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“Heard about Tara,” Victor adds.
“Yeah,” I respond, but the commentary is getting old. Even Tara would think so.
“Is that the replacement?” Martina lifts their chin in the direction of Julie. “You work fast, Logan,” she says, as they all laugh.
“Oh, not quite,” I chuckle nervously, but I’m itching to end this conversation and find my way back to her. I don’t like that they’re calling her a replacement, likening her to something disposable. It feels disrespectful. It makes me surprisingly upset. And, even then, I don’t want to get into the tricky chats about what’s happening next, where I’ll be, what I’m going to do.
“We’re going to dance. Nice seeing you, Logan.” Susana squeezes my hand and walks away.
I stay put, leaning against the makeshift bar with a cup of water in hand. I spot Julie dancing with somebody new, somebody younger. I don’t recognize him, but I haven’t been here in a while, and he may well be a regular in this crowd. His hand is flush against her back, and I watch it slowly inch its way downward. My chest suddenly goes tight as my hand grips the cup of water, my eyes burning a hole into his hand.
Julie looks happy as she dances, her gorgeous red lips stretched into a grin, her body pivoting side to side. I knew she would dance with different partners tonight. Iknew. But right now, face to face with it, my stomach is in fucking knots.
His feet move in rhythm, matching hers, and for the first time in a long time, I feel a strong desire to take this back. To hold my ground instead of calling it quits. To keep this dance as mine.
Just as the tanda ends, Julie thanks him, but he doesn’t budge. Yet, she looks around and when she sees me, staring right back at her, she holds eye contact. When I told her about the etiquette, I just wanted to prepare her for it, but I didn’t expect to have such fun playing along. Like right now, where I can’t do anything but hold her gaze. And when she gives me a nod and a smile, I know I’m done for.
“I think I’m having a hard time keeping up.” She winces as I walk over to her. “Nobody wants to dance with me.”
“That’s not true.” I offer her my hand. “Roberto seemed to have a great time dancing with you. And whoever that guy was.”I jerk my head in the direction of the person that was previously dancing with her, now on the outskirts looking annoyed.
“He was nice,” she says. “Roberto was, too.”
“Truth is, you will run into some who prefer more experienced dancers, who can’t leave their ego at the door, but those aren’t the ones you want. At the end of the day, tango should always be about surrendering to the music, and the joy of having a beautiful woman in your arms.” With that, I wrap my arm around her, getting into position to dance.
“That’s it, huh?”
“That’s it. So, if it wasn’t clear,” I say in her ear, “I want to dance with you.”
She smiles as her arm finds space around my shoulders.
“Much better,” I say, when we're in position.
“Did you miss me?” she jokes.
“I did,” I reply. But how do I tell her that watching her dance with a new partner was like a kick in the ribs. How do I explain it when I don't understand it myself? Luckily I don't have to as the tanda begins.
We’re in a close embrace, arms wrapped around. I made do with quick improvisation, and she follows along, humming as she does. We’re temple to temple, so if I wanted to lean over and tell her all my secrets I could. I could turn and whisper them right in her ear as we dance.
“Lean into me,” I say softly.
“You’re breaking one of the forty-seven commandments,” she whispers back.
Dancing hasn’t felt this personal in a long time. Everything feels that much better: the softness of her skin, the glide of her feet. The joy I feel again.
“You want to know why I invited you here?” I ask, in her ear.
“You told me it was to get comfortable.”
“Well, yeah, that.”
“And?”
“And I didn’t want to wait until Thursday to see you,” I admit.
She pulls back a little to look at me. “Bold move,” she grins.
“You command my attention,” I tell her again.
