"Well, that sounds good to me, but I have to be at work at eight."
"Then I guess that means you can only fuck me until seven thirty."
"It's terrible that I can actually imagine the expression on your face when you said that."
"You're starting to sound like you might be a little obsessed with me. So get over here so I can give you some more to obsess about."
We hang up, and I change into something a little more comfortable. Well, a little more appropriate for my guest.
God, what is it about him that has me all confused and excited and feeling like a crazy person? Just the idea of him coming over here thrills me. I've enjoyed getting to know him, talking to him, making crappy omelets with him. As much as he gets under my skin and annoys me sometimes, I feel like the very things that bother me are also the things I'm drawn to. He's nurturing. He cares about his son. He spends his life helping people who he knows nothing about. Yeah, he's a little bossy, but something that functional in the bedroom is not anything worth complaining about.
When I hear a knock at the door, I holler, "It's open!"
Jackson walks in, and I can already tell by the look in his eyes that, regardless of anything he says or how he acts, all he wants is to stop playing around and just take me right here and now.
"So what is this thing you need help with?" he asks as he approaches me. "And why are you wearing leggings?"
By leggings, he means only leggings since I opted out of wearing a shirt.
"You're helping me out with my tango class, so I figured you at least get to enjoy the view."
"A tango class?" He tenses his shoulders.
"Just chill the fuck out. I didn't ask you to give me a kidney. I said I need help with a dance. I sort of teach this class. It's a silly little thing I do. Not a big deal."
"Where do you do this?"
"Cypress Grove. Why does it matter?"
"And what led you to start teaching a class there?"
"Clearly because I'm wildly attracted to old people. Now, old man, will you come here and dance with me?"
He smiles but hesitates before moving closer.
"Come on. Put your hands out. I need to show you the positions."
"I can show you some positions."
"The tease is only gonna work so long."
"It's gotten me this far, hasn't it?"
I grin. "Right now, it'll get you as far as you wanna go." I push up against him and position our arms appropriately. "Now, these are the steps-wait, wait."
I head over to my laptop, turn on some music I pulled up on iTunes, and head back to my dance partner. "It's gonna go one, two, three, and when I step forward and to the side a bit with my right foot, you mirror that step backward. When I move straight forward with my left leg, you move your right back and just follow my lead, and we'll move in a circle around the living room."
"I don't think I like you leading."
"I don't like it either, but this is the easiest way for me to teach it, and you can't be in control all the time. And dancing, like with sex, isn't about one person taking charge and doing all the work. It's about us working together."
His jaw tenses.
"Are you really that weird about dancing?"
"No. I'm just having to restrain myself from throwing you down on the couch and showing you how good I am when I lead."
Goose bumps prick across my arms, but I don't figure he'll be following through with anything, so I take a deep breath-one that isn't going to do much for the boner in my pants.
I roll my eyes. "I'm not falling for it this time." But I totally am.
I show him the most basic moves, but he struggles, second-guesses himself with each step. I'm stepping on his toes, and I don't step on toes. But he has the same issue I had when I started taking the classes.
When he stops again, he waits for me to move.
"Just wait," I say. "You're doing that thing."
"What thing?"
"Every time you think about a move, or what I told you, if you step the wrong way, you stop and start thinking about what I said or what we're supposed to be doing. Don't do that."
"Then what am I supposed to do?"
"Keep moving. It's what my teacher said to me when I took tango classes for the first time. The temptation is to stop and figure out what you did wrong and correct it, but sometimes rather than stopping and trying to figure everything out, you have to keep moving and kind of feel your way back into the rhythm of the music. Just bust a move and own it."
"Own it?"