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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 cometogether 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 howfast 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.
“Thankyou,” 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 feeleverything.
Chapter fifteen
Logan
It’s past eleven inthe 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?”
