and I wanted to show this place to my..." My eyes flicked to Ethan's. "To my boyfriend."
Solana raised an eyebrow. "This young man came here to dance, did he?"
"Y- yes. Yeah, absolutely," Ethan choked out. Everyone was terrified by Solana the first time they met her, despite her being barely over five feet tall. There was a hardness to her pretty face and an elegance to the way her she held her hands that suggested she could lay out someone twice her size and barely ruffle her perfectly shiny hair.
"Si, verdad? Bueno, Cubano o Rueda, chico?"
"Uh... I prefer L.A. style," Ethan adorably squeaked. I couldn't help but let out a little laugh.
With that, Solana's chin tilted up and a wide smile stretched her lips. "Ok, bienvenidos then! Enjoy Ponce Pequeña, you two."
I laughed and dragged Ethan inside the low-ceilinged room by one hand. “What does the name mean?” he asked, speaking into my ear so I could hear.
* * *
“Ponce Pequeña,” I said. “Little Ponce. After the town in Puerto Rico the owner comes from.”
He nodded, taking everything in. His eyes roved everywhere, taking in the tight space, the Tiffany-style light fixtures that dotted the space with light here and there, leaving some places highlighted in absurd color and others almost too dark to see your partner. The scent of cigarette smoke wafted in and out - it was allowed here, at the bar and on the edges of the dance floor, unofficially. In the middle of the vast, poorly - lit space was a mishmash of amps, microphones, speakers, and a drum set on fold-out riser platforms that could very well have been made and purchased before I was born. Situated between all those things were several musicians, one standing ready at the timbales, a couple trombone players, and another holding a cowbell at her side while adjusting the angle of the microphone.
"Ay, Natalia!" The woman with the cowbell stepped down and embraced me, pulling me close. "It's been too long," she said, rocking me back and forth slightly, like she was savoring the hug. I couldn't lie - I did, too. Esperanza was one of my mother's oldest friends. She'd always lived in this area of Philly, which meant I'd only seen her for holidays, graduations, and the occasional Sunday dinner but they'd still been close. I knew seeing her here would be a weird mix of happy and devastating.
"Since the funeral," I said when I pulled back and gave her shoulders a squeeze. "This is Ethan," I said, stepping back a little so that he could move to my side.
"You came to show him a real salsa club, huh?"
"What makes you think I'm not a pro at all this?" Ethan asked with a teasing smile.
"Because, my dear, this is the only real salsa club in the city, and I am here almost every week, and I've never seen you in my life." Her eyes flashed, and she reached up to pinch Ethan's cheek with the hand not holding the cowbell. My heart panged, watching her. Totally something Mamá would have done.
It hit me like a punch to the gut, then. Mamá would have loved Ethan.
Thankfully Esperanza excused herself to get ready for the next set before the tears stinging my eyes could fall.
I took the opportunity to pull Ethan, who peered at me with his typical brow-wrinkle of concern for a second, to the side to teach him the basic moves. “So, it’s on an eight count, yeah? Forward one, back two and three, rest four. Then start with the other foot and do the same thing backward. One hand in mine, the other on my back,” I continued, ducking into the circle of Ethan’s arms, “And then I just do the opposite of whatever you’re doing.”
“Okay. And that’s it?” He was a little too confident about this for my liking. I wanted to keep him on his toes.
“Well, there are twirls and traveling and some fancy twists,” I said. I could see panic rising in his eyes and grinned. “I’ll lead. We’ll do whatever you’re ready for. The point is for everyone to have fun, not only for the best dancers to be allowed to dance. Good music, good people, yeah?”
Ethan nodded. “Gotta say, this is nothing like the clubs I’ve been to.”
I nodded, squeezing his hand. “And this is going to be about ten times more fun. You’ll see.”
A trumpet blasted the opening notes of Ese No Soy Yo, and I stepped in close to Ethan. My whole body thrilled when he pulled me tight to him, and I could practically feel everything from the hard planes of his stomach to the flex of his bicep to the vague hardening of this below-the-belt equipment. My heels put me at about equal height with him, so I only had to lean forward, tipping onto the balls of my feet, to brush his ear with my lips. “Just feel me. Okay?”
Ethan huffed out the same laugh he always did when he was happily overwhelmed, and I tucked my head into his shoulder, grinning against the skin of his neck. For a few dozen bars of the song, which was one of the slower pieces of this band’s set, we just rocked through the 4-count back-and forth steps, until I felt that our legs were nearly as close in their movements as our middles were. I added in a twirl, spinning in the circle of his arms and making sure my ass brushed his crotch halfway through. When I faced him again, there was a fire in his eyes that meant happiness and thirst all at the same time.
I always felt sexy when I danced this way, but dancing with Ethan to this music, in this place, with these moves that were as natural to me as breathing, to thrusting my hips forward or my chest out when we were in bed together… this was something electric. Something that enveloped my body and mind, something that connected me inextricably to my partner. Sure, we stepped on each other’s feet plenty, and I received more than one elbow to my side. My ankle tweaked once or twice when I tripped over his misplaced foot, and I was pretty sure one of my big toenails had been chipped and would now look gross for weeks.
But then Ethan got more and more comfortable with each spin or double-step and he started to pull me tight to him at the end of each one. His hands moved sure and strong to grip at my waist, to cup my ass cheek and haul my thigh up over his hip. After only four songs, I would have sworn, standing there in that low-lit concrete room, that something between us had changed. It was like our bodies had communicated without our minds getting in on the action, and now that the connection had been made, it would be nearly impossible to sever it.
The music stopped, and I looked up to realize that Ethan and I had not, in fact, been the only two people in the room. The dance floor had gone from dotted with dancers to nearly full – it was like they had come out of the walls, or something. More likely, they were mixing especially strong margaritas, and the only thing that could pull all these mostly middle-aged people from the excellent bar was the even more excellent music.
“That’s it for this set, we’ll be back in ten,” Esperanza’s low alto announced from the mike. “Antonio’s making his famous Cuba Libres, I hear, and nothing would make him happier than to put too much Don Q in one for you. He gets less generous as his supply drops, though, so get over there sooner rather than later.”
“What is a Cuba Libre?” Ethan asked. “Honestly, I’m kind of embarrassed that I have no clue. With all the partying I did in college, you’d think I’d know.”
“Not even you can know everything,” I said reaching up to tug at Ethan’s tie. “I know it’s hard to believe, Mr. UPenn, but there are some things you can’t learn by living at school for four years. No matter how like a fish you are.”
I could have sworn I felt him stiffen just a little at that, and a flash of heat went through me at the thought I had hurt him somehow. But he just dropped a soft kiss on my lips and said, “I can’t think of anyone better to teach me the things I don’t know. Which you have to admit are very, very few.”
I tipped my head back and laughed, relief more than amusement coursing through me. “How about if we have a Cuba Libre – a rum and coke, by the way - then dance some more, then you can show me some things I might not know yet? In the bedroom?”
He tugged me close to him again, like he was ready to step back into the dance, ev
en though the music had gone silent minutes ago. “Your plans might be crazy sometimes, Natalia, but they are always, always fun.” Then he kissed me hard and said, “Take me to the bar.”
I laughed again, then pulled him through the crowd toward the three folding tables set up in front of a wall of rolling coolers that constituted the bar. I knew that lots of patrons here had tried to convince Antonio that he needed to upgrade, even if it was one of those cheap DIY projects where you re-fashion a couple of leftover shipping palettes into a bar. But he would just scowl and wave each and every one of them off, then launch into a long speech about how this was cheap and portable, and did we want him to lose profits just so he could have some fancy bar that he couldn’t even take anywhere with him?
Plus, if you complimented his business savvy and frugality, he tended to add more spike to your drink.
Drinks in hand, we settled into a spot against the wall, with our shoulders pressed against the pitted concrete bricks. I smelled like sweat and the wispy hairs that had broken free of my updo stuck to my forehead. I twisted my hair and hefted the thick mass over my shoulder, then fanned my chest with my free hand.
“You were spinning like a tornado out there,” Ethan said, letting his eyes sweep down to where I was trying to wave the sweat away with that gaze I knew only as hungry. I grinned.
“You weren’t so bad yourself. And you got just as sweaty as I did, so…”
“I don’t know, I kind of think that makes me more pathetic.” Ethan’s lopsided smile made my breath catch. “You were hardly even panting. By the end of that set, I didn’t know if I could handle another song.”
“Well, you’ll get better.”
“Call me crazy, but those words sound like they’re coming from someone who’s planning on bringing me back here,” Ethan said. He watched for my response, patient and unguarded. My heart seized. Wanting to show Ethan this place came from my heart. Planning to bring him back here was a promise about my future that I still couldn’t give. Philadelphia wasn’t my home – it hadn’t been since I was a kid, and since then, I hadn’t wanted it to be. Yes, I had a job here – no, it wasn’t my dream.
Just Let Go Page 20
