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“I think you might be,” I confess.
She sits up straighter. “How so?”
“I’m having fun dancing with you, Julie.”
“I’m having fun, too.”
“I haven’t had fun like this in a while. Tango hasn’t been this fulfilling for me in a long time.” It’s the truth, unfiltered. She doesn’t flinch; she just keeps listening, so I’m inclined to keep talking. “You and me. This feels like a good thing.”
But with the way she’s looking at me, this feels a bit like throwing myself into the fire.
“Yeah,” she breathes out. “It does.”
Chapter twenty-two
Julieta
This, right here, feelslike 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 tohim, 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 moveshis 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.Thisshe 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.
