Chapter 28
Countless songs later and I was still entwined with Alex. He was an excellent partner. And though I was stumbling in my flip-flops, we managed to pull off at least one clean dance. He even complimented my turns—the one skill that translated seamlessly from ballet to salsa. I’d always had excellent speed on my rotations.
“For someone who’s never done this before, you’re picking it up rather quickly,” he said, his accent simmering through.
“Thanks. I take a little ballet back home.” I didn’t want to draw attention to my experience. I kind of liked that he thought I was a natural.
“Ballet, huh? Well, that explains your figure.” His fingers lightly squeezed my waist.
Hot blood rushed to my cheeks and I quickly turned my head.
In my fifteen years, I had danced with a lot of guys—most of them wearing tights, and without the slightest hint of masculinity. But still, I had never before felt this self-conscious while dancing. Usually dance was one of the few things I could do on autopilot, which was one of the reasons my instructors complained. “You have beautiful technique, but no appreciation for the movement. Where’s the magic?” they’d drone endlessly. I had never understood what they meant. Only now, as my body moved in time with Alex, inhaling his soapy lemony scent and feeling his energy mixed with mine, I couldn’t check my emotions enough to focus on the steps. I could barely hold my frame.
I gazed at him, his dark eyes only a few inches above mine, and I became keenly aware of the tiny bit of space that separated us. I felt the pressure of his hand on my back, the way his thumb rubbed the index finger on my right hand, the way his hips lightly brushed mine when I swayed to the left. I wondered if he’d noticed too.
“You’re really pretty,” he whispered.
“Why? Because I look like Lilly?” I asked, downplaying the compliment.
“I never said that.”
“No, but you thought it.”
“So, you read minds?”
“Yup, it’s one of my special gifts.”
“Oh, really? Then you must know every guy here finds you attractive and it has nothing to do with your cousin.”
“Oh, please.” I sighed, rolling my eyes.
“Now that is American. . . .”
“What?” I huffed, slightly offended.
“It’s just, a Puerto Rican woman would never question a compliment or roll her eyes at it.”
“Oh, yeah. Well, these Puerto Rican women are just as American as I am.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I’m just saying—”
“You’re dodging my point.”
“Which is?”
“Which is Puerto Rican women already know how beautiful they are. But you don’t.”
I bit my lip. I never was very good at accepting compliments, especially those that couldn’t be accurately documented with hard evidence. It was easy to say thank you when an adult applauded my intelligence—I had the grades to back it up. It was entirely different to have the same reaction to flattery on my appearance, or my smile, or my figure. And when those comments came from men, I almost always assumed that they were insincere, that they “wanted” something, though I had never really been pressured into giving “something” up. But that’s probably because for a guy to try, I’d have to talk to him for more than five minutes outside of an academic facility.
“So, how come your English is so good?” I blurted.
“Changing the subject?” he asked, as he spun me around.
“No. It was just a question.You always this suspicious?”
“Of beautiful women, yes.”
“Oh, weak! You’re just dropping the cheesy lines now.”
Alex laughed. “Fine, fine. I’ll stop. I go to an English-language school with Lilly.”
Just then, the band’s trumpet player broke into a rousing solo and Alex twirled me in rapid succession. I looped under his arm, my hair whipping like an umbrella. After a long, loud note, the music suddenly stopped and Alex pulled me back, halting my momentum an inch from his face. My pulse spiked as I felt his breath.
“This was fun,” he whispered.
“Uh-huh.” I nodded, my mind numb.
We stood there, still embraced, only no music filled the air. I felt like one of those hokey couples who bantered back and forth on the phone, “No, you hang up first. No, you hang up first!” Neither Alex nor I wanted to be the first to break the moment.
“Well, guys! You seem to be having a good time!” yelled Lilly as she strutted up to us, put one hand on each of our shoulders, and pushed us apart. “Great night, huh?”
Alex looked away first.
“Hola, Lilly,” he said, shifting toward her.
I realized it was the polite thing to do. Lilly was standing right next to us, her hands on our shoulders, engaging us in conversation. It would have been rude to ignore her. But when Alex turned away, my heart was swallowed by the pit of my stomach. It felt like rejection.
“Hey, there,” I stated flatly, glancing at my cousin.
Several auburn locks framed her face, falling from her ponytail, and her forehead was damp as if she had been dancing hard. I looked down and for the first time realized my hair was also soaked to the tips, and my navy dress was so saturated you could see the outline of my white bra peeking through. The whole time I was dancing with Alex I must have looked like a drowning victim. I felt my ears burn.
“It’s time for dinner,” she said. “Alex, you’re at the head table, with me.”
“Oh, yeah,” he muttered, looking me up and down one more time. I folded my arms across my chest to cover my now see-through top.
Lilly shot him a look and grabbed his arm.
“Enjoy dinner!” She smiled as she led Alex off toward her table.