14. Julieta
Chapter fourteen
Julieta
“You’re too … stiff.”
I scowl. Well, then.
“Why are you so stiff?” he asks, perplexed.
“I’m not trying to be stiff,” I answer, defensively.
“Move your limbs.”
“I am moving my limbs.”
“Just … okay, let’s try this.” He demonstrates a couple of exercises and warmups to get my arms and legs moving more freely.
I might be too nervous, doing these dances with him now privately. Sometimes I look at him dancing—the flawless delivery, the fluidity—and wonder how I could even match up.
“Bet you’re wishing you didn’t offer to do this,” I mumble.
“Not even a little bit,” he says firmly.
I start to backtrack, but he keeps going.
“We aren’t joining the tango Olympics here. It’s a fun competition. For amateurs.”
“Right,” I answer almost embarrassingly.
“And I agreed to be your partner because I wanted to. I don’t do things I don’t want to do. Remember that.”
It’s surprising to hear it. What a wonderful feeling that must be. I don’t do things I don’t want to do.
Logan sighs loudly, then takes a minute to, I assume, think.
“Okay, we’re going to try something else.” I see him walk over and grab what looks like an extra t-shirt from his bag. “Can I put this over your eyes?”
“You’re going to blindfold me?” I ask, skeptically, as I look at the shirt in his hands.
“Can I?”
“Well, you’re the professional, I guess.”
But he doesn’t rush to do it, instead just eyes me for a beat. I shouldn’t do things I don’t want to do, either, but in this instance, with him next to me holding this piece of fabric almost as a sort of peace offering, I find that I want it.
I swallow, then tell him, “Go ahead.”
As he gently slips the fabric over my eyes, his fingertips brush against my hair, and my scalp erupts in goosebumps. He ties a knot in the back tight enough to be secure.
“I don’t want you to look down at your shoes, or at me, or the mirror. I want you to feel the music. Trust your feet, and trust your body. I’m going to wrap my arm around you now, and I’ll help you do the same.” He takes my arms and positions them properly, his skin something warm that I get to explore through feel, and then we begin.
I start rough: stepping on his foot, tripping over nothing, missing a step.
“Dammit. Sorry,” I say.
“Take your time. I’m right here.”
But as it goes on, I start to find my confidence. I start to figure it out.
Maybe it’s the not looking, the feeling, the trusting. The rhythm I have to follow with my own body and then his. I walk, I turn, I sidestep and move backwards in an ocho. He leads me as he always has: gently, slowly, confidently. And as we’re temple to temple, intimate in our embrace, his deep voice is a reassuring sound in my ear.
“Very good.”
“Perfect.”
“Just like that.”
With my eyes blindfolded, and his breath on the shell of my ear, these words can almost take on a whole new meaning.
This is just a dance. He’s a professional. But it doesn’t stop my body from responding the way it does—a shiver and a trail of goosebumps on my arm. A racing heartbeat, and a secret wish. Thank God I’m blindfolded so I can be saved the embarrassment of him noticing and looking at me. Once the dance comes to an end, I pull back but keep the blindfold on as I wait for more instruction.
“That was great. Let’s do it again,” he says eagerly.
And so, we do. I wrap my arms around him, and his find a comfortable home around me.
A walk, a sidestep, an ocho, a medio giro. Again, and again. The feeling is now fiery, deep in my chest and finding a way through my veins.
His tone is low in my ear as he takes the blindfold off. “That was even better.” Our eyes meet, and his are a shade darker than I remember, burning into mine. “One more time without it. With music.”
I can do nothing but oblige.
The song starts, playing loudly through the speakers. This song is all longing and seduction, a slow rhythm meant to make for a deliciously slow dance. I walk to him slowly and we come together in an embrace. His fingers lightly brush against my ribs, moving to my back.
This is a surreal moment, grasping the elusive feeling I’ve been chasing since I started. The harmony in how we are dancing, the anticipation of each move, the follow-through. I’m letting the music move me. I’m letting it dictate as I follow.
I envision every step, I sweat with every turn. I stay focused but loose, allowing myself a moment out of the rigidity. I dream of his every step and fall in line accordingly. He leads like he was born to do it.
This time as we dance, I play the part. I let myself believe it: that I’m his, that he’s desperate for me. That I will most certainly fall to pieces if he leaves me. That I do nothing but dream of his hands and his eyes and his lips. But I'm finding that with him it's not too hard to pretend.
He is temple to temple with me, eyes closed like he’s savoring all of this, too. We sway and sway, and glide along this floor like we own it. He’s not offering any words of encouragement or otherwise, there’s just the music and our silence. All we want to say is being said through this dance. All I want to convey is being freed through these moves.
And when we stop, the music comes to an abrupt finish that should end with a pose, but we don’t break away. We stay, mere inches apart, out of breath, staring. I feel elation. This overwhelming, expanding feeling in my chest that is desperately looking for an outlet.
Logan’s smile unfurls slowly as mine follows, and his eyes fall to my mouth. The feeling, slippery and explosive in equal measure, finds an outlet in the form of a hug. One big, warm hug where my arms wrap around behind his neck, and my body takes space right next against his. A surprised grunt slips out of his mouth as I practically jump him, but his responsive arms reach around to hold me, squeeze me, and just like this I can feel how fast his heart is beating. How it sounds as fast as mine. How the dance really took it out of us.
“Thank you for today,” I tell him against his shoulder, my voice muffled.
“Thank you ,” he says quietly.
“Are hugs okay? Does this break some sort of professional code?”
He chuckles quietly, rubbing my back gently. “Hugs are great.”
I peel away from him as I reluctantly say goodbye. I wish I could stay here forever. But I take my belongings, and my smile, big and bright, and I float home.
So much for not feeling anything. Right now, I feel everything .