She says this casually, but the mention of the weekend affects us both. Our eyes lock across the table. I don’t know if she can see it in my face, but I’d be all over her given half the chance.
Yet I won’t say that. Iris gave me a clear answer. She doesn’t want complicated. And, yeah, it stung. It still stings. But I understand.
Instead, I take a piece of watermelon and bite into it. And we’d get through this loaded moment just fine if she weren’t watching me like that.
Is that longing I see in her eyes?
It’s enough to shatter my composure. I’m imagining moving around the table and taking her in my arms when Ramon and Sally come through the door.
Yep. They were mugging on the back porch. Sally is smoothing her hair and Ramon is running a hand down his T-shirt. Both look a little glassy-eyed. Honestly, I don’t think this kitchen has ever seen so much sexual tension.
“Watermelon. Cool,” Ramon says, panting just a little.
We all descend on the chilled fruit. I think each of us could use a little cooling off.
But any kind of cool is lost when I start our warm up. No lie, I don’t know why I chose Sade for the routine. Subconscious masochism, maybe. As soon as the seductive beat begins, I regret it, but I talk over the opening lyrics to diffuse their power.
“Arms up. Breathe deep. Rooted in the heels.” The four of us stand in a line, facing our reflections, our movements slow and flowing. I’m watching Iris’s posture like I should be. As her teacher.
But when Sade reaches the refrain about no ordinary love, my eyes snap to her gaze in the mirror. She’s looking right back at me.
Goddamn.
Sade sings:
When you came my way
You brightened every day
With your sweet smile.
And I can’t look away. At least I can move. Instead of standing frozen with my arms over my head, I sweep them down. “Come down,” I manage to say.
The three of them follow, and I make myself look at Ramon and Sally, but that’s a mistake too. They’re basically eye-fucking each other in the mirror. I look back at Iris.
The ballet dancer in me wants to sweep her up in a modern routine. As her arms come up with the next breath, I want to stand behind her, thread her fingers with mine, press my legs against the back of hers, and lead her with my touch. Open our bodies like twin star lilies, arms and legs spread wide. Angle my head to the right and wordlessly guide hers back against my shoulder, her neck long and sensual. Arch her back until I could run my hands down to her waist. Turn her to face me. Lift her in my arms and spin the two of us in a revolution with the music. I choreograph the whole slow, seductive masterpiece in my head.
If she could trust me to lead her, it would be beautiful.
Somehow, I get through the warm-up without touching her. I don’t dare put on the Bonsoir Catin song. If I think about feeling like this at home, I’ll spontaneously combust.
Maybe I’m not alone. In the silence before I start our first Two-Step, I’m pretty sure I hear Iris mutter, “I’m warmed-up now.”
Blood hot and nerves raw, I start the music, The Southern Ramblers’ “Creole Stomp”, and we begin. Iris’s eyes are locked with mine, and we move with flawless precision. All the way through the first circuit of the room. Through the first turn and then the second.
We’re in the second circuit when she asks in a whisper, “Are you okay?”
The question—with all its honesty and acknowledgement—hits me with unexpected force.
Am I okay?
Honestly, no. Today was hard. And even without that, my answer would still be no. Iris has awoken something inside me, and being this close to her isn’t making it easier. So, no, I’m not okay. But I can do a better job of hiding it to make this easier for her.
“Sorry. I’ve just had a shitty day.” Truth. “Family stuff.”
A pretty frown creases her brow. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head. “I don’t really want to talk about it right now.” That’s also true.
Iris nods, accepting this. “You need a distraction. What should we talk about?” Then her hazel eyes brighten. “We could talk about the weather. I hear we’re going to get a hurricane.”
The eagerness in her voice makes me laugh. “We’re not going to get a hurricane. It’s just a