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"You looked like you were going to claw some of the women's eyes out," he said, brow quirking up.
"I think you were seeing things." But only because what I actually wanted to do was break their fingers. "I haven't been to a lot of parties," I clarified. "I never know what to do," I added.
"You drink. And talk. And laugh. And dance."
"If I recall correctly, you were the only one of your brothers dancing," I said, teasing. Even though the fact that he danced was one of the things I'd always found so fascinating about him since I didn't know any guys who danced. I always figured it was a cultural difference, one I particularly enjoyed.
"They don't know what they're missing," he said.
"I'm not a dancer," I informed him, shrugging.
"Everyone is a dancer," he shot back. "Just not everyone is a good dancer," he clarified. "But that doesn't matter. What matters is that you have a good time doing it."
"I don't think I can enjoy it if I'm not good at it," I admitted. I wasn't exactly Type A in that way, but I felt like there were just some things you were either good at or not—like singing, painting, writing, or dancing—and putting your attempts of it out there when you knew you weren't good was just plain embarrassing.
"Hm," Che said, turning away from me. I didn't realize what he was doing until the stereo turned on. Not the rap or hip-hop that was usually on when they partied, but something that had to be Cuban in origin, though I didn't know enough to tell what kind of music it was. "Come on," he said, holding a hand out toward me, eyes bright.
"Oh, no. No way," I objected, backing away, hands palm out at him.
"Yes, yes way," he countered, grabbing one of those raised hands of mine in his, using it to pull me forward, resting his other hand behind my back.
"I don't know what to do," I admitted.
"You just move, Sass," he told me, starting to do so himself, pulling me along with him. "No, look up. Look at me," he demanded when my focus went to our legs, trying to imitate his movements.
"I'm trying to see what I'm doing," I told him.
"You didn't need to see. You need to feel it," he said, pulling me closer so that my hips brushed his. "See? Feel it," he said.
And I was feeling something alright.
But I don't think it was necessarily the moves.
Still, my hips started to respond to his naturally, a sort of innate, primal connection, something more sexual than it should have been.
Suddenly all those songs from my youth came back. The ones claiming that if you could dance, you could fuck.
And judging by how well Che could dance...
No.
God, no.
I definitely didn't need to be thinking about things like that.
"You're tensing up," he told me, wiggling his hips again.
"I told you I'm not good at this," I reminded him, trying to turn and walk away, getting yanked back, then spun in a circle.
I didn't care how old a girl was, she loved being spun in a circle. My heart lifted up, got lighter, as a strange, high-pitched squeal escaped me as Che spun me around again, the dizziness making everything swirl as he caught me, bending me back, smiling down at me as I beamed up at him. There was no other way to put it. I beamed. Because for just one moment, I wasn't thinking, I wasn't worrying. I was just feeling. And that feeling? It was dangerously close to happiness.
"Fuck you, Benny!"
When I tell you I snorted, I snorted so hard that I choked, and that choke turned into an uncontrollable laugh as Che pulled me up onto my feet again.
"You alright there?" Che asked, and I could hear the smile in his voice as I pulled myself back together.
"God, I don't know the last time I laughed like that," I admitted.
"Happy looks good on you, Sass," he told me, eyes soft.
It felt good, too.
But that was a problem, wasn't it?
Because it was something you could get used to.
And it was fleeting.
At least, for me, it always had been.
"Hey, what?" he asked, brows furrowing
"Nothing," I insisted, going back to grab my coffee, taking a sip.
To that, he let out a sigh, clearly frustrated that I wouldn't open up, but letting it drop. "Did you eat yet?"
"No. I thought we would be doing the, you know, family dinner thing."
"Everyone else is out. Why don't we go out?" he suggested, shrugging.
"Are we allowed to?"
"Are we children?" he shot back.
"You know what I mean. Do you think it's safe? Do you think Huck would be pissed? Since he is extending his hospitality to me here."
"It's fine. But I will check," he said, reaching for the phone in his back pocket as I tried to pull my frayed edges back together again. "He comes off as controlling, but he's actually pretty laid-back. He's just at another level of stress with the baby coming."
