Page 46 of Every Time We Touch

Chapter 26

Clancy

I’m not sure I’ve experienced this level of attraction before. The pull I feel toward Jen is so enormous, it’s a little disorienting. So much so, that I need a break from her touch to feel like myself again. Luckily, there’s something else that always makes me feel like my absolute best self.

“You’re in for another treat,” I say, as I slip off the couch where we just gave in to all our baser—but beautiful—instincts again.

Jen slides on her side and props herself up on an elbow. “Just watching you move across the room is a treat.”

It takes all I have not to strut back to the couch and kiss her again. But I have something else in mind. I find my phone and search for the song.

“Would you like me to dance for you?” I ask, my voice sultry.

“Like in a strip club?” Jen chuckles at her own reply.

“No,” I just say, my tone a little firmer. Then I press play. My favorite song comes on. It starts with a few sparse piano notes. Then Isabel Adler sings the first lines:

The hunger in your eyes

The thirst in your glance

It couldn’t describe how Jen’s looking at me right now any better. Because I’ve started dancing for her. It’s a piece I choreographed for myself only. That I like to dance in between classes or just to make myself feel good.

I begin with stillness, letting the first notes settle into my bones before I move—one slow roll of my shoulders, a controlled breath that travels down my spine. Then my foot slides back, sweeping across the floor as my weight shifts.

You take me to

A breathless place

Isabel Adler’s vocals are low and breathy and, in my opinion, a million times sexier than in the first part of her career. I make sure to look Jen in the eyes whenever I can, whenever my body allows me to while performing this extra-slow rumba for one.

My hips follow the rhythm in a figure eight, each movement contained and intentional. I extend my arm outward, fingers unfurling as if reaching for something just out of grasp—reaching for her. Then I draw that same arm back across my body, folding the desire inward, letting it simmer instead of explode.

I’d love to put together a routine for the two of us to dance to like this, nothing but longing and desire expressed when we stretch our limbs toward each other. Because that’s what this piece is. My body communicating what I want the most. When I reach out my arms, it’s to her. When I rotate my hips, she’s all I see.

I pivot slowly, my foot turning against the floor with controlled friction, my torso following a beat later, creating that delayed tension I’ve trained for years to achieve. My hands trace the line of my own body, translating emotion into movement.

Time ticks away

But we have endless days

Between us that we’ll fill with love

The last lines are, perhaps, a little too hopeful for our particular situation, but I didn’t write the song. I’m only dancing to it—for her—although I feel it everywhere.

I lower myself slightly, bending through my knees, then rise again in one fluid motion, letting the music travel upward through me. Every transition is measured—every pause held just long enough to make it ache.

Darling, you

Take me to

This breathless place

The final words of the song perfectly convey how I feel about Jen, ever since I started dancing with her. My last move is a final extension of my arms toward her, my gaze full of yearning I don’t have to fake when I look at her.

I hold the position a beat longer than necessary—chest lifted, fingers extended, breath suspended—before letting the tension break.

Jen rushes toward me. She doesn’t wait for the final notes of the song to fade to grab the arms I’m holding out to her, to pull me into a tight embrace.