Chapter 13
When we arrive at the resort’s dance studio, Patrick and Kendra are already leaning against the far wall. I’m still not sure whose idea it was to take a group salsa dancing class, but the cameras are placed strategically around the room already, so they don’t catch their own reflection in the mirrors. I’m in slacks and a button-down, and Andie is wearing one of her flowing skirts and a loose silk sleeveless blouse. It’s more or less her uniform, and I love the way the fabric shows hints of the body she’s hiding underneath.
However, we look overdressed next to Patrick and Kendra’s gym shorts and tank tops. I’ve never been to a dance class, so I’m not really sure what the dress code is. When Leslie strolls in also wearing slacks and a button-down, I take a deep breath. Jamie is in bright shorts and a Hawaiian shirt. His smile matches the burst of sunshine on his chest.
“I’m so glad you were all down for this idea.” He gives everyone a kiss on each cheek.
“We wouldn’t do it for anyone else,” Andie says when it’s her turn.
“I figured it would be nice to work up an appetite before our last honeymoon dinner.” Jamie very nearly skips back to Leslie, who’s standing on the sidelines with his hands in his pockets.
The salsa instructor strolls in with a megawatt smile. She’s the shortest one here, with her hair pulled back into a ponytail.
She asks us about our dance experience, then tells us to pair up.
I turn to Andie, and she slides into an awkward dance frame with me. My hand on her waist, her hands on my chest. It’s the closest we’ve been since I caught her on the zip line course yesterday.
“No, no, no!” The instructor comes by to gently pull us apart. “This is salsa, not a waltz.”
She arranges us into the proper position: standing a few feet apart with both of Andie’s hands in mine. Before long, we’re stepping back and forth in tandem while salsa music blares in the background.
“So,” I say when I notice a camera specifically trained on us, “is this more or less terrifying than jumping out of a tree?”
Andie snorts. “I think more.”
“Me too.” I stumble over my own feet, which makes Andie shuffle back too quickly. Her legs get tangled in her skirts, and she gasps. I lunge forward to grab her around the waist.
It’s the studio wall that finally stops our chaotic stumble. I press my hand to the stucco next to Andie’s head.
I let out a breath and mutter, “Well, that was embarrassing.”
Andie barks out a laugh, tossing her head back and exposing her throat. I’m mesmerized, swallowing the urge to press my lips to the underside of her chin. It doesn’t take long for me to realize my thigh is between her legs, and all at once it’s too much.
I push myself off the wall and brush off my hands just as Patrick booms, “Get a room!”
“We’re just taking steps,” Jamie teases. “You know, like walking.”
I drag a hand down my face as Andie shakes with giggles. Though my face is burning with embarrassment, I smile at her joy. It’s the lightest I’ve seen her since our wedding.
She takes the hand I offer, still beaming. I love the sparkle in her eyes and the pink that’s showing high on her cheeks. “Definitely more dangerous than zip lining.”
“Should have brought our helmets.” I gently tap her forehead with my index finger. Her eyes cross a little, which makes me laugh. “Sorry I suck at walking.”
She sighs, her shoulders heaving. “I guess we have to try again, don’t we?”
We resume our spot on the dance floor. “I know you won’t let us eat until we’re the best salsa dancers in this room.”
“True,” she says, bending down. Before I can ask what she’s doing, she grabs the hem of her long skirt and stands, tucking it into her waistband.
It flashes the bare skin of one of her legs, and the finished effect makes her look like a pirate woman at a Renaissance festival. Especially when she puts her hands on her hips and her cheeks puff out with a deep breath.
“Let’s go again, Watson.” Her mouth is in a determined line. I offer my hands without hesitation. When she slides her fingers against mine, I can’t help but give her a squeeze and a confident smile.
“Once you master this, we can work on a lean.” The instructor circles back to us. She watches us, clapping out a beat and counting until we can do the basic steps without much thought. “But first, honey,” she says to Andie, “you need to learn to follow his lead. You can’t both lead, or you’ll end up on your asses again.”
Andie puffs out a breath. “Why do I have to follow?”
“Because sometimes it’s good to let him do the work. It gives you a break.”
Andie steels her jaw, stubborn as ever.
“Stop thinking so hard,” the instructor says to Andie as she watches us. “It’s his turn to do the thinking. You just go with it. Trust him.”
Andie shakes out her arms mid-step, takes a deep breath, then settles back into our pace. Back and forth. Back and forth.
“Better.” The instructor nods her approval. “Better.”
For the lean, the instructor has us stand side by side, Andie’s right hand in my left. I watch her as our arms extend and she prepares to spin toward me. Her hair is frizzing at the edges, and her chest is now pink from the exercise. It has me thinking of how she used to look after another kind of aerobic activity.
My mind is so far gone that she presses her hip to mine, and I flinch. Her body against mine jolts me back to the present moment, and I forget what I’m supposed to do next. So I just stare at her—her face so close to mine I can see the way her irises change from caramel brown at the center to gray-green at the edges.
Even more stunning than her eyes—she doesn’t pull away. Instead, her eyes are on my mouth, her warm breath skimming over my neck and creeping down the collar of my shirt. It’s all I can do to keep my eyes on her face as I feel the rise and fall of her chest.
“Get a room!” Patrick booms again.
I give him a sidelong glance as Andie steps away from me. The left side of my body is cold in her absence. She smooths her hand down her ponytail and shakes out her arms.
“That was a good spin,” the instructor tells us. Then to me, “Do it again. This time, lunge, se?or, okay?” She claps her hands together and I flinch at the noise.
This time, when Andie presses against my side, I lunge and relish the pull in my thigh. While we’re suspended in the pose, Andie asks, “What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing.” My answer is impulsive and one hundred percent a lie.
“Bullshit.” Andie calls it like she sees it. “You’re doing that thing with your mouth.”
“What thing?”
“You know, the thing.” She presses her lips together, then pulls them to one side. “You’ve always done it when something’s on your mind. So come on, spill.”
I shake my head. “You don’t want to hear it.”
“I asked.” She gives me some of the strongest side-eye I’ve ever witnessed.
I sigh, pushing us both back to standing upright. I don’t let go of her hand and force myself to look her in the eyes. “I was thinking … you look beautiful. Like this.”
“Like … frustrated?”
“No.” I shift on my feet. “I mean, yes. When you’re focused, trying to get something right. You light up.”
She rolls her eyes. “Okay. Then I must look like a maglight from being around you twenty-four seven.”
I tilt my head and step closer. “Sweet potato, are you saying you’re trying to get this marriage right?”
“Oh my God.” She playfully shoves my chest. I let it be enough for now.
Our conversation stalls until we’re learning a dip. She waits until I’m fully supporting her weight in a lunge before she says, “Okay. I have a question.”
“And you think now is the time to ask it?” Honestly, I’m amazed that I haven’t dropped her since we couldn’t even manage stepping without making a mess of things.
“It’s relevant.”
“Okay.” I raise a brow, curious about what she could possibly think is relevant right now.
She blows a breath out, making the hair that’s fallen into her face flutter. “How in the hell do you get away with having thighs like this?”
I laugh, losing my grip on her. I pull us to standing, my hands still splayed across her back. “Are you offended by my legs?”
“It’s not fair.” She looks over my shoulder. The muscles in her throat work as she swallows.
“That’s a long way to go to say you’re attracted to me.”
Her eyes snap back to mine. “What? Where the hell did you get that from?”
She puts her hands on my chest and pushes.
I let her go. “And you’re pissed off about it.”
“Pissed off about you making assumptions, yes.”
“Why else would you ask about my thighs?”
“He’s got great thighs,” Jamie says as he hangs halfway upside down from Leslie’s arms. “It’s okay to be affected by those babies.”
“I’m not—I can’t believe you think—”
Patrick spins Kendra out. “My dude does not skip leg day.”
I cover my mouth to hold in laughter. Andie stands there, mouth hanging open. She glances around the room, realizing all eyes—and cameras—are on her. The salsa music still pulses in the background. To Cassidy she asks, “Do you have an opinion about his thighs too?”
Steve pipes up. “Kit’s got salsa thighs.”
When she glares at me, I shrug. “You started it.”
“I started nothing.”
“Just admit you like my thighs, sweet potato.”
She shakes her head.
“I said nice things about you.”
“You called me a maglight.”
“You called yourself a maglight.”
“Fine.” She curls her hands into fists at her side, then looks around the room again. Very quietly, she says, “I like your thighs.”
Cassidy can’t fight the smile on her face. “Andie, the mic didn’t pick that up. Can you say it louder?”
Andie mutters something indecent under her breath. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Then she looks me square in the eyes and yells above the music, “Kit Watson has thighs that should be illegal, okay?!”
Everyone in the studio cheers, including the crew. I take a bow.
Andie rolls her eyes. “Screw all of you. I need a drink.”