He snorts, but his eyes are twinkling. “No, it’s not. I’m asking you to dance.”
“You dance?” I ask through a laugh. “You’re kidding.”
He shakes his head with a rueful grin. “Totally serious. My trainer made me take lessons. He wanted me to improve my body awareness. I took a month of ballet before I begged for anything else, so he signed me up for ballroom dancing.”
“And you liked ballroom dancing better?”
“Oh yeah,” he says, his smile widening. “The girls there were a lot less uptight than the ballerinas.”
At that I throw my head back and laugh, and damn if that doesn’t feel good. “God, they must’ve been like a picnic compared to me.”
“C’mon, Rey, don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re a delight.”
“Anuptightdelight,” I correct, knowing how unhinged I sounded a few seconds before, but smile despite myself.
“A little bit uptight, but also smart and talented and insanely hardworking and selfless—and is that enough to get you to stop stalling? I could keep them coming, but are you going to dance with me or not?”
“I still don’t believe you can dance.”
Leo tilts his head like he’s accepting the challenge and steps close to me. One hand slides around my waist, coming to rest at the center of my back, and with the softest touch he pulls me closer. His other hand takes mine and lifts it to his shoulder before grasping my free hand with his.
“There’s no music.”
He smiles again then opens his mouth and starts to sing, in a low tone, slightly off-key, but I’m too stunned to care. “Moon River, wider than a mile, I’m crossing you in style someday …” I didn’t notice when he started dancing, but instinctively I follow him. It’s another moment before I realize that at some point he must have picked up the waltz choreography from my floor routine, because that’s what he’s leading me through, his steps sure and perfectly in time. He’s either an extremely talented dancer or he’s been watching me really closely. Or maybe it’s both. I shiver as he spins me beneath his arm and catches my hand again easily before moving into the next verse.
His voice struggles a little on the higher notes, and he flushes a bit but then settles smoothly into a more comfortable range, and I squeeze his hand, desperate for him to continue.
He pulls me in closer, our chests brushing lightly, and his fingers twitch at my back. His breath is warm against my temple as he leans in close, still singing softly. He spins me away from him, holding his hand high as I twirl underneath into the same double pirouette from my routine, my leg held up behind me in attitude, like I would on the floor, and when I finish he pulls me in again and this time we’re dancing together. His forehead rests against mine as I whisper the final words along with him, “Moon River and me.”
We stop dancing and just stand together, breathing each other in. The dance was slow, but my heart is racing, pounding to a rhythm much faster than the waltz. He’s still holding me against him, but he doesn’t move except for a small twitch of his jaw. Our eyes meet. He’s waiting for me. He wants me to know that I can trust him, even if I’m not sure I can trust anyone, even myself. It’s a big deal. A really big deal.
I push up on my toes and press my lips to his. His grip on my waist is firm, but he stays passive. He’s kissing me back, but letting me lead. I let my teeth gently nip at his bottom lip. He groans from the back of his throat, sending an echoing vibration through me. My skin tingles as his hands fist into the bottom of my shirt, sliding beneath the hem, his knuckles brushing against the bare skin at the small of my back. I pull away gasping. There’s something about even that soft touch that sets me on fire. I close my eyes, trying to keep my balance as my head spins from the sensation. His breathing is as ragged as mine.
A perfect first kiss.
“Audrey,” he rasps, but he stops with my name.
“You memorized the words,” I whisper, still stunned by it all, “to the song.”
“I looked it up after I saw your routine that first night of trials. Went to bed listening to it on repeat,” he confesses with a shrug and a hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “You were so gorgeous out there, and then we reconnected, and now … it … it sort of feels like it’s about us, you know? Like this was fate.”
“I don’t believe in fate,” I murmur. “Not anymore.”
“What do you believe in?” he asks, his voice raw.
His question has me on tiptoe again, and he meets me halfway, this time taking the lead in the kiss, as he did in the dance. His hands slide beneath the back of my shirt, hauling me against him, nothing gentle about it this time. I reach up and twine my arms around his neck, and then his hands are moving, one tangling up into my hair, burying itself in the messy bun, and the other gripping me firmly at my hip, pulling me into him and creating a sharp friction between us. I’m going to burst into a million pieces if he keeps touching me like this.
That thought makes me pull away. We’re out in the open and anyone could see us. He seems to understand, his grip loosening, our lips parting one final time.
“When this is all over, Audrey Lee, you and I are going to … We’re going to have that very serious conversation,” he says, looking up over my head, breathing heavily. I can feel his heart pounding and the warmth of his skin seeping through his T-shirt into the palm of my hand. “If you still want to.”
I nod, but he can’t see me. “I still want to”—I pause, gathering up my courage—“have a serious conversation”—I reach up, laying a hand on either side of his face, guiding his eyes to mine—“with you. Very serious. The most serious.”
“Good,” he says before smiling wickedly. “So, are you distracted yet?”
I laugh again. It feels so good to do that, and he makes it happen so often that it’s like a drug. “You’re the worst, you know that?”
“Yeah,” he says, slinging an arm around my shoulders and pulling me into his side as we walk back. “I know.”
