16. Cisco
Cisco
W hen he was thirteen, Cisco’s mother signed him up for salsa classes.
What awkward teenage kid wanted to take dance classes?
Certainly not him, and he hated it. He was one of the only boys in the class, and none of the girls were interested in dancing with him.
He had been a scrawny, awkward kid, so he couldn’t blame them.
His early teenage years were not kind to him, and he lacked the grace and poise salsa classes demanded.
It wasn’t until his early twenties that he acquired an appreciation for dance in any form.
It helped that he gained more control of his body because he wasn’t a lanky teenage boy anymore.
Dance was sensual and commanded a lot of trust between partners.
This was one area Cisco wasn’t sure Marisol was completely on board with.
She was guarded, and that often came across as standoffish.
He was quick to see through the cracks in her armor though.
There was more she was holding in and not telling him.
Marisol held her emotions close and kept people at an arm’s length. He wanted to completely shatter that barrier between them, and there was no better way than the closeness dance provided.
He found out last week that a speakeasy downtown was holding a beginners’ salsa lesson for partners.
He had never purchased tickets faster, even though he didn’t talk to Marisol about it beforehand.
Part of him knew, if he asked her beforehand, she would immediately shut down the idea.
Maybe keeping it from her was shitty, but he couldn’t bring himself to be too sorry about it.
“What is this place?” It was the first thing Marisol asked since he picked her up and dropped the bomb about going dancing. Honestly, though, she took it better than he expected.
The two of them stepped into Rosa’s Hideaway, a cozy speakeasy-style bar and restaurant that felt like a step back in time to the Roaring Twenties, though with a few modern touches.
The dim lighting cast a warm glow over the rich mahogany furnishings, while vintage jazz music played softly in the background.
The lounge area featured a handful of plush brown leather couches, inviting guests to sit and relax.
Nearby, several high-top tables offered additional seating, their polished surfaces reflecting the soft amber glow of the antique-inspired chandeliers.
Toward the back, a small cleared space with large speakers stood ready for dancing, promising a lively atmosphere as the night unfolded.
“This is Rosa’s,” Cisco said, leading her to the bar. “Do you want something to drink?”
“Am I really going to have to dance?” she asked him.
“You are,” he said, unable to hide his smug satisfaction.
“Then I’m going to need a vodka tonic. Heavy on the vodka.”
Cisco ordered their drinks before leading Marisol to one of the leather couches. Light, jazzy music played in the background, adding to the ambiance. A few other couples and groups had already arrived and were speaking amongst themselves.
Marisol took a seat, crossing her legs before taking the offered drink. “You know, I expected lunch when you said you wanted to see me again.”
“That would be predictable, Princesa. I don’t like predictable,” Cisco mused, taking a drink of his whiskey. He loved the smoky taste and the way it burned his throat as it went down. “Besides, this gives me an excuse to touch you.”
He watched as the flush in her cheeks deepened.
She tried to hide it behind her glass, but she couldn’t hide from him.
Her gaze swept across the room, quietly assessing the other patrons.
Her painted fingers tapped against the couch, her knee bouncing to its own rhythm—a habit he’d come to recognize whenever she found herself in an unfamiliar setting.
Her eyes lingered on him when she thought he wasn’t looking.
He noticed. He always noticed.
“If you want to touch me, there are better places for you to do that,” Marisol said, her heated gaze traveling up and down his body before locking with his. “But I suppose this will do.”
Visions of him running his hands along the curves of her naked body played in his mind.
The whimpers of pleasure he desperately wanted to rip from her lips.
Her moans he wanted to capture in a kiss.
This line of thinking went straight to his cock, and the last thing he needed right now was to start dancing with Marisol with a raging hard-on.
Trying to covertly readjust himself, he cleared his throat, attempting to find a safer and tamer topic. “Have you danced before?”
Marisol nodded. “I was put into dance lessons the moment I learned to walk. Or at least that’s how it felt. My mom wanted to be sure I didn’t have two left feet and embarrass our family at my dad’s events. I’m not sure I was ever as good as she wanted me to be, though.”
“Did your dad have a lot of events?”
She laughed, but there was no humor in her voice. “Tons. It felt like I was going to one every week. My sister could sometimes get out of it, but I never could. Turns out years of formal dance training wasn’t needed at these events. People mostly just stood around, talked and sipped on their wine.”
He wondered what it would be like growing up like that.
Where every weekend was already planned for you, and you were expected to play a part.
Cisco had a great childhood, albeit humble.
His parents didn’t have much, considering they immigrated to the States at only eighteen years old.
But he never thought about all the things he didn’t have growing up in California; he only thought about the fun and love his parents gave him.
He got the impression that, from a young age, Marisol had a job to perform, and her parents—specifically her mother—made sure she pulled her weight.
“I will say, on the rare occasion I did dance, none of my partners were as cute as you,” Marisol said coyly, still hiding the glass in front of her beautiful face, obstructing his view.
Cisco’s lips twitched at the corners before pulling into a grin. “You think I’m cute?” he teased.
“I think you’re alright,” she said playfully. It wasn’t a side he saw a lot of, but he fucking loved it.
“Nah, Princesa, you already said it. I’m cute as hell.”
“I take it back; you’re a nightmare.” She swatted at his chest.
But Cisco grabbed her hand and brought it up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to it. The tone switched from playful to intense so quickly. “You look beautiful,” he murmured. “So damn beautiful.”
Marisol’s breath hitched, pupils dilating. Her gaze seared him from the inside out, and he was drawn to her like a moth to light. She wet her lips, and that was the only thing Cisco could pay attention to. He wanted to kiss her. To taste her. He wanted to?—
“Buenos tardes, mis amigos,” a feminine voice broke the trance.
He was so close to kissing her again. Their last kiss had been too short, too soft. He wanted more, but if he kissed her now, he wouldn’t be able to stop.
Marisol gathered herself before him and pulled back. He followed suit, turning his body to see a woman in a brown knee-length dress. She smiled at the few people sitting around with drinks in their hands. There weren't many. Maybe twenty at most, but enough to make the small room feel crowded.
“My name is María, and this is my partner, Savi. We’re going to be your dance instructors tonight,” the woman said, smiling at the room.
“Do we have anyone familiar with salsa dancing?” the male instructor—Savi—asked the group.
A few people, including Cisco, raised their hands.
“Ah good, we have some experts here tonight.” María laughed.
“For those of you who don’t know, salsa is a Latin American dance.
It combines many dance styles together to create energetic footwork, quick hip movements, and fluid turns.
It’s both precisely fast and elegantly slow. Think of it like fire and ice.”
“It’s a romantic dance,” Savi added. “You’ll be up close and personal with your partner, learning each other’s bodies and movements. This is supposed to be fun and sensual. Take a few moments to finish your drinks and then join María and me on the dance floor.”
There was a polite round of applause for the instructors before everyone went back to their drinks.
A few people glanced at Cisco but quickly averted their eyes.
He didn’t mind the stares because, half of the time, it was to admire his tattoos.
Other times it was full of judgment, but he didn’t give a fuck about what a stranger thought of him.
Except for Marisol.
When he turned around, she scowled at him.
“What?” He looked down, making sure he hadn’t spilled something on his shirt or ripped his clothes.
“Nothing,” she said, though it was clearly something. He let the silence settle between them until Marisol blurted out, “I mean I can dance, but I’ve never done this style before.”
Ah, so she was nervous. He could work with that.
“No problem, just let me lead you.” Cisco shrugged. “You’ll do fine.”
“And when I fall on my ass or embarrass myself, I’ll remind you what you just said,” she shot back.
“I’ll protect that pretty ass, Princesa, just trust me.” He grinned. “I’m not going to let you fall.”
“You promise?”
Cisco made the motion of crossing his heart with his finger. “Swear.”
She looked at him intently before finishing up her drink, placing the empty glass on the table. She reached out for his hand. “Fine. Let’s do this. But I reserve the right to hold this against you if it goes badly.”
“You can hold whatever you want against me. It would be my honor.” He winked, taking her hand and leading Marisol out on the dance floor with the rest of the patrons.