She holds my gaze for a moment. “I’ll join you.”
ELIDA
The night air is a relief after the warmth of the bar, and I stand in it for a second with my eyes closed and breathe.
When I open them, Russo is leaning against the wall beside the door, beer in hand, looking out at the empty street with an expression that’s more relaxed than I’ve seen it before.
“Thank you.”
I glance at him. “For what?”
“The extra session. I could feel it today. In the game. The things you showed me - I could actually feel them working and I wanted to say that. Properly.”
He means it. There’s no performance in it, no captain-mode. He means it, plainly, and understanding that is more disarming than I was prepared for.
“You did the work.”
“Still. Thank you.”
I look away first, which I notice, and look out at the street instead, and there’s a moment of comfortable quiet.
“You know,” I say, “for a hockey player, your hip mobility isn’t terrible.”
He levels a look at me. “High praise.”
“It is, actually. Hockey players are usually stiff. As a rule. No offense.”
“Some offense,” he says, with another half-smile.
“Dancers are the gold standard. Figure skaters are close. Hockey players are… improving.”
“Improving,” he repeats, with one eyebrow cocked. “Also high praise.”
“Also, yes.” I turn to face him properly, and the teasing has taken over now in a way I didn’t quite plan, loose and flushed from the drinks. “I mean, can you even dance?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Can-”
“Dance. Actually dance.” I hold out my hand. “Show me. Salsa. Basic step.”
He looks at my hand. He looks at my face.
And then he takes it.
His hand is warm and large, and he holds mine with a sureness that shouldn’t surprise me but does. I laugh and show him the basic step, talking him through it, one, two, three, and he gets it faster than he should, which also surprises me. We’re laughing, and then I grab his other hand to show him the arm position and look up to check he’s following and I see that he’s not following the step anymore.
He’s looking at me.
The look is calm and direct.
I become aware, suddenly, that I am pressed against him. That the dancing and laughing has arranged us so that there is very little space between us and his hands are holding mine and my face is tilted up toward his.
I look at his mouth.
He knows. I can see that he knows, and he doesn’t move, doesn’t push, just holds my gaze with that steadiness that undoes me a little every time he turns it on me fully.
Then he lifts one hand slowly and puts his palm against my face, and says my name-
I lean in, close enough that I can feel the warmth of him, close enough that it would take nothing, less than nothing-
