Chapter 14
LUCAS
Applause and cheering filled the room as the strains of the last song died away, and the lead singer stepped back to take a swig of water from a plastic bottle.
The air, thick with the heat and sweat of a hundred bodies crammed into a confined space, was oppressive.
The singer stepped forward again and spoke, his words blurred by a thick accent and the crackling of the microphone.
It was nothing more than background noise as I wove my way through the crowd, excusing myself as I shouldered through the gaps.
I couldn't find him. But I was certain he had to be here. This was too big a dance for a seasoned dancer to miss. Although there were beginners attending, the overall standard was much higher than it usually was, and I'd seen a large number of people I knew to be instructors.
He must be here.
The constant shifting and changing of partners was making it difficult to do a thorough search of the room, however, never quite sure if I'd missed someone who'd moved or had been standing behind someone.
Huffing in frustration, I temporarily gave up my search and stood off to the side, looking over the mass of heads clustered close to the stage where the live band was strumming instruments again and getting ready to strike up the next tune.
Cheers erupted as the first bars of a popular song rang out at full volume, and the crowd began to thin out around the stage as couples took to the dance floor.
I leaned against a concrete column, its smooth surface hard against my back, the expression on my face intended to be discouraging.
As usual the women outnumbered the men by a significant degree and I'd already been dragged onto the dance floor several times tonight.
My current expression of disinterest wasn't feigned.
I'd given myself a mission tonight and my only interest was in locating this one guy and seeing if we could connect.
If not, all my work had been for nothing.
Maybe he wasn't here.
My eyes scanned the crowd again, assuring myself I hadn't missed him on the dance floor.
A movement caught my eye. In the corner, where the lights didn't reach, were several men.
One looked familiar. Then I realized. Of course, he was probably involved in organizing this event, which explained why he hadn't been on the dance floor.
But as the night wore on, he would be. I just had to wait.
◆◆◆
"Dance this song with me?"
The familiar brown eyes appeared out of the gloom, startling me.
Emilio. I hadn't seen him since our hook-up last week but I'd be lying if I said he hadn't made good fodder for my masturbation sessions this week.
Knowing I wasn't going to see him again, that had seemed fine.
Face to face with him now... I was glad the room was dimly lit and he wouldn't see the tell-tale flush already making its way up my neck.
"Er... h-hey," I stammered, awkward as fuck.
"So, you wanna dance?" Emilio held his hand out, palm up, the lines, the calloused skin... suddenly I was transported back to another night and the feel of those callouses running over my sensitive skin.
I blinked and shook myself back to the present. The corners of my mouth instinctively tried to form a smile, but I pursed my lips together. My cheeks were already hot enough. I was pleased to see him, but he didn't need to know how much.
My eyes flicked to the corner of the room, where my evening's target was still with his friends.
I had time. I could enjoy this dance. Hell, maybe he'd even notice us dancing.
Two men dancing bachata together wasn't common, and I knew Emi and I would look good together...
we'd had great chemistry both in the lessons and the bedroom...
and maybe this dance would get him out of my system, because I knew I'd been thinking about him more than I should.
We'd had one night, that was all. And all it was ever going to be.
He had his one-and-done rule, and I had a man I was chasing.
But this, this might be a good way to close that chapter...
I accepted the offered hand and Emi led me onto the floor. Gone was my expression of boredom, in favor of a barely suppressed grin. I knew we were going to have fun.
And we did. Our connection hadn't evaporated during the week apart.
Emi's leads were clear and concise as he led me through a sequence of turns and walks, more turns, that I followed effortlessly.
His musicality was something I hadn't experienced in the stop-start of the lesson situation, but here I got to see what a natural dancer he was, his movements beautifully reflecting the mood of each phrase of the music.
The longer we danced, the wider my smile, until I felt my face must crack right open.
Then the music slowed and morphed into a sensual, dreamy rhythm; our bodies moved closer as Emi guided me into a series of body rolls, waves, carisias, air between us except for the mandatory contact points, but close enough to feel the heat emanating off his body, a prickling awareness running through me.
"You dance well, guapo," Emi said, his warm breath fanning my ear as we finished the dance with a final body roll and me pulled up against his side.
I was breathless. Not just from the physicality of the dance.
And then I remembered why I was here.
"Thanks to you. I was crap until you gave me those lessons."