Chapter 7 #2
He starts dancing around me and I follow him with my eyes until I no longer can and have to turn with him. He snaps his fingers and sticks his booty out, slapping it. That pulls a small laugh out of me.
“Come on,” he orders gently, grabbing both my hands in his, sliding his fingers between mine. I shiver and hope like hell he didn’t catch it. “Dancing is fun.”
Reluctantly, I pull my hands from his, smiling slightly. I tuck my hands into my back pockets and shuffle my feet. “I can’t.”
“Sure you can,” he says, grabbing my hands again. He holds them tighter when I try to pull them away. I let them relax and move side to side like he is, following his moves.
“No, I mean I can’t dance. At all.” I’m not kidding. I’m the poster child for having two left feet.
He spins me around, making me laugh out loud, something I don’t think I’ve done in a while. Not the small laughs I give him, but the full laugh I usually reserve for something crazy Crystal says.
Ethan pulls me in to him with a smile. “Feeling better?”
I nod and have to hold myself back from leaning my head on his chest. “Yes, I’m fine. I just get…down sometimes.”
“It’s fine, creep. If you need to talk about anything, or if you want company for any reason, you can call me.
We’re friends. I’ll always be there for you.
” After I agree, he separates us but doesn’t let go of my hands.
“So, dancing. It’s easy. You just have to move to the music.
As long as you’re on beat, you’re good.”
The song that’s playing now is pretty upbeat, so he shows me how to move to the beat and I try to follow what he does. I don’t even feel bad when he laughs at me because I really can’t dance. But that doesn’t matter. I’m having a lot of fun learning.
After three or four more pop songs, a slower song comes on.
I make a move to sit down, but Ethan grabs me around the waist and hauls me to his body.
My hands land on his pecs and my breath rushes out of me.
I will my dick not to chub up while he’s holding me, but it’s hard—no pun intended.
It’s no use. Ethan’s proximity and how good he smells goes straight to my cock.
I try to shove off, but Ethan has a tight grip around my waist. Fuck, this is embarrassing. I cant my hips away so he doesn’t feel the raging erection I have.
“The rules for slow dancing are easy,” he says conversationally, as if I’m not hyperventilating because he’s holding me so close.
“Grab your girl,” I give him a look that makes him laugh.
“Sorry, grab your guy by the waist and sway side to side. You don’t have to do much more than that.
” As he talks, his voice gets lower and lower, and he leans closer and closer into me.
Slowly, Ethan drags his hand from my waist and up my back. It comes to a rest against the back of my neck, the warm weight holding me in place. My breath comes out in short, shallow pants and I look up at him with wide eyes. Ethan’s breathing syncs with mine and he tightens his fingers on my nape.
Our bodies sway together, locked in whatever is going on between us right now. The song has long since gone off, but we don’t make a move to break apart. Maybe we should. Maybe this is crossing a friendship boundary, but his arms feel too good around me to ask him to move them.
I’m not sure what’s going on here. It started as a dance lesson and now it’s …
this. Is he still teaching me? Or does he find holding me as comfortable as I find being in his arms?
From the look in his eyes, it’s almost like he’s feeling what I am.
Feeling bold, I press into him more and immediately freeze. Wait…is that his?—
There’s a beep behind us and the front door opens. Ethan doesn’t leap back from me, but he does spin me across the room, pulling another laugh from me that I don’t expect.
We turn around and see his parents making their way into the living room. His father grabs his mother’s hand and spins her as well, making her mirror my laugh. Ethan’s father brings Grace back to his body and gives her a soft kiss. “Why are we dancing?” he asks when he steps back.
“Teaching the creep. He doesn’t know how, and Homecoming is next weekend.” I eye Ethan for calling me ‘creep’ in front of his dad, but he doesn’t seem to care. He has an easy smile on his face, like it’s my actual name.
His father sticks his hand out to me. “Nice to finally meet you. I’m Franklin. Our son has told us a lot about you.” I look over at Ethan, who winks at me.
I shake my head and grab the hand that’s offered to me. “I’m Jakoby. Great to meet you, sir.”
“Now,” Franklin says, pulling Grace closer to his side, “Ethan isn’t the expert on dancing. I am. Ask my wife how we met.” She blushes and glances at him, her eyes full of adoration.
Ethan pretends to vomit, and Grace swats at him playfully. “Oh, please. I’m sure you’ve heard worse,” she chides him playfully.
We all sit in the living room after Ethan grabs us a few bottles of water.
He asks them about the conference, which they’re both excited to talk about.
Grace goes on and on about the new vitamins that have shown to cause less nausea in expectant mothers that she’s eager to take to her small nonprofit clinic on the other side of town.
She says the biggest complaint the expectant mothers have is they can’t keep anything down after taking their prenatals in the morning, no matter how far they are into their pregnancy.
Since most of her low-income parents can’t afford over-the-counter alternatives, Grace is pleased she found something she can give them instead.
It warms my heart that someone is willing to help low-income families.
Coming from that community myself, it’s nice that she likes to help the mothers that can’t afford to get more expensive treatment.
What’s even better is Grace doesn’t do any of it for attention or accolades.
It took a while before anyone even knew who she was because she tried to keep her deeds under wraps.
After about thirty minutes of conversation—Ethan talking to his parents and me listening—they take their leave, saying they’re tired from their travels.
That leaves Ethan and me sitting on the couch alone.
It’s awkward for me, knowing how close we just were and what I think was his erection against my belly, but Ethan doesn’t seem to feel as antsy about it.
He stands and stretches, then holds his hand out for me. I grab it automatically. “Come on, creep. It’s late. You look like you’re about to fall over.”
I am pretty beat. After the suit fitting, crying in his car, dancing and talking to his parents, I’m both physically and mentally drained.
Walking me into the room, he folds the blanket back but doesn’t stick around like he did last time. “Sleep well, creep. Text me when you wake up.”
I sit on the bed and watch him leave the room, feeling the insane urge to call him back to lie down with me.