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Sawyer’s right behind me. “You okay?” he asks, glancing both ways before following me to the opposite side of the street.
“I’m fine,” I answer, though I’m not sure I fully believe it.
“That guy was a creep.”
“Yeah, he was.” I still smell his drunken breath, still feel gross from having had his hands on me.
“You have to be more careful. You were flirting with the owner, and I saw the way he looked at you. The way they both looked at you—”
“Are you trying to make this my fault? Because I talked to Javi?”
He says no, but he means yes. I can feel it. And I want to ask him how he looked at me, if he even bothered to look, why he didn’t come take my hand instead if I shouldn’t have been dancing with a stranger. I want to ask him how it’s my fault that some men look at me a certain way, and scream that I can’t control their gazes. All of it bubbles below the surface, like a bottle of Mountain Dew that’s been kicked down the stairs, but the cap is super-glued on.
“He was all over you, Gwen.”
I know he’s talking about the creep from the ship that I hopefully will not bump into again for the remainder of our trip. I know, I really do, that he’s not talking about Javi. But I wouldn’t mind if he was jealous that another man asked me—and then I asked that other man—to dance. “What’s your point? It’s not like you care.”
He takes my arm and pulls me to the side of the walkway, letting a family pass with a stroller. “Of course I care, Gwen. I—” He cuts himself off, and his Adam’s apple bobs. “Forget it.” He raises his hands in defeat before running a hand through his hair and checking his watch.
“You what, Sawyer? Don’t think you’re getting off that easily.”
He looks up and closes his eyes, and his forearms flex as his hands open and close. I swear I hear him count to five. “It brought back some feelings. That’s all. There was something about his face, and I didn’t want him to… to hurt you.”
It clicks: the way he approached us, the restraint, the counting… He’s trying to control himself and not repeat the school office incident that landed him in hot water and led to the end of his relationship.
“It’s like he was taunting me, daring me to do something. He’s seen us together twice now, but he still felt like he could touch you like that, like he had a right to put his hands all over you. Like he wanted me to challenge him. And it just reminded me—”
“Hey.” I press a palm against his chest, over his thudding heart. When he doesn’t meet my eyes, I rest my other hand on his cheek and stroke the stubble that’s been growing the past few days. “It’s okay. I’m okay. We’re okay.”
He takes my hand in his, kisses the inside of my wrist, and takes a deep breath. I can feel his pulse return to normal as he releases my hand. After a few moments like this, he breaks the silence. “I didn’t get to tell you earlier, but you look beautiful today.”
“Oh.” I’m so flustered, my own heart pounding in my chest after the whirlwind of the last five minutes, all my calming energy transferred to Sawyer, leaving me with none. So his comment lands differently than it might normally. I blush. “Thanks.”
“I know I screwed up yesterday,” he adds. His hands are deep in his pockets again, and he toes the ground with his boat shoe. “I was embarrassed. Like, want-to-tie-myself-to-the-anchor embarrassed. And then I couldn’t sleep. And I thought about coming to talk to you, but I didn’t want to wake you.”
“How do you think I feel? I have to put up with her after this is all over. You at least get to go home and never have to look Gram in the eye again.” I laugh, but he studies my face, and he opens his mouth like he wants to say something again. He closes it, deciding against it.
It’s just as well; we’ve accidentally wandered again, and there’s a crowd gathered down the street with more live music pulsing from the speakers set up in a small park.
“Come on.” He takes my hand again and pulls me toward the scene. It’s a week-long dance fest, and by the looks of the sign stapled to the telephone pole, we’re about to get a tango lesson.
“We don’t have to stay,” I say, angling my head up so he can hear me better and so I can gauge his reaction. The salsa at Zamira’s was like an appetizer—I’m hungry to dance more, but only if Sawyer’s okay with being my partner.
He shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. Just… don’t let go, okay?”
Sawyer
We’ve spent half an hour learning the basics of tango, which means we’ve stood mostly side by side to learn the separate men’s and women’s steps, which means she let go. But she keeps looking at me to reassure me we’re still connected in some way, which grounds me.
The air has grown humid as clouds have rolled in, and she’s swept her hair up into a messy bun, though loose tendrils stick to the sweat at the nape of her neck. When she makes a mistake, she laughs it off, shakes her head, and gets back to trying to perfect the steps.
Finally it’s time to put our moves together, and our bodies come together naturally into the hold position. Her hand is warm and damp in mine, and I know I’m drenched in sweat, but other than feeling bad for her having to touch me I certainly don’t care, and it seems like she’s okay with it, too.
She moves easily, though she watches our feet and counts the steps the whole time. “They make this look so much easier on Dancing with the Stars.”
“And in spy movies,” I laugh. “Like everyone knows how to do those quick turns and dips and everything.”
“Oh, you mean like this?” She spins herself away from me and turns back in, wrapping herself up in our arms. Her back is pressed against my chest and she bends at the waist to run a hand up her leg. It forces her ass into my hips and I bite my lip to distract my brain from sensations in other parts of my body.
