Held A New Adult Romance(71)
Except we’re not like that. Not exactly. When I stretch my legs out towards him he takes hold of my ankles and dumps my feet in his lap, like we had a lifetime’s familiarity behind us. I kind of like it; it’s peaceful. No pressure.
But as usual I have to prod – not like me to leave anything alone. “Are you seeing anyone right now?” I ask.
He glances over at me. “Nope.”
“Were you?”
“Since us?” He shakes his head. “No. Nothing serious. I was never in one place for long enough.”
“Weren’t you surrounded by groupies?”
He laughs. “Not really. And most of them aren’t girls you want to mess with.”
“Why not?”
“Young,” he says. “Real young. They say they’re eighteen...”
“Oh, I see.”
I push my foot against his thigh and he gives me a teasing, sidelong look.
“I told you,” he says. “Nothing serious. And none of them were like you.”
“Crazy, you mean?”
“No,” he says, with a glint in his eye. “I mean they could dance.”
I kick him gently. “Asshole.”
He laughs and I’m dizzy with the sense of my own brand-new freedom. That I can say these things and not worry that the repercussions will bleed out for days, weeks – it’s enough to make my head spin. In a good way. On the screen, Jack Lemmon tangos back and forth, stone-faced, a rose clenched between his teeth. Jaime laughs. This was always one of my favorite scenes.
“I’m gonna learn,” I say. “It’s not my fault I never had enough lessons.”
He yawns. “I don’t know. You might just be too white.”
“I’m so not.”
“Amber, you’re practically ultraviolet. Insects mistake you for a bug zapper.”
I can hardly breathe for laughing. “Rude.”
“I told you – the tango’s a criollo thing. It’s a lot of wailing about crossing the ocean and missing the motherland.”
“You don’t think I’m familiar with that? I’m part Irish, for God’s sake.”
He laughs, but I get up from the couch and hold out my hand. “Once you told me there was love and loss at the heart of the tango,” I say. “And I think I know enough about that, don’t you?”
His expression turns serious. “You do,” he says, and stands up.
Jaime leads me to a space near the windows. “Do you remember?” he asks, holding out his arms.
“No. You’ll have to remind me.”
He takes me through the steps once more. I’m inexpert and unsteady and I keep missing beats. When he tells me to follow his lead I stiffen up and he laughs.
“Amber, relax – I feel like I’m dancing with a Swiffer mop.”
“Were you always this mean or was I not paying attention?”
“I was playing before. Now I’m giving you a dance lesson. Here – give me your hand again. That’s it.”
His other hand is on my waist. I keep telling myself not to look at my feet, but when I look up I meet his eyes and they’re dark and soft, with a purposeful expression that makes my stomach flutter.
“It’s all in the hold,” he says, so close I can feel his breath warm on my lips. “I’m not supposed to be pushing you around the floor – we move as one.”
“Okay.”
“You’ll get used to it. Pay attention to where my hands and feet steer you and I’ll pay attention to where your body leads me, okay?”
My breath catches in my throat. “No fair. You can’t talk to me like that after I’ve had a few drinks.”
He gives me a reproachful look. “I thought this was dinner and a movie.”
“It is.”
“Good. I thought we were going to go slow...this time.”
I glance up at him. “There’s a ‘this time’?”
“There is, right?” he says, looking suddenly anxious.
“Yes. I’d like that.” I sway on my heels against him. He wraps his arms around me and we stay like that for a while – held, but with space to breathe.