15. Logan
Chapter fifteen
Logan
It’s past eleven in the morning when Gavin stumbles out of his bedroom, yawning.
“Late night?” I ask from the couch, huddled over my laptop working on a class syllabus.
“Mm,” he mumbles in response.
He’s been coming home late most nights, a different schedule than what we’ve both been used to.
“How’s work going?” I ask.
“Good, actually.” He makes himself a big bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, our favorite with stockpiled boxes in the cabinet. “Really good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He nods. “Well, Steve’s a fucking mess, but it’s … different. I’m still getting to talk to people, meet people, but it’s a little chaotic and fun and just something new.” There’s a light back in his eyes, something I didn’t fully realize was missing until just now. “My body’s sore as shit and I get home really late smelling like a fryer, but I’m having a great time.” He smiles around a mouthful of cereal. “How about you?”
“Same,” I laugh.
“Oh yeah? How are the lessons with Julie?”
“They’re going really well.” I choose my words wisely.
But there’s no denying that they are going well. The last class took a turn into unpredictable territory. I don’t know what I was thinking blindfolding her, but it helped. It fucking did something, that’s for sure.
And that hug? She hugged me.
It’s been one thing dancing with her, holding her close in a proper tango hold, but that was a kind of intimacy that left my body craving more. I’m not not a hugger, but the feel of her chest pressed up against mine, and her arms holding me tight like she couldn’t bear to let go, broke something open in me. I didn’t want it to end.
With each class I see her let loose a little bit more, and it’s only fueling this fire. She’s got power, more than she notices. She’s got an energy. It’s like she’s been pressed into a box for so long, I wonder what would happen if somebody let her out.
“Is she better than Tara?”
“She’s different.” Not that I would compare the two, anyway. There is no comparing them. Tara has had decades of experience, and at the end of the day, Julie is still an amateur. “She’s a different dancer than Tara, but—I can’t believe I’m saying this—I might feel a stronger connection with her. There’s a chemistry I feel like I’ve been missing.”
“Chemistry is good.”
I scratch the back of my neck. Chemistry is not what I was expecting. “Tara and I were great partners, but we’re tired. She’s acknowledging it; she’s taking a step back. I don’t blame her.”
“But Julie?” he asks with a smirk.
But Julie. Fuck, Julie is giving everything, and I can’t stop now. Not yet.
“I thought I was done with it, too,” I say. I know it’s not really a direct response to what he’s asking. But what I mean is that maybe these classes with Julie are somehow throwing me back in.
“Life surprises you sometimes.” He smiles around a mouthful of cereal like he knows what I mean.
“How’s it going working with her cousin?”
He pins me with a stare. “Don’t ask.”
“That bad?”
“Nah,” he says, smiling to himself. “Not that bad.”
He yawns again, pouring more cereal into the bowl.
“Hey,” he says. “I like this. You being home more. Me being home more.”
These moments between us aren’t new, but it’s been so long I kind of forgot how comforting they could be.
“Me, too,” I say.
But with that, I have to get up and get ready to go.
***
“How are the private classes going?” Tara asks once group class is done. The students have filed out, leaving us alone and the studio empty.
“They’re good. Good.” I nod in response. That’s believable enough, right? That shouldn’t result in any extra questioning. I’ve kept her up to date with the basics: Ethan bailed; Julie wanted to keep going, but things have gotten admittedly a bit more complex.
“Good,” she repeats skeptically. “Uh-huh.”
“We’ve got the third one tonight.”
“So, she was just looking for classes that worked with her schedule?” she asks, digging for more information.
“Yeah.” My voice cracks. I rub the back of my neck, clearing my throat. “Actually, she asked me to compete with her in San Diego.”
She meets me with stunned silence.
“I don’t know,” I groan. “I don’t know . This is so different from everything I’ve been feeling.” I run my hands through my dark hair, pulling at the ends in frustration, making it even messier. “This seemed important to her. I can help her.”
“You can,” she says then, her voice firm, her eyes soft. Before I can say anything else, she adds in, “I’ve got to get going. Meeting Silas. But keep me posted on this. Please.”
She gives me a hug goodbye and slips out quickly.
I have always liked the stability and precision of this dance. During separate houses and holidays, alternating weekends, and parents bad-mouthing one another, this dance kept me grounded and centered. But Julie’s making me feel off balance now. She’s starting to chip away at this numbness. Making me a little more reckless.
“Alright, what are we doing today?” Julie throws her bag down as she walks in, a night and day difference from when she first walked into this studio, looking for a way out.
She slips out of her blazer and there’s something about the act, the jacket sliding off her shoulders in slow motion and exposing her soft arms, and me watching, that is making me feel … starved . Desperately hungry as my eyes study every curve of her. I turn to look away, busying myself with the music selection.
I clear my throat. “We’re going to work on boleos, ganchos, and enganches today.”
“Sounds like a lot,” she says.
“You can do it.” I stand to walk over to her and can’t help but smile. “So, I’m going to lead with an ocho, and then quickly whip you around. You’ll twist your body, kicking your leg up.”
I show her the steps in the mirror, first solo, and then in position, leading her and guiding her through them.
“The gancho is a hook, so your leg is meant to hook around mine,” I state. “I’ll lead you in an ocho, but on one step you’ll swivel a bit farther, and my leg will step into place behind you, and it will allow for you to kick up between my legs.”
Again, I walk her through the steps slowly, repeating them over and over.
“Make sense?”
The first time we try together, she kicks me right in the calf.
“Oh shit, sorry!” she says.
“I’m alright,” I wince. “Let’s try again.”
And so we do. Again and again. She’s agitated, and she seems off.
“Dammit,” she hisses, looking at her feet in the mirror.
“Just take your time,” I remind her calmly.
But her steps are stilted, just a beat off. She’s trying to rush through it like she’s trying to get this lesson over with. None of the confidence she walked in with is showing now. It seems like this sudden addition of new steps has thrown a wrench in it.
“Hey, let’s take a water break,” I offer.
“No, I’m fine.” Her voice is clipped.
“Julie, come on,” I push.
“No. I have to get this right.”
“You don’t have to do anything right now,” I say softly, a contrast to her firm tone.
“Yes, I do.” She’s adamant. “This competition is in eight weeks. I don’t even know what the hell I’m doing.”
She stares at her feet in the mirror, working on the moves over and over. Her body seems tired, lacking energy. There’s something in her face: maybe anger, but deep down, disappointment.
“Who are you trying to please?”
“What?”
“Who is it that you are trying to please in taking these classes? Your family? Or you?”
She doesn’t answer, instead just pins me with a look then turns away.
“The correct answer is yourself.”
Frustrated, and tired, she gives in, sitting down and taking sips of water.
“I’m sorry.” She sighs. “I’m having a hard day.”
I sit down across from her, keeping a small distance. “Work, or …?”
“Work. Life. I don’t know.” She frowns, defeated. “I don’t like making mistakes.”
“Nobody does, Julie.”
But she shakes her head like that was a stupid response. “I feel like I can’t make mistakes.”
That I understand, too.
“I can’t make mistakes, and I can’t do anything wrong because if I do then it’s clear that I shouldn’t have been doing this in the first place. And if I can’t figure it out, then maybe I’m wasting my time. And maybe I’m not even worthy of the time spent on this hobby.”
“Fuck.”
“Sorry, I shouldn’t be saying this.”
“No, tell me more,” I say. “Get it out.”
She gives me a small smile. “I don’t like being vulnerable either.”
“We don’t have to talk about that, then. Let’s talk about something else.”
But she just shakes her head instead, with knit brows. She remains quiet for some minutes, sipping water, looking down at her shoes.
“I don’t think I’ve ever prioritized my own happiness.” The way she says this sounds like she just made a revelation, something from deep within that hurts to dig up. I didn’t expect it, and it hurts to hear her say it. “Some days it feels like I have to ask permission for joy.”
“Is this joyful?” I want her to say yes. I want to know that what we’ve been doing has been bringing her well-deserved happiness.
Her answering smile is small, and it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“You’ve got permission to be here all you want, as much as you want.”
“I know this is a lot of me rambling, and maybe none of this even makes sense to you.” She waves her hand. “I just don’t want to let her down.”
“Who?”
She looks at me like she misspoke, and she shakes her head. “My family.”
“I get that.”
“I don’t want to let you down,” she says softly, vulnerably, and it burrows into my heart.
“You could never let me down Julie.” Heavy words for what seem like a heavy conversation.
“You say that now.” She smirks.
“You could make a million mistakes,” I tell her. “There’s no letting me down.” That might have been too much, but there it is again. Reckless. No filter. She makes me feel excited. A kind of desperate that I like. A lot.
“I don’t want to waste your time,” she quietly admits. It sounds stressful, this pressure that she’s been carrying and living under for so long.
“Julie, there is no time wasted when you’re here. You’re learning something with every class. You’re dancing. You’re trying something new. That’s all this is about. Everything else is icing on the cake.”
“These shoes were gifted to me. So, I’m trying to honor that. I’m trying to make my family proud. I want to make sure I don’t take them for granted.”
“They were a gift, not an assignment.”
She sighs like I don’t understand. “I don’t want to waste it.”
The thing is, I do understand. Maybe only a little, but I do. The crushing pressure, the high stakes, the expectation to always do well, to make sure you’re making people proud. I’m just seeing in her what I’ve felt in myself—the exhaustion, the complicated emotions, the yearning for something more. “We all have our reasons,” I tell her quietly.
“What’s yours?”
My phone lights up just then, a message from Gavin: Going out tonight. Come with.
He’s listed a place down the street from the studio, a local bar with live music on certain nights. Maybe we could both use the break, I reason.
“Let’s do something else,” I say suddenly. She looks to me again, waiting for me to continue. “Class time is almost up anyway. What if we call it a night and take this on the road?”
She blinks. “What? Where?”
“Just down the road to the Alley Cat. Ever been?”
“A couple of times,” she says, confused.
“My brother is out tonight. It just gave me an idea to go and unwind a bit?” I pose it like a question, unsure if this is even smart.
Her brow furrows. “I don’t know.”
“Just figured you could use a break. And my brother is cool. He doesn’t meddle, or anything. Keeps quiet.” I know she doesn’t want her family to know about the tango classes, so I’m trying to acknowledge it and cover my bases as I can.
The look on her face is one of gratitude, maybe a little sheepish. “Is … that alright? I’m not looking to take up your time.”
“You’re impossible.” I laugh. “We were just talking about this.” My laughter subsides as I study her face, my eyes clocking every inch. There’s that feeling again—that hunger, that want. The lines are getting blurred and right now I feel like the catalyst, muddling all of it as I go. “I like you taking up my time,” I say softly.
Her mouth unravels into a smile, a blush creeping up her cheeks as her eyes meet mine. I see her debate it as she looks to the door then back to me. She checks her watch, biting her bottom lip, deep in thought. I’m suddenly aware of how my body is leaning toward her in anticipation, desperately wanting her to say yes.
Soon enough, she agrees. “Yeah, alright.”
I jump up and start to gather my things, perhaps a bit too eagerly. “Grab your bag and follow me.” I walk with her out of the building and into the night.