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My breath hitches when a prickling gust of wind surges, flapping the material in my palm.
When the second guitar, maracas, and drum join the sophisticated tempo, what feels like a delicate set of ethereal fingers gently raise my chin until my gaze crashes into Marcus’s through a throng of twirling bodies.
Quivers trickle down my ribs, kissing the tops of my thighs with tiny pinpricks of electricity. His arms slowly unfold, falling limply when he catches sight of what I’m holding.
If Momma G was right about this ritual, then that sweltering awareness means he knows exactly what I’m doing here.
This is what you wanted. I convey with my head held high, unyielding.So come and get me.
I fasten the cloth over my eyes and step in line beside a woman whose panting excitement sends my heart into a gallop.
I’m fidgeting like crazy, unable to control the loose energy bouncing throughout my body.
“What now?” I ask her, rubbing my palms down the front of my blouse. “Will they come to us?”
Anticipation pulses between us as she blindly makes contact with my forearm and yanks my hand out in front of me. “Hold your palms up! It won’t be long before one grabs you.”
Not a second later, she squeals in delight. The sounds of her retreating steps and trailing laughter have my breaths quickening to the point that I grow lightheaded.
Oh, god. This was a bad idea. A terrible, awful idea.
But two small, warm hands clasp my palms before I can make a break for it.
“Oof!” I fumble forward. “So sorry, I’m new to this.”
A strangled sound travels up my throat. It’s supposed to be a laugh, but it probably translates more like terror to the man who easily sways with the music, as if every complex vibrant chord lives inside his veins.
“What a surprise to see you,bonita,” a familiar voice croons.
“Ernesto?”
My movements are jerky at first as I allow him to guide me. He places one hand in mine and locks the other across my lower back, keeping me secure as our steps move forward and backward.
“Sorry,” I say again when I accidentally step on his foot.
His chuckle is smooth like rich, dripping molasses. “Relax. Follow my lead.”
Each of my senses heightens beneath the thin material. The warm, espresso scent of coffee integrating with his cologne, the ebb and flow of the music, and each of our footsteps scuffling through the grass.
Ernesto’s lips tickle my ear when he molds our bodies closer together. “Your boyfriend does not look very happy right now.”
I turn my head, forgetting I’m temporarily blind. “Marcus is not my boyfriend.”
Though, the thought of him being my anything weakens my knees.
“Funny you assume it’s him I was referring to,” he muses with an edge that serves an underlying meaning.
Ernesto’s movements are flawless enough to hide the fact that I can barely keep up. When he slows our pace, and I’m finally able to catch my breath, an incessant prickle skitters across the back of my neck.
Whatever animosity stands between the two, I need him to know that I won’t be caught in the middle of it.
“Ernesto,” I start with true sincerity, “it was wrong of me to offer you money in exchange for a date. But honestly, I’m not looking for anything while I’m here.”
His posture grows rigid, and with every step, he gradually puts more distance between us. “Yet you joinHallevah? The cruelty of such a heart.”
I stumble twice before he brings us to a dizzying stop, and I wonder if he can sense my eyes narrowing as I’m forced to grasp his shoulders to avoid tumbling into him.
He whistles low, sweeping my skin with a quick burst of air. “Let me tell you something about Marcus Matthews,bonita.”
