Dance with Me, page 17
“Promise.” She gives me a quick peck, then points in the direction of my car. “Go.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I walk backward toward my car, not taking my eyes off her, and she waits, standing there in the same spot, and lets me look. Eventually, I back right into my own car, sigh, and turn to get in. Marisa hasn’t left yet, and it takes me a moment to realize that she’s probably waiting to make sure mine starts. It takes four times tonight but finally turns over.
I wave one last time to her and point my car toward home.
* * *
That Thursday, I get a text from my brother Kai asking if I’m coming to his soccer game. I need to learn to let go of the irritation that neither of my parents ever seems to request my presence and just be thankful that my siblings think about me. I had planned to have dinner by myself, so I figure it can’t hurt to hit the soccer field and grab a hot dog or something from the concession stand.
Kai runs like the wind. I’ve never seen a kid that fast, and I’d say that even if he wasn’t my little brother. He’s a streak of lightning on the field. Nobody can touch him. I remind myself that he’s only ten, so he may not always be the fastest, but it’s fun to watch him now. My mom and Stephan sit next to me in folding chairs, alternating between cheering while sitting and screaming while jumping out of said chairs. Just like when I went to Noah’s Little League game last week, I’m reminded of the dichotomy of their dedication to kids’ sports now and their apathy when it came to mine.
I unfold my own chair and sit it next to my mom, who smiles at me and gives me a quick air kiss. “Hi, honey.”
I give Stephan a wave around her. “How’s he doing?”
“No goals yet, but his dribbling has way improved,” my mom says, her eyes on the field.
Kai is lanky, tall for his age, and I think that’s why he’s so fast already. He’s all legs. I wonder what will happen when the other boys start to catch up to him, but until then, I’ll watch him fly up and down the field.
Unpopular opinion: soccer is dead, dull, boring. At least I think so. The goals are so few and far between, that it’s generally just watching people run up and down the field for what feels like hours. But people love it, I know I’m in the minority, so I sit and watch and don’t say such things out loud. Plus, he’s my brother.
“Where’s Jordie?” I ask my mom after a while.
“At Emmajane’s today.” My mom doesn’t take her eyes from the game.
“Emma Jane?” Another new friend I have yet to hear of.
“No. Emmajane. One word.”
“Oh. Okay.” Interesting. After a few more minutes, my stomach reminds me I haven’t eaten since before lunch by doing that thing where it feels like it’s eating itself. “I’m gonna get something to eat. Want anything?”
My mother shakes her head, so I stand and head toward the brown building at one end of the field that houses the concession stand. Since this is a summer league and not a school league, we’re not at a school. We’re at a large recreational park that has five baseball fields and two soccer fields, so it’s busy and it’s crowded. I wait in line and people-watch, and I’m amazed by how invested some of these parents are in their children’s games. They’re cheering and yelling and shouting insults at officials. It’s a little ridiculous.
I buy myself a hot dog with mustard and a Coke and begin making my way back to the field. Just as I get to my chair and sit, I hear my name and turn to look behind me. Regina from dance class is smiling and waving at me and heads my way.
“Hey you,” she says when she gets to me. She must’ve come right from work because she’s wearing a pale green pantsuit and looks very professional. I’m used to seeing her in leggings and tennis shoes. “What are you doing here?”
“My little brother plays,” I tell her, finding Kai on the field and pointing him out to her, and my mom is actually paying attention, I notice. “Oh. Regina, this is my mother, Maggie, and my stepdad, Stephan. You guys, this is my friend Regina from dance class.”
My mom’s eyebrows climb up in her hairline, and it occurs to me right then that either I didn’t tell her I was dancing—though I’m sure I did—or she didn’t listen when I told her, which is much more likely.
Regina reaches to shake hands with both of them, saying how nice it is to meet them. “Are you going to come to the competition in a few weeks to see your daughter dance?” she asks, all smiles, and that’s when it occurs to me that it won’t just be strangers watching Marisa and me dance. It’ll be my fellow classmates as well. Holy mother of all that is holy, what have I gotten myself into?
“Of course,” my mom says, and my head whips around to meet her eyes so fast, I’m surprised it doesn’t fly right off my body. “Wouldn’t miss it.” She smiles at me, then asks Regina, “You have a child in the game?”
“On the other field,” Regina says. “My son.” She shrugs. “I’m late.” She says good-bye, waves to my parents, and makes her way toward the other soccer field. I finally feel like I can bite into my dog, since I didn’t want to be rude and eat in front of her, and as I’m chewing, I realize my mother is staring at me.
“What? Do I have mustard on my face?” I use my napkin to dab at invisible stuff on my lips.
“Dance competition?” my mother asks. “Were you going to tell us? When is it? Why is it? When did you start dancing?”
Yeah, okay, so maybe I didn’t say anything to her after all. I make a mental note to analyze that later, the fact that it ticks me off that my mother never tells me anything, and am I purposely not telling her things so we’re on a level playing field? God, the human psyche is a giant bowl of spaghetti, all tangled and entwined, isn’t it?
“Sit.” My mother points to my chair, and I dutifully plop down like the obedient good girl I am. “Explain this dance competition. Details. Now.” She’s not mean about it, but there’s something that flashes behind her eyes, and it takes me a moment to realize what it is: hurt.
I chew my bite of hot dog, which feels like a lump in my stomach when I swallow it. Then I clear my throat and launch in.
“Well, Bash wants to surprise Lydia at their wedding by knowing how to salsa dance, so he asked me to go to lessons with him.”
Mom makes an impressed face and nods, and I’m kind of shocked she’s actually listening to me. Like, paying attention. Eye contact and everything.
“So, we went to two lessons, but then he broke his foot.”
“Is that why he was in a boot when we came by?”
Seriously, does she see more than I think she does but just doesn’t say anything? It’s kind of freaking me out. I nod. “Yes, and he couldn’t dance. But since the lessons were paid for, he told me to go ahead and keep going if I wanted to. And honestly, it gave me something to do, to get out of the house, and”—I half shrug—“I kinda liked it.”
“You always did have rhythm,” she says, completely contradicting what I thought I knew about myself. “So, what’s this competition?” Her eyes have been on me for this entire conversation, and my level of freakedness has inched a little higher.
“Well, since I didn’t have a partner to dance with, I ended up dancing with the instructor. Who was Ms. Tina, the owner of the dance studio, to begin with. But she had a family emergency and had to go out of town for a bit, so then it was her niece, Marisa.” I take a moment and weigh the pros and cons and necessity or not of explaining to my mother exactly who Marisa is. I decide on not. I can tell her later. Or never. “Turns out Marisa and I dance really well together, and when Ms. Tina came back, Marisa stayed on as my dance partner. Then Ms. Tina came to me last week and told me that every year, the dance studios in and around the area have a friendly little competition to show off some of their students, and she asked if I’d be interested in representing her studio and dancing with Marisa in the competition.” There. Done. Told. Mostly.
“Honey, that’s fantastic. Wow.” She elbows Stephan next to her. “Did you hear that?”
He nods. Unlike my mom, his eyes never left the game, but it turns out he was listening. “Dance competition. When is it? Can we come watch?”
I blink at them. Am I in some parallel universe? Am I in the Upside Down? Who are these people, and when did they start giving a crap about my life? I know I should be grateful, and I will be. Later. After I’m done being stunned into silence.
“It’s in September. We started rehearsing this week, but just a sort of overview. I don’t know the dance yet.”
“And you’re dancing with a girl?” Mom asks. “That’s progressive.” She’s not being sarcastic at all. I have lots of issues with my mom, but acceptance of my sexuality isn’t one of them. It took her some adjusting, but once she did that, she’s always been super supportive.
“Right? I’m excited. And nervous. Like, really nervous.”
“Why? You’re gonna be great.”
I don’t tell her that I’m more nervous about dancing with Marisa than dancing in general, but to be honest, having this kind of support from my mom has come as such a surprise that I’m feeling a tiny bit, well, fucking blindsided. Like, what is happening?
“You let us know when and where, and we’ll be there,” she says and gives my knee a squeeze. “Oh, go, Kai!” she shouts and jumps to her feet, and I shift my attention to the field just in time to see my little brother score a goal. The crowd goes wild.
I jump up with them and clap and scream, and for the first time in longer than I can remember, I actually feel like I’m part of this family.
It’s been a long time.
Chapter Fifteen
I think Marisa has taken a step back from me.
We’ve texted some the past few days and over the weekend, but I haven’t seen her. I know she has Jaden, and I’m sure that keeps her busy, but there’s been something about the tone of her texts. A bit…cooler. Not as flirty. Makes me sad.
Dance class doesn’t necessarily confirm my suspicions but doesn’t rule them out either. Marisa dances with me and smiles at me and even makes a joke or two, but it feels like there’s a space between us that wasn’t there before. I do my best to ignore it. Or at least tuck it away until I’m home alone when I’m sure I’ll take it back out and analyze it to freaking death.
The rest of the class has left, and now it’s just me, Marisa, and Ms. Tina, and it’s the first true rehearsal for our competition dance. Ms. Tina turns on the music, that same Latin song that I like now but suspect I will want to never hear again by the time we reach our last rehearsal. She directs us through a fairly easy move, my hand in Marisa’s, my hand on her shoulder. I can feel her fingers at the small of my back. I can also feel the heat coming off her body. Her eyes are dark, but they seem a little shadowed. At one point, Ms. Tina walks away from us to start the song over again and I catch Marisa’s gaze.
“Hey, are you okay?” I whisper.
There’s a split second of surprise, as if she didn’t think I’d notice. Then she smiles and nods. “Yeah. Fine.” And then Ms. Tina is facing us again, and I return my focus to the moves.
Speaking of moves, even when she’s clearly preoccupied with something—whether it’s Jaden or her job or me or some other thing I don’t know about—Marisa is fluid. Her moves are smooth and graceful, and just like before, she leads me easily, her very subtle tugs or pulls or shifts telling me exactly where she wants me to go. It still shocks me how easy it is to follow.
“These are just the basic moves,” Ms. Tina says as our time draws to a close. “We’re going to add some more complex things as you two become familiar with the dance. Another week or two, yeah?”
I nod, near the wall where my stuff is. “Sounds great.”
Marisa nods, too. “Okay.” She picks up her water bottle and sips.
“Sweetheart, I have to scoot,” Ms. Tina says to her. “Can you turn off the lights and lock up?”
“Of course.”
“You’re the best. Thank you, darling. Scottie? See you next week.”
“You will. Bye.” And like she’s being swept out on a slow, graceful wave, Ms. Tina floats out the door of our studio. I wait until I hear the main front door click closed before I turn to Marisa, who doesn’t look at me, just gathers up her stuff and heads toward the door. I follow her, and as she clicks the lights off, I ask, “Are you sure you’re okay? Because something is clearly bother—” I don’t get any farther before Marisa grabs my face in the dark with both hands and backs me into the wall, and I let out a small oof as I make contact. I absently notice the sound as all the things we were carrying drop to the floor with a clatter, and then she’s kissing me.
Except, no.
She’s kissing me.
Like, full-on making out with me. No buildup. No preamble. Her tongue pushes into my mouth, and her entire body presses mine into the wall, and a small whimper comes from one of us. I’m not sure which. And do I fight her? Please. What am I, a fool? No, I don’t fight her. I grab at her—at her hips, her shirt, her hair—and I give as good as I get, even as I feel her hands wandering and one slides up under my T-shirt. When I feel it close over my breast, I wrench my mouth away and gasp. Loudly.
I think it startles her because she pulls back just enough to see my face.
“I…” She blinks several times. It’s dark, but the lights from the parking lot out front send shafts of blue slashing across her face.
“What?” I whisper, and I stroke her cheek softly. “What’s going on?” And then I notice her eyes are wet with unshed tears, so I pull her closer, the idea that she might cry making me want to cradle her. Protect her. “Baby. What is it? Talk to me.”
She spends another moment with her gaze toward the front windows, still holding me, still close enough for me to smell her, feel her heartbeat. Finally, she says, so quietly I almost don’t hear her, “You terrify me.”
Well.
That is unexpected.
I suck in my bottom lip because, the reality is, I’m trying not to smile like a dork. Marisa looks panicked, even in the dim lighting, but her admission makes me ridiculously happy, despite the expression on her face. I shoot for understanding instead of giddiness.
“I get it,” I tell her, keeping my voice as quiet as hers was. It somehow feels…reverent in the studio for some reason. Like if I speak too loudly, some spell will be broken. But standing this close to Marisa is intoxicating. Literally. I feel a little drunk with arousal, a bit unsteady on my feet, and I lift my hand to touch her lips. “You scare me, too,” I tell her, and it’s not until that exact moment that I realize those words are the absolute truth.
And then we stand there quietly, simply absorbing the words we’ve each just spoken. They’re big. They’re admissions. We’ve basically just told each other that this is something. That this could go somewhere.
“Wow,” I say after a moment.
Marisa nods. “Right?”
We’re still standing in each other’s arms. Well, it’s more like I’m leaning back against the wall and she’s leaning in to me. Her hips are pressed against mine, and it suddenly occurs to me just how sexy that is. I shift mine the tiniest bit, and she makes a very small sound that lets me know she feels it, too.
“What do we do now?” I ask, toying with a curl of her hair, winding it around my finger. It’s silky soft, and I want to bury my face in it but manage to keep some control.
“I think…” She looks up at the ceiling, which gives me a lovely shot of her long neck, and then my control decides to take a coffee break, so I lean forward enough to run my tongue along her throat. The sound of her breath catching is a total turn-on, and then she groans, so I keep going. Kissing her neck. Tasting her skin. I can’t help myself. “I think we kiss a little more,” she whispers, and our mouths find each other again, slower this time, more sensually. This kiss isn’t so much a make-out session as it is a melding of our lips, our mouths, our tongues. We take our time, tasting, exploring.
“And then?” I ask between kisses.
She pulls back enough to pout a little. “And then I’m afraid I have to go get my kid.”
I love that she calls him that even though he’s her nephew. I give one nod. “Then I guess I’d better get what I can now.” I recapture her mouth with mine and then kick up the intensity. Gotta do what I need to tide me over until the next time I see her. Then I realize I don’t know when that’ll be.
“Are you free on Friday?” she asks me as if reading my mind.
“Who wants to know?” Yes, that’s my attempt to be funny and a smart-ass, and why now, brain? Why now? I groan internally at myself.
“Me. I do. I want to know.”
“Oh. Well, in that case, yes. I’m free on Friday.”
“Come to my house? Jaden has a sleepover with his cousins.” She makes eye contact, holds my gaze, and I understand exactly what she’s saying. Exactly.
I nod. A lot. Like a bobblehead doll. Because all words have left my brain and apparently fallen out my ears to the ground.
“I’ll cook,” she says.
I nod some more. Finally, I manage to clear my throat and say something along the lines of, “I’ll bring wine.” I think. I think I say it out loud, but I’m not sure because my mind is filled with images of possibility. The possibility of staying overnight. The possibility of being naked with Marisa Reyes. The possibility of her being naked.
And then she’s laughing quietly.
“What?” I ask.
“You should see your face.”
“What’s it doing?”
She takes a beat and just looks at me and I feel it. I feel it right down to my center, which throbs just to let me know it got the message. “It’s telegraphing exactly what you’re thinking. Which is exactly what I’m thinking.” And with that, she kisses me and says, “I have to go get Jaden.”
I nod. “Okay.” And I kiss her once more for good measure. We walk out the door together, stopping so Marisa can set the alarm. Our cars are the only two left in the lot, and they’re side by side, the symbolism of it touching me somehow.
