Chapter 12 Jack & Jill #4
“You learned dance for me,” he says. “Let me do something for you.”
“I don’t think those two things are equivalent,” I say.
“Maybe not,” he says, “but I’ll catch up eventually.”
I step forward to put my arms around him, and he grabs me very tight and gives me a squeeze that reaches my soul.
“I mean,” I hear Helen say behind me, “you could still take her to Paris for the weekend.”
“I love you,” I whisper. It feels like a relief to say it this time.
“I love you, too,” he says. “I’m sorry it took me this long to say it.”
I wipe my tears away. “Come on,” I say, wrapping my arm through his. “Come to dinner with us.”
“Who won?” Ollie asks after a moment.
Jody answers. “Connor and Eliana. You didn’t make top three.”
He nods. “Was Eliana thrilled?”
Helen’s eyes light up. “Oh, that’s right, you missed it.”
“Missed what?”
Helen tries to hide how much she’s enjoying this, but it’s audible in her tone. “You left Eliana standing up there when she was pouring out her heart about how much she wanted to keep dancing with you.”
“Oh no.” Ollie looks horrified. “I’ll talk to her. That’s terrible.”
Helen shrugs. “You know how Connor Yung used to be considered the bad boy of West Coast Swing, the one who leaves his partners heartbroken? I think that just became you.”
We have dinner at a fast-food style Korean barbecue place, our group shoved into a booth together as Ollie texts Eliana to apologize.
I am right next to him for once, and it is the least fancy meal ever, but I feel happier than I can remember for a long time.
He drapes one arm over my shoulder and kisses the top of my head.
We’re together, which means everything will be okay.
After dinner, Ollie decides to track down Eliana as soon as we get to the evening’s social dance, but it turns out that we don’t have to.
She is standing by the door when we enter, talking to friends from Manhattan Swing, and she calls to Ollie as soon as she sees him, then glances between us as she notices that we are walking together.
“El,” Ollie says. “I’m really sorry. My brother turned up, and I went out to talk to him.”
Her blue eyes widen. “Sean? He was here?”
“I left so I didn’t make a scene, but I didn’t mean to leave you hanging up there. Congratulations on winning the Jack Ollie insists. It is a Sunday, so if we spend the night together, one of us is going to have to have to get up at 6 a.m. to return to their apartment and get a proper set of work clothes, and Ollie doesn’t want it to be me.
We decide to take a shower as soon as we get to my apartment, washing off the sweat from a July night in a crowded ballroom.
When I am done, I wait for him in my bedroom, feeling giddy and embarrassed.
I pull the curtains tight and throw on silk pajamas, unsure what to wear, unwilling to lie in bed naked.
He comes into the bedroom wearing only a towel.
My whole body reacts to the sight of him: he is so lean and strong, and even his bruised cheekbone adds to his appeal.
But he looks different without his beard, younger and sharper.
I have a moment of wondering whether I know him at all.
“If you have any emergency phone calls coming in,” he says, “I’d like to request that they arrive in the next few seconds.”
I smile. “Your beard is gone. Was that Eliana?”
He shakes his head. “That was me trying to turn over a new leaf.”
“And did you?”
He sits on the end of my bed near me and hesitates for a moment.
“I hope so.” His voice is so quiet that I barely can hear him.
I wonder if we are both nervous. Without looking at me, he starts massaging my feet.
He is really good at it, probably the result of dating a lot of dancers.
I feel a brief flash of insecurity about the women he’s been with before, but I can’t sustain it.
There is love in his fingers, kindness in his hands. My whole body starts to melt.
“If that’s your version of foreplay, it’s working.”
He laughs. “Why does it have to be foreplay? Can’t I have a nice, old fashioned foot fetish?”
I laugh as he continues to massage up my calves, up around my knees, up to my lower thighs.
“Massage isn’t your move with the ladies?”
He slides up the bed to look directly in my eyes, his expression so tender that it dazzles me. “I’m not putting the moves on you,” he says. “I’m madly in love with you.” He waits for it to sink in, watching my expression soften. “Okay, I’m madly in love with you and putting the moves on you.”
I laugh and roll onto my side so I can press my entire body against his.
“Wait,” he says, “I was not done with everything I wanted to do.”
“I just…” I kiss him on the lips. “You know when you said you were relieved? That night?”
“I remember every single thing about that night.”
“I am so relieved right now. That you’re here. That we have time and space to just be together.”
“Me too.”
He kisses me again and then rolls me onto my back and gently slides my hands up and then behind my head. It reminds me of a dance move, smooth and certain.
“Hands up here, please,” he says in his teacher voice.
“I am requesting to be the leader for a while.” Then his mouth is on me.
and he is better at this than Nick, I think distantly.
He is more attuned to my reactions, more willing to observe exactly what is working, how much I am melting, what I need.
Then he slides his hands down and I am so flooded with feeling that I’m not thinking anything at all.
When I come, it is an echoing loop that leaves me wrung out.
I can feel his head resting against my shoulder like he’s done the same, though he hasn’t.
I whisper in his ear. “This is where I should show you what I want to do, but I’m not sure I can move.”
He gazes at me, full of affection. “You don’t have to move.”
“I want to,” I murmur, and then I push him backwards. When I am on top of him, I get to watch his eyes as he starts to look as overcome as I am. I hold both his hands in mine.
“Keep your frame,” I whisper.