His exasperation echoes what I’ve felt working in the community. “Yeah, I thought I was a big shot until I went head-to-head with my grandma and her friends. By the end of week one, I was begging for mercy.”
As we laugh and sip our drinks, my muscles relax. We have more in common than I realized, and he’s so easy to talk to that I find myself feeling understood for the first time since I was ousted from my job in Miami.
“They think I work too much,” I vent, spilling enough it eases the knot permanently lodged in my chest. “Yes, I give a lot to my career, and it’s true that I got a little burned out at my last job, but Ithriveunder pressure. My work-life balance might be shit, but I really enjoy what I do.”
“And there’s nothing wrong with that. I specialized in Geriatric Medicine so I could make a difference, and I still have so much left to accomplish. In addition to publishing my research on the five pillars of healthy aging and Alzheimer’s, I have my eye on chief of medicine.”
Carlos sets his drink on a cocktail napkin, fingertips still gripping the rim, and then I’m thinking about how he saves lives with those hands, and how admirable his life’s work is. “The majority of my relationships didn’t survive how many hours I put in. If you ask me, ambition isn’t a flaw, it’s a bonus.”
Everything that’s been churning within me for weeks is soothed by the words. Maybe that’s what men I’ve dated in the past were missing. Not that they were flawed or wrong, and neither was I. They just weren’t as driven, which led to arguments about my hours at the office and the texts and calls that came in from sunrise to sundown and occasionally that witching hour, three a.m.
Which reminds me, King EZ had called me around that time last night or this morning or whatever, but he didn’t leave a message and, given I didn’t reply to any of his texts from last weekend, I’d be afraid to listen to it if he did.
I didn’t even have to pull out my phone to recall the maddening lines sent in a five-minute burst around midnight last Saturday night.
Ezekial:Hey, what happened to that crisis plan you always talked about? Can you email it to the office so my new publicist can use it? My statement last week had zero vibe.
Ezekial:I think my posts are being shadowbanned again. Can you check?
Ezekial:btw did u put those D&G shades back in the glovebox? my girl thinks u kept em on purpose
Yeah, his girl—who I never once borrowed sunglasses from—had remained by his side. Though I tried not to check the articles about him or the team too often because it was bad for me, I saw the statement he released about struggling with emotional detachment and compulsive behaviors that make it hard to form real connections. But don’t worry, he’s seeking help to understand the root of it.
It’d made my blood boil because I had compulsive behaviors that belonged to a disorder that made my life harder every single day, whereas he didn’t think he should have to use any impulse control. How dare he use it as an excuse to cheat!
But it was the final text, sent the next evening, that made me conjure a dozen angry replies I never sent.
Ezekial:u still mad or just allergic to greatness?
I shake my head in an attempt to clear the words that’ve imprinted themselves on my brain and return my attention to Carlos and his goal-oriented attitude. I lift my drink and cast him a smile over the rim. “Thank you for saying that. Most people don’t understand, so it’s nice to talk to someone who really gets it.”
“Just don’t go spreading that around the community—I have a rep to maintain. Same goes for the Latin dancing, as it requires a certain level of…” Don Juan rolls his tongue, the purr causing me to squeeze my thighs together. “Recklessness.”
He’s so close when I twist my neck that my lips almost leave a crimson smear on his cheek. Regardless of what my grandmas think, I knowhowto flirt—it’s the delivery I struggle with.
I swallow past the tightness in my throat and go for it anyway. “Reckless happens to be the perfect description for my dance moves.”
My joke gets the laugh I intended, but I also hope he gets that I’m not completely kidding.
“For reals, though, this dress makes promises I can’t keep, so…” I glance at the dance floor and mangle my straw a bit more with my teeth. “How about you keep your eyes closed the entire time?”
“Don’t worry, you have nothing to be nervous about.” He downs the contents of his glass and leans even closer, his warm breath hitting my ear. “Wearing that dress and looking like you do, all you have to do is follow my lead.”
He threads his fingers through mine, and I can’t decide if he’s too smooth or if he just has his life together.
Then again, none of that matters if I stay focused on my mission of spending a steamy night of dancing in a salsa club. As fixated as Rita and the biddies were on getting me to live out their “what-ifs” and regrets, they failed to factor in my apprehension over what might happen when you ran into the man you’d grinded up against the next Monday at the office.
But it certainly doesn’t stop me from giving in to his pull when he stands, tightens his hold on my hand, and leads me into the undulating throng.
Lights flash, tingeing us in pink, purple, and blue. The hues dapple Carlos’s skin and mine as he glides his hands from my hips to low on my back. I loop my arms around his neck, bringing our bodies flush together.
A few steps into following his lead, he shows off those moves he mentioned earlier, snagging my hand and spinning me around, his palm dragging across my middle to keep me from pirouetting out into the other dancers.
“One, two, cha-cha-cha,” Carlos says, demonstrating the step, step, sway of hips I desperately try to follow.
Within no time, I’m breathless and giggly, and a hint euphoric, honestly. I forgot how much I love to dance. The contained waterfall I’m wearing steals the spotlight, glittering and forgiving my sloppy performance.
Firm fingers dig into my hip, Carlos slips his thigh between mine, and this is it, the exact move that guy with a mullet performed on what’s-her-face inDirty Dancing—Grandma Helen, Wanda, and Rita would be appalled I’ve forgotten. No offense to them, but I get antsy and can’t sit through a long movie, not since I had summers off for fun.
