taught by our mother long ago. It comes to me on autopilot and I get into the music, drop my hips and use the cymbals to accentuate the beats and flow.
I’m having a blast and lose myself to the music. I do a series of hip rolls and spin around to face the other two tables. My breath is knocked right out of my chest as my gaze connects with the coal-black eyes of the only man I’ve ever wanted more than anything.
Milo Chavis.
Swallowing down the surprise I feel, I keep up the dance. Only this time, I feel as though I’m dancing for an audience of one.
His dark gaze leaves mine to slowly track up and down my body. It’s like a featherlight caress I can almost feel from beaded sandaled feet, along my bare legs and gyrating hips, up and over my working abdominal muscles and rolling shoulders. I arch my back and thrust my chest forward as I bend back and forth.
Since I know this dance well, I can take in every inch of his masculine form. He has pitch-black hair that’s parted perfectly down the center and tied tight at the nape of his neck. I know he usually fastens it with leather bands at intervals down his back. His jaw and cheekbones could have been chiseled in stone by Rodin himself they are so defined. His eyebrows are black slashes above his dark eyes and his skin tone is a toasted brown that reminds me of the desert hills on the reservation when they are shaded from the sun at dusk. He’s wearing a black suit with a crisp white dress shirt underneath. At his neck is an intricate bolo tie made of black leather. Twisted rope strings hang down his massive chest; an etched medallion at his strong throat has a thumbprint-size turquoise stone in the center.
One hundred percent Native American.
One hundred percent man.
One hundred percent beautiful.
One hundred percent never meant to be mine.
Not wanting to torture myself any longer, I spin around and face the other direction, following along with the crew and glancing over at Suda Kaye. She smiles and nods her head, gesturing subtly to Milo as though she’s handed me a gift.
I close my eyes and continue the dance until the music changes, sound swirling in the air around us, ramping up to the big finale right before we’re supposed to take our leave.
Thank God.
I spin around and around, the finger cymbals clapping together for our dramatic ending, and stop only a few feet away from Milo’s chair, as though my body gravitated toward him against my will.
His jaw is still clenched but twitches as I stare into his beautiful face. I can’t help it. The man is magnificent, and I’ve been in love with him since I was eight years old. Not that he knows it.
Milo has never seen me in a romantic light, and I doubt he ever could. He’s never so much as given me a hint that he was interested in being anything more than an acquaintance, even now that we’re older and neither of us live on the reservation any longer. With the four-year age difference between us, I’ve always been a child to him. The awkward, skinny, gangly-limbed, little blonde girl he had to save from bullies when we were children.
Tahsuda’s granddaughter. Catori’s daughter. Suda Kaye’s sister.
That’s all I’ve ever been to him, and even though he’s made a couple calls to my office and an official request via email to schedule an appointment for some business matter he wants to discuss, I’ve made sure to avoid any such meeting. I’ve politely requested he share the business matter he wishes to review and received another request to meet in person. With ease I professionally declined that request to meet, as I have no desire to sit face-to-face with the man. He brings up too many memories of my past, not to mention my ridiculous never-ending crush. Running into him several months ago at lunch with his wife ripped open that wound inside me and put out the torch I’ve been carrying around for him for the last twenty-two years.
I would no longer covet Milo Chavis.
He is not the man for me.
It’s a newer resolution, but one I am planning to stick to until I find a nice-looking, boring, hardworking man—one who wants to be with me for me. Warts and all. Well, I don’t have any warts, but I do have a lot of