CHAPTER FOURTEEN
M y life is spinning like a tornado.
My head throbs slightly, confused by last night’s events. I can’t dwell. I won’t. I have a date tonight, and that’s why I need to keep moving forward.
Before work, I joined Lucy and Briar at Sound Yoga for an early morning class.
I’m rubbing the sleep out of my eyes as I arrive. Lucy and I agreed last year that we would meet with Briar a minimum of once a month for this class. I know it’s not much, only coming once a month, but life just seems to happen. Briar is so chill. I really should come more often and work on the equanimity thing people talk about. Respond, don’t react. That’s tough.
Pushing open the studio door, I find Lucy and Briar already on their mats. Briar looks like a swan, stretching her arms above her head and tilting to the side. Lucy is tapping away on her phone, waiting for class to begin. I claim a spot next to Briar and unroll my neon green mat, dropping my purse and coat beside me. Plopping down, my leggings roll down my stomach. I hike them back over the small roll just for them to do the same thing. Who invented mid-waist leggings, anyway? I need them on my hips or up to my boobs to sit still, not this in-between crap.
Taking a deep breath, I already feel better.
Before I can say anything to Lucy or Briar, the instructor walks in.
We start class immediately with sun salutations, and I feel my body resisting as we do.
By the end of the class, I am damp with sweat. At least the sweat doesn’t show through my leggings. I’ll give them three stars.
We roll up our mats simultaneously. When we stand, Briar is chipper and humming. Lucy looks distracted by her phone again.
“What’s going on Luce?” I ask.
Briar turns to her, but Lucy doesn’t seem to hear me.
I place my hand on her arm. “Everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah, sorry. Work is crazy. I have a big pitch tomorrow. I’m not quite ready for it. They keep changing their mind on what they want, and it’s making my head spin.”
She continues to type on her phone.
We started walking towards the door. I put my coat on, and my leggings rolled down once again. Fuck it, I leave them as is.
We pour into the street and return to our cars.
I dump my stuff in the backseat and walk over to Briar’s car, where they’re both already seated inside. That was one of Lucy’s conditions for joining Briar’s class. Briar had to pick her up so she wouldn’t bail.
Briar rolls down her window, and I peer inside.
“Why don’t we grab lunch this weekend?” I offer. Briar smiles and agrees. Lucy looks up, “Yeah, let’s go for brunch, though. I’m craving bacon.”
I laugh. “Brunch it is.”
I walk back to my car as they peel away.
I’m not sure why I didn’t bring up the kiss with Ben. I should have told them already, but a part of me wants to keep it to myself, for now, anyway. Lucy always thought Ben was crushing on me, but I never noticed before. Jake was my priority. I never noticed advances from anyone else.
It’s weird that it’s already been a few months since Jake and I ended things, and we only spoke that once when he came into the shop. Funny how someone can be your everything, and just like that, you never speak again. I guess that’s just how things go.
I shower and get ready for work once I’m home.
I pulled out my little black dress for tonight and hung it from my shower rod, hoping the little wrinkles would magically disappear by tonight.
Bob rubs his side body against my leg, and I make my way to the kitchen.
“Bob, what in the world…” I look down at his bowls.
The water bowl is tilted on its side, water everywhere. There are random food pellets all over, most appearing inflated and soggy in the puddle.
Bob continues to rub against my legs, meowing.
“Bad, Bob,” I say, pointing my finger at him and then shooing him away.
He takes off running in that random burst of energy only cats get.
I pick up his bowls and clean up the mess.
I can hear the sounds of the Cuban-influenced beats radiating from the large building as I step out of the car. I quickly text Lucy and Briar to let them know where I am and who I’m with and slide my phone into my tiny clutch.
The skirt of my black dress moves wildly in the breeze. I’m happy I chose a dress with a little less flare so I can keep my lady bits concealed. I don’t know how much spinning I’m about to take part in, and the last thing I want to do is give everyone a show.
My red peep-toes clack loudly as I make my way up the stairs.
Once inside, I glance around the bar. Some couples are already dancing. I see a few sitting on the sidelines, obviously waiting for class to begin. I notice that I’m one of the few in a dress. Apparently, the internet misled me. I see women in tight skinny jeans, stilettos and crop tops.
The instructor is fiddling with his phone, connecting to a sound system.
I notice the bartender wiping down the bar. My nerves are going wild. I can feel myself shaking on the inside.
And then I see him.
At first glance, he is attractive, maybe more so than in his pictures online. He’s not as tall as I imagined. He might actually be the same height as me in these heels. He’s speaking with someone as I approach him, and once he notices me, he excuses himself.
His smile appears genuine as he takes my hands in his.
This is a first, not as welcoming as a hug, but friendlier than a handshake.
“Sofia, it is so nice to meet you. You look lovely,” he says, his eyes not breaking his gaze from mine.
I smile. “Thank you, it’s nice to meet you, Blake.” I wipe my palms down the sides of my dress.
I can barely hear him over the music, but I get the gist of what he says over the next few minutes. He tells me that once the class is over, the bar will open, and we can get a drink.
I should have downed a shot or two before coming.
My stomach is in knots, and I am feeling shy.
The music stops, and the instructor appears at the front of the stage.
He calls up a woman from the class and explains that they will show us what we will learn tonight. Everyone gathers closely as he starts the music again. I spend the next minute in awe. My mouth is wide open, and I gasp as he twirls the woman back and forth. Their hips are moving in sync, gliding across the stage. I can feel Blake looking at me.
When the dance is done, everyone claps. I look back at Blake nervously.
Yikes.
He takes my hand and leads me to a spot away from the others, off to the side. I think he wants me a bit out of the way so I don’t slam into anyone. Good idea.
The instructor shows us the first eight counts, and we all mimic them on stage.
I’m moving my hips to the music, Blake leading the way. I step on his toes a few times and apologize profusely, but he insists I’m doing great. The instructor goes around to each couple, giving pointers, smiling, and clapping in excitement. We do the same for each set of eight counts. He demonstrates the moves, and then we practice on our own as he makes the rounds. Once we all have it, we add the parts together and practice that set until we move on.
Halfway through the class, the music stops, and he allows us to take a water break.
Blake and I make our way to two chairs. He hands me a bottle of water, and I graciously accept. I’m trying to calm my breathing so it doesn’t show how out of shape I am.
“You’re a really talented dancer,” I say. “How long have you been taking classes?”
“Thank you.” He’s smiling, a crooked smile. “I’ve been dancing all my life. My parents taught me when I was little. Music always filled the house, and our hips were always moving.” His thoughts appear to take him away from me and deep into his memories.
“That’s amazing,” I say. “My parents were always dancing around as well. We called them our kitchen dance parties.” I laugh. “But I have never done ballroom or any couples-type dancing,” I say, twisting the cap on my bottle.
“You’ll get the hang of it; you are doing great.” He puts his water down. “Dancing fills the soul,” he begins as he places his hand over the center of his chest. “ It’s like two people sharing in the creative language, communicating through the art of dance.”
When I realize how serious he is about dance, my eyes widen. I’m not sure I’m ready or willing to keep up with him.
He stands and takes my hand once again. He looks me over and asks if I’m ready for more.
I smile and nod.
We spend the next hour dancing, and I’m having a good time. Blake is a true gentleman, leading the way and teaching me the moves. Our hips move closely together, our hands intertwine, we come face to face, and yet - that’s it. For as much as we’re touching, there should be some sort of spark.
There’s nothing.
No feelings.
There is no flirting from Blake. He genuinely helps me learn the moves, encourages me, and we’re having a good time. But that’s it.
Class ends, and the music level rises. The doors are open to the public now, and the bar has a row of people in front of it. I agree to a drink when Blake proposes the idea.
We take it to a small table at the back, where we can hear ourselves a bit more.
We talk a bit more about ourselves, and I’m enjoying talking to Blake, but I can’t stop thinking about how there’s no spark. Not even a sizzle from a candle flame being smoldered by wet fingertips.
When we finish our drinks, he suggested we dance again.
“I think I’m actually going to head out,” I say.
Blake nods. “Okay.”
I smile. “Thank you so much for inviting me and teaching me some of your moves.”
Blake helps me off the high stool.
Maybe it’s all this gentleness. I mean, I don’t necessarily like bad boys, and I’m not a masochist by any means, but there’s just this brotherly way about him.
He walks me to the door and waits outside with me as I request an Uber.
“Can I see you again, Sofia?” he asks gently.
I’m smiling but sighing inside. This is hard. He’s such a nice guy. “Um, I think there just seems to be something missing between us.”
He nods, accepting my answer.
“I’m sorry,” I reply.
“I appreciate having met you, it’s been my pleasure. I wish you all the best.”
My Uber arrives.
I can see him waving out the back window.
I have never met anyone my age with so much tact. I mentally wish him luck, and by the time I reach my place, I have mentally friend-zoned him.
I pour out my disappointment in my article for the week. After I finish, I read the comments on the Lace & Dots social media pages, and apparently, many think I should have seen Blake again. I guess sometimes feelings come with time. I don’t know. I still feel like I made the right choice. I choose to ignore the comments and close the page. Maybe I won’t read any more comments on my future articles.