7. Leah
CHAPTER 7
Leah
V iviana had cancelled class the previous week because of personal reasons. I had almost decided not to go this week. My second date with Marco had left a bad taste in my mouth. He seemed irritated with me, and that I was dead sure was because he got to know me better and didn’t like what he found.
I was hurt but not surprised.
Rose was furious with me for taking the blame for Marco’s foul mood. But after a lifetime of carrying the weight of other people’s emotions, I couldn’t see past it—even though I wanted to.
“When you went to see Gray about my divorce, you ripped him a new one,” Rose admonished me, “How come you don’t stand up for yourself like you do for your clients?”
Good fucking question that I had no answer to.
I decided that it was easier to fight for fairness and the rights of others who I believed deserved better. I, on the other hand, deserved what I got.
On that happy note, I slipped on my dance shoes with their soft suede soles. I’d decided to wear a dress—one that flared beautifully when I twirled. I needed a little extra pep in my step, so I went for a new outfit and a bold swipe of red lipstick. Wasn’t it Coco Chanel who said red lipstick could lift your spirits? Or maybe it was Marilyn Monroe? One of them had been a Nazi supporter, and the other had died of an overdose. Perhaps it was time I found better role models.
I half hoped that Marco would skip class. The other, the one that had put on the red lipstick, wished he wouldn’t so I could show him how little I cared about him being an asshole to me.
I had come fifteen minutes early, which was stupid because now I had more time to worry about him .
When was the last time I worried about a man liking me who wasn’t Kevin? I couldn’t even remember. I felt like a stupid teenager pulling petals from a flower, saying, " He loves me , he loves me not .”
Get a grip, woman! What would Princess Leia do? She’d probably smoke a doobie and tell Marco to go fuck himself.
He came five minutes before class began, just to piss me off, obviously. I wiped away all emotion from my face and put on a plastic smile, the one Mrs. Kevin Jameson was an expert at wearing, though Kevin would have called my lipstick whorish . Well, he could go fuck himself as well.
Marco looked good, the son of a bitch.
He moved toward me, his easy smile tugging at the edges of my nerves, unraveling them just a little. He was dressed in a dark green shirt rolled up at the sleeves, the fabric stretching slightly across his broad chest. His slacks molded his ass. Yeah, why would this guy want me? Just look at him.
“Hi, Leah.”
“Marco. How are you?”
He took a deep breath and then held out his hand. “Ready?”
For what?
I took his hand, my fingers sliding into his. “Do I have a choice?”
“There’s always a choice.”
“You definitely made yours.” I raised an eyebrow in challenge. “And I’m making mine. Let’s dance.”
The hell with it. No man was ever going to make me feel like I was less. I barely knew Marco Cabrera. What he thought of me didn’t matter. In that aspect, Marco had been right when he said I needed to stop caring about what people thought about me.
I thought he’d turn sour, which was what Kevin did when I was bitchy but instead, he chuckled, low and soft as he guided me into position. His right hand rested lightly on my back, just above my waist, and I placed my left hand on his shoulder. Our right hands joined, his grip firm but not controlling.
“Thank you for choosing to dance with me,” he whispered.
It was his sincerity that made me feel like a moron. Relax, Leah, you’re overthinking this, and no good comes of that .
“Five, six, seven, eight,” he counted, leading us through the first steps of the routine even as Viviana cried out instructions.
As we moved, the tension in my shoulders slowly eased. The cross-body leads we’d learned last time felt smoother now, less awkward, and when Marco spun me out and pulled me back in, I didn’t trip over his feet even once.
His breath was warm against my temple as we drew closer. “You’re a natural.”
“Right,” I scoffed in reply.
“I’m sorry about last time.” He kept me close. “I was an asshole.”
I swallowed. “Why?” Please don’t say, “I got to know you better, and you’re just so pathetic.”
“I was judging you for your insecurities because I was feeling insecure myself for being with a woman I liked for the first time since my wife passed. I was scared.”
I pulled back, and he held me before I stumbled due to the sudden movement. “ I scared you ?”
His eyes were filled with genuine kindness. “I’ve never felt this kind of explosive…whatever it is with any woman, Leah.”
I licked my lips. The fire engine red ones.
“I want you,” he continued, his eyes holding mine.
He moved us into a spin-in beat with the music. As he moved his hips forward and I moved mine back, he dipped his head, nuzzling my cheek. “Please forgive me for being an unbearable pendejo .”
I laughed then. Even I, who didn’t speak a lot of Spanish, knew that he’d just called himself an asshole.
We barely knew each other, stumbling over one another’s feelings like mismatched dancers. Maybe, given the chance, we’d find our rhythm. If we ever got that chance.
“You’re forgiven.”
This time, he pulled back. “Just like that?”
“Being annoyed with you doesn’t get me anywhere. And”—I gave him a cheeky smile—“we have another five classes, excluding this one, left.”
“You are…remarkable and”—he returned my smile—“an excellent dancer.”
“I am, aren’t I?” I replied, laughing softly, letting the bad go.
After that, we fell into an easy rhythm, our movements syncing with the beat of the music. It was strange how something that had felt so foreign just a few weeks ago now felt comforting and exhilarating.