22. Julieta
Chapter twenty-two
Julieta
This, right here, feels like the best thing.
His eyes meet mine with a focused look, one I can’t turn away from. His stare envelopes me in a rich warmth, like a big comfortable blanket, and I want to wrap myself around him. Feel his warmth all over.
“One more tanda. What do you say?” he asks then, voice low.
There is no answer but yes. Not now, and probably surprisingly, not ever. “I’d love to.”
He takes my hand and leads me out to the dance floor. I follow every step, every turn. We move together in quick unison, and this feels better than it has ever felt. It’s freer than it has ever been. I lean into him, suddenly unashamed of it, and he mimics it. Soon we find ourselves closer, much closer, temple to temple, my eyes closed. Our moves begin to slow, not quite following the beat of the song, and this feels like we’ve created our own bubble, our own little world in the corner of the dance floor.
The two of us move in tandem, slowly, deliciously, my body fighting every bit of restraint to just press against his. He inches even closer to me, his hand pressing on my back to secure me to him, and I don’t fight it. Our hips meet, our hands are pressed together. I breathe slowly and feel his own breath right on my neck, almost making me lose any willpower I am exerting right here. We are way too close for proper tango dancing. This is about to be dirty dancing at the milonga if we don’t knock it off.
And yet, his hand on my back is still solid, and his heartbeat that I now feel through his shirt is racing. He must feel mine, too, furiously beating with excitement and nerves and a rush of electricity. Something has changed here, and I’m drowning in it. The rigidity, the lists, the constant careful planning I’ve lived within my whole life has started to break, and I want out of it. I want … him .
“What are you thinking about?” I whisper into his ear, suddenly desperate to know, shamelessly breaking a milonga rule.
He breathes in deep, and a pained sigh falls from his mouth. He looks like he’s about to respond, but the song ends, and it takes a second to break away. Once we do, the spell is broken. The trance we were in quickly falls to shards. I inhale through my nose, watching Logan watch me. If he was as affected as I was, he doesn’t show it now.
He applauds the DJ, then smiles at me. “Your first milonga and you shut it down.”
I can’t help but smile back, one big grin overtaking my face with happiness. “This was so much fun,” I tell him genuinely.
“The best milonga I’ve been to,” he admits.
The time is now one in the morning and everybody is gathering their belongings, hugging and kissing goodbye, making their way to the exit. We follow the crowds spilling out onto the sidewalk. Logan’s hand sits on my lower back and, while he’s done this before, I am now even more acutely aware of his gentle fingers, his palm almost flush against it. He moves his hand once we’re outside of the building and I push the disappointment down.
In the end, this was a wonderful experience. This was a wonderful night. This she would have approved of.
At some point, the night turned rainy, a steady rainfall that is not letting up as crowds gather under the awning. Others are running through the parked cars, huddled under jackets, some under plastic bags, some with the foresight to carry an umbrella.
When did we all become so afraid of the rain?
When did I become so afraid of everything?
So, I look back at Logan, who’s watching the sky, and I shrug, running right out into the rainy night. In a matter of seconds, Logan is by my side, laughing with me, following my slow jog.
“God, I love the rain,” I tell him, my dress starting to stick into my skin. Rivets run down my arms and face, tracing the lines of my smile. It’s coming from deep within, directed right at him.
His smile back is almost devious, perusing my soaked skin and my drenched hair. The wet ends are dripping down my back. Everything should feel uncomfortable, like I want to wipe my face and hair and arms, but all it feels is freeing. As freeing as this whole entire night has been.
My mother always used to say the rain was a blessing from the skies. Like when it rained the day of my LSATs, when it stormed the night before my first job interview out of college. The rain always did feel like a blessing in some ways, but right now, under this sky, after this night, it truly feels like the best blessing. Washing me clean, giving me new life.
As I continue to walk, I slip under the wet pavement and Logan immediately reaches his arm out to grab me, pulling me in right to him.
I gasp at the action. “Oh.”
His other hand, now like the best habit, finds its way around my waist. My body reacts as it has all night: with fervor and fever and want. He dances a couple of steps with me, and I’m almost in awe of how my body falls into line with his. How familiar it has become, how much like home it feels. My answering laugh is light and bubbly and loud. Who knew I could even laugh like this?
“You,” he says simply, dancing with me in messy rhythm.
“Me?” Our foreheads meet as we sway along the deserted sidewalk, the rain starting to let up.
“That’s what I was thinking about. That’s what I’m always thinking about.” He studies my face, and our swaying slows significantly. “You. Always you. And this dance and this night and this goddamn spectacular dress.”
Oh.
“You make me want to break all the rules, Julie,” he whispers.
“We know how I feel about that.” I swallow thickly.
He laughs softly against my mouth.
“So, I’ll find a new partner,” I rush out. A rash suggestion when the last thing I want to do is get farther away from him.
He shakes his head. “Can’t let you do that now.”
“No?” I should be embarrassed by how breathy and desperate I sound.
“Don’t want you dancing with anybody else.”
“I don’t want to dance with anybody else.” I shake my head.
His smile turns sexy, something devilish that I can just make out in the dim of the streetlights. “I didn’t kiss you goodnight yet.”
So direct, so clear. So damn hot .
“You didn’t.” Is my voice breathier? At this point it sounds like equal parts hopeful and horny.
My body, alight with absolute want, is burning. And then he adds to the flames and kisses me.
He starts slow—languid and delicate as his lips meet mine. Little soft kisses like he’s getting acquainted, but as he presses closer, it becomes aching and demanding. Our mouths move in better rhythm than our feet. Logan kisses like he dances, gentle yet leading, firm and passionate . And like everything else between us, it feels dangerously addictive.
His hand, still firm at the small of my back, presses me closer, and I can’t help but grab his dress shirt and pull him to me. His lips part, allowing for his tongue to meet with mine, brave and forward and possessive. I can taste the rain on his lips, and somehow, I want more. It isn’t slow anymore. Now it’s bordering on feral. A soft groan leaves his lips, and the sound causes a swoop low in my belly. My heart races. It feels like I’ve been struck by lightning. My fist is still gripping his shirt, his palm is still against my back. If I could get any closer I would, but our bodies are flush, leaving no space between us. This feels entirely surreal; this feels like the best thing.
Weeks ago, I was in bed by nine o’clock surrounded by cases. Now, I don’t even recognize myself making out on a downtown sidewalk. My back meets the building, the bricks scratching my skin, adding to the sensation.
His hands travel down, settling right on my ass in this tight dress that is probably not leaving much to the imagination. I want his hands all over me in this dress. My sighs are probably telling on me plenty.
“I love that,” he chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to my jaw.
“Love what?” I pant, now gripping his messy hair in my own sort of victory.
His teeth graze the skin below my ear, and I sigh again.
“That,” he clarifies. “How happy you sound.”
I don’t know what to say, so I kiss him instead. He’s not wrong, though. I can’t remember the last time I was this happy.
“Tell me there’s something here, Julie,” he whispers, a sort of plea between us. It’s almost begging, and it makes me want to grip his shirt tighter, pull him in closer. He leans over me slightly. My heart ramps up, beating loud enough to feel it in my throat.
“There’s something here, Logan.” My desperation has probably reached a limit, but I don’t even care.
And his hard kiss against my mouth is all the response I need.