The line goes dead before I can saygoodbye.
* * *
What feels like moments later, I find myself standing face to face with a man I crushed on twelve years ago, a man who, to my innocent teenage soul, was my hero.
But now, I’m an adult.
And God, so is Brayden. The way his worn jeans ride low on his hips is driving me nuts. I swallow, willing myself to look at the teacher instead.
“All right!” Elroy claps his hands and then blows a whistle so loudly I jump.
My unplanned hop into the air brings me closer to Brayden, and he reaches over and puts his hand on my lower back.
“Ladies and lads!” Elroy shouts.
I grimace at Brayden, who pretends to kick the air.
I laugh as Elroy says, “I like to mix styles together. So if you like diversity, you’ve come to the right class. Tonight, we’ll run through a sample of several dance styles. Next week, we’ll get into specifics and start to develop a choreo combination. So get together now, and come toward the center of the room!”
He goes through a lengthy demonstration of the waltz with his assistant, Amy.
“Got it?” he asks.
Not really.
“Good!” he yells. “Let’s try it on my count.”
Now we need to do the thing I actually came here for—dance.
Brayden holds out his hand to me, and I stare at it dumbly.
“Leleila.” His tone is gentle. “You’re going to have to take my hand if we’re going to follow the steps.”
“Right.” I smile at him. “I’m sorry.”
I reach up and put my hand in his. When he puts his other hand on my waist, I feel my nipples wake up. I place my hand on his arm, enjoying the soft, warm flannel of his plaid shirt against my palm.
“You two over there!” Elroy shouts. “I know you aren’t actually engaged, but for tonight, act like you are. Brayden, hold the lady close to you.”
Brayden steps further into my space and tightens his hold around my back.
“Is this okay?” he asks me softly.
I nod. “Four times now,” I mumble into his shoulder.
“Four times what?” he says into my ear.
“Four times I’ve met you, and every time, I end up in your arms.” I flush because I can’t hold back the vulnerable way the words come out of my mouth.
Brayden clears his throat, and my gaze roams down his chest and then keeps going. When I observe the bulge of his impressive-looking equipment behind the buttons on the fly of his jeans—no zipper, all buttons—I get so distracted I miss Elroy’s cue to begin.
And of course, Elroy notices. “You!” he shouts in my direction. “Put those beautiful eyes on your partner’s face and leave them there! Let’s start again.”
This time, out of fear of being publicly called out again, I begin when Elroy gives the go-ahead.
And we do okay. Mainly because Brayden’s actually a good dancer.
“Have you done this before?” I ask at a quick break.
