Chapter 20
After the first night spent with Ava, I’m determined to find a way to mix our lives together. I can’t fathom only experiencing that level of pleasure and connection and joy once. She’s become imperative to my happiness. Without her, I’ll become the ultimate mopey, heartbroken mess and forever flood whatever room I walk into.
But claiming Ava’s time requires some strategic maneuvering with her busy schedule and energy-draining job.
I make it work.
Like today, she had to stay until seven at the library because of some maintenance issue. I coaxed her into letting me pick her up from her place to grab food. It helps that the build site of my latest project is right across the street. I stayed late myself, going over the blueprints and reviewing progress so far to make sure the project is progressing the way I envisioned.
First, I offered to cook dinner for her, which I’ve done a couple of times in the past few weeks. But Ava said she wanted to stretch her legs and be somewhere that wasn’t the college, the club, or her condo. So now we stand in line at my favorite street taco stand. I wrap my arm around her waist and lift her up to my mouth, wanting a kiss but also wanting to give her feet a break. The sultry witch kisses me back with a smile on her lips, and when we break apart there’s a flush on the apples of her cheeks.
“If this food tastes as good as it smells, I might die.”
“Death by taco is a noble way to go.”
Luckily, despite the inappropriate groans Ava makes while munching on her al pastor taco, she does not perish. The seats outside the shop are all spoken for, so we meander as we eat. A few blocks over, Latin club music drifts through the air from the door of a nightclub.
As if unaware of what she’s doing, Ava does a basic cha-cha dance step while she walks.
A thought occurs to me. “Do you like dancing?” I ask. “Outside of The Jewelry Box?”
Ava’s cheeks are puffed out from her bite of flavorful pork, but she nods, and I wait patiently as she finishes chewing and swallowing for her to expound upon her answer.
“My mom performed in burlesque shows in New York City for most of my life. I grew up around dancers. Even went to college for it, but I changed my major after freshman year.”
She doesn’t sound regretful about the information, and I let curiosity drive my next question.
“Why the change?” From what I’ve seen on stage, she’s spectacular.
Ava tongues a drop of sauce off her thumb, and I almost forget to listen to her response.
“The program was really competitive. A lot of people were friends to your face while hoping you broke an ankle behind your back. Add that with the body shape expectations—it got toxic sometimes.” She shrugs. “Maybe it’s better now. Or maybe other schools are different. But I realized that I didn’t want to rely on dancing to support myself. Didn’t want to stress over how I looked and performed every minute of the day. I wanted to keep it as a fun thing, like it felt at the burlesque club.” She smiles sweetly. “So I majored in business sophomore year. Then switched to English my junior year and stuck with it. Not that an English degree opens up a lot of doors, but I worked as a tutor and realized I liked helping students figure out their research. Which is why I went on to study library science.”
“But you kept the love for dancing?”
“I did.” She grins, then takes another bite. As the witch finishes her meal, I formulate a plan. Once our trash is in a can, hands wiped clean, and Ava is looking full and satisfied, I voice my thoughts.
“Let’s go dancing.”
Her brow curves up. “Sure.”
“Right now.” I tilt my head down the street where we can still hear the strains of music.
Ava snorts, then her eyes widen when she realizes I’m serious.
“We can’t go now.”
“Why not? Are you tired?”
She plants her fists on her hips and studies me. “No. But I’m not exactly dressed for clubbing.”
I run my eyes over her voluptuous body, clad in a black sports bra and a pair of soft shorts that grip her right under her belly button and flare at her hips only to end short enough that the under curve of her ass cheeks have been constantly teasing me.
“One, you look sexy as fuck. Two”—I lean in close and slip an arm around her waist—“who are you wanting to get dressed up for? You’ve already got me here, ready to drop on my knees for you.”
Ava wrinkles her nose, but I can tell she’s fighting a smile. “Fine. But I don’t want to stand in line all night. If it’s long, then we’re leaving.”
“Lines. Ha. You’re cute.”
My hand in hers, fingers laced together, I guide her up the street and past a decent-length line of club goers dressed to impress. But Ava isn’t alone in her casual attire: I’ve got on a set of jeans and a T-shirt, the get-up I opt for whenever I’m on the build site. We’ll be underdressed together. As we approach the bouncer, I can see the way he eyes my determined steps and lack of high-ticket clothes. The beefy man squares his shoulders, ready to send me to the back of the line.
Ava’s fingers tighten in mine, probably spying the same body language I do.
But I slip my free hand into my back pocket and tug a few bills out of my money clip. Some guys would leave it at that—reach out their hand to try for a smooth, sneaky exchange of cash to bribe the guy.
But no one would ever claim that I’m subtle.
“Good evening, my fine sir.” I offer him a wide smile, tug Ava to my side, and settle an arm around her shoulders. “This amazing woman has had a shit day at work, and I’m hoping to treat her to a dance.” Now I hold up the money, flared so he can see there are multiple hundreds. “Any way my name is on that list?”
The thing is, my name could have been on that list easily, if I’d known we were going to come here. The only club in this city I’m not allowed in is The Jewelry Box—for now.
He doesn’t answer right away, eyeing me, then glancing at Ava. Eventually, he speaks.
“Bad day, huh?” He grunts.
She lifts a shoulder. “I’m a librarian. Sometimes things go to shit.”
The blockish man’s mouth twitches. “Love a good book.” He plucks the money from my fingers. “Hope you left yourself some to treat her to a drink.” Then he jerks his chin, a silent Get inside before I change my mind.
There’s some grumbling from the people in the line, but it fades as we step into the club.
It’s nothing fancy—not like The Jewelry Box—just an open floor with a DJ booth on one side and a bar on the other, with a dance floor full of writhing bodies in the middle. The place is easy to get lost in, which I think is exactly what Ava needs.
To move to music but not be on display.
“Do you want a drink?” I call out over the thumping beat.
She shakes her head, hips already rocking along with the rhythm. “Let’s dance.” Ava takes the lead, and I follow along behind her, one hand still in hers, the other resting on her hip. Bodies press in on us from all sides, and when we’re in the thick of it she turns to face me with a hazy expression of happiness.
With a gentle tug, I pull her flush against my body and let the music melt into my muscles.
Then I move along with her.
Ava gasps in delight when she realizes I can keep up. Here I can, at least. I would not trust myself near a pole. With one hand clasping hers and the other pressed into her lower back, I lead us in a basic salsa as the Spanish words fill the air around us.
We flow together, two currents meeting and melding. I duck my head to press my nose against her hair, better to breathe in the salty scent of sweat mixed with the tang of eucalyptus. With the volume so high, I can’t hear her breath, but each of her inhales presses her ribcage against my chest, and each exhale is a warm rush against my damp skin. Unable to stop myself, I lick the sweat from her neck, wanting her moisture inside me.
My witch’s fingers tighten, pressing imprints into my flesh as we continue to flow with the intoxicating beat. Latin music was made for dancing.
And Ava Bellarose was made for me.