Page 5 of Dance This Song With Me?

"I did not!" Jase spluttered. "He was supposed to have dinner with his douche of a boyfriend. I just went to check everything was fine."

"And lucky you did," Eddy crooned, getting in close again and batting his eyelashes at Jase. Dios, they were sickening.

I sighed.

"The bedroom is that way," I pointed down the hall, "Otherwise get out of my house before you make me see my lunch again."

Chapter 3

LUCAS

The sky was already dark as I strode from the parking station where I'd been lucky to snag one of the last spots for my car. Being a Friday night, the city was still busy, bustling with office workers staying in town to celebrate the end of the working week, and the newly arrived heading to dinner or shows or both. A myriad of different voices and accents flowed over me as I hurried past. The streets were an overwhelming barrage of lights and honking of car horns as impatient drivers struggled with the congested peakhour traffic.

I stumbled over a crack in the footpath, the uneven concrete snagging my shoe.

Slow down!

I was anxious not to miss the pre-party class. Butterflies churned in my stomach, an uneasy blend of anticipation and nerves. Tonight I was taking the plunge and going to my first social dance. Would I remember the steps? Would I totally screw up the dance and make a fool of myself?

More importantly, would I see the hot guy that I'd seen there when I'd first wandered in only two months ago, the night I'd seen my first bachata dance?

Wrapped up in my thoughts, the doorway to the venue was looming over me before I knew it. I paused outside. I took a deep breath to settle myself, pushed down the trepidation that sat like a lump of lead in my stomach, and stepped inside.

As I climbed the stairs, I could already hear the music. Something settled in my gut, the familiarity of the music soothing my nerves. It was a song they often played in the studio where I'd been taking lessons. I could do this.

A couple were ahead of me at the reception table, and then it was my turn.

"Hey," I said, as the guy turned to me. He smiled.

"Hey there, I remember you! You came back!"

"Yeah. I took some lessons with your friend, like you suggested," I said. Then I added, "Tonight's my first social."

"Welcome! You're gonna love it," he enthused, taking my money.

Music swam out from the open door behind him, its beat irresistible, my foot instinctively tapping as I waited for him to fish out my change from the metal cash box.

"Here," he handed me a $10 note, before stamping the back of my hand to show I'd paid. "The class will start soon."

"Thanks."

With quivering nerves, I walked into the hall. Seats lined the walls, with the exception of the far wall where the DJ's setup was arranged on a long table. Already half the seats had bags and clothes marking them as claimed, and groups of people stood around or sat chatting. A few were changing into dancing shoes, and one couple were already trying out some moves on the dance floor. I looked around for anyone I knew from my studio, but there was no-one I recognized, so I claimed a seat near one of the groups and waited for the class to start, feeling a little awkward and anxious. I sat back, closed my eyes and took some deep breaths, allowing the music to wash over me as I waited.

Bachata was very different to anything I'd done before. Grinding and humping on the dance floor had been my forte back when I was in university, but I'd never had any formal dance training. I was used to simply letting go with the music and doing whatever my body felt like doing.

Latin dance - as taught in the dance school - required a lot of concentration. You danced in couples, with one person 'leading' and determining the moves, and one person 'following'. My dance instructor described it as a conversation - with the leader making certain 'cues' and the dance partner, the follower, responding to them (or not, if your cues weren't clear).

The group classes I'd gone to had, apart from teaching the basics, included some practice at social dancing. And I'd have to say that if bachata was a 'conversation', it often felt like I was speaking a foreign language and the person I was dancing with was having an entirely different dialogue. Yet on the few occasions when we got it right, the feeling was amazing.

"Hey everyone, thanks for coming!" a middle-aged male voice spoke as the music trailed off, and when I opened my eyes people were already gathering on the dance floor in front of a couple I assumed must be the instructors. The guy, of hispanic appearance, was dressed very casually in distressed baggy jeans and what looked like sports shoes, but the woman accompanying him was dressed in clothes suitable for clubbing with tight-fitting cream jeans, high-heeled dancing shoes, and a revealing shoe-string top.

Joining the stragglers wandering onto the dance floor for the warm-up, I still couldn't see anyone I knew, but there were some obvious beginners here, which made me feel more comfortable. Disappointingly, I couldn't see the hot guy I'd noticed on my first visit, though I figured he might turn up later in the evening.

The class was easy and totally within my capabilities as a 'lead'. By the time the lights were dimmed and the social itself began, my nerves had settled and I was ready to have fun. I asked my first person to dance, and despite a few awkward moments when I completely forgot all the moves I knew, I began to enjoy the night.

A few dances in, I realized the room had become a lot more crowded, which meant the experienced dancers were turning up, and I kept my eyes open hoping to see my unknown hottie. There was no guarantee he'd be here, of course, but I was determined to persist until I found him and had a crack at getting to know him.

As the songs flew by, and the crowd became even thicker, the air grew oppressive with the heat from a hundred sweaty dancing bodies all confined in one un-airconditioned space.