Page 49 of Ice Dance

“He won’t learn if he doesn’t try,” Navarro replied, catching my eye.

They were teasing. I could take it. I’d had worse. The loud music meant I could pretend not to hear anyway. Navarro asked if I wanted a drink, and then ordered for both of us. The press of bodies was a little intimidating, but clearly this was the place to be.

“So, you have your sights set on the Meridian,” Saga asked me while Navarro leaned on the bar, waiting for the barman to fetch the drinks.

“That’s the plan.”

“You good enough?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“And him?” he thumbed over his shoulder at Navarro paying for the drinks.

“Once he believes it, yes.”

“Oh.” Saga pulled back and laughed. “I like you. You wanna dance, English?”

“No, I’m . . . fine right here, thank you.”

“Your loss.”

“No doubt.”

Saga turned, grabbed Navarro’s arm, and pulled him toward the dance floor. Navarro spluttered his beer after barely taking a sip, then almost missed the bar when he moved to put the bottle back down. He cast me a sorry look, but didn’t put up much of a fight.

The DJ—someone I couldn’t see behind a darkened panel—switched the music to something deeper, slower, R&B. Saga and Navarro took a few seconds to find their place on the floor, then they began to move. It wasn’t anything flashy, same as the others around them, just getting in close because the music demanded it. I leaned against the bar and sipped my beer. I generally didn’t do bars. Mostly because it would mean going alone.

They danced a few tracks, then Navarro peeled himself away, coming back for his beer. Heat had worked its way into his face and down his neck. He pulled off the hooded top and handed it to the guy behind the bar. They’d clearly done this before. The tight top underneath revealed hints of those tattoos around his midriff, which also peeked out from under the shoulder straps.

“You wanna dance? That is what we’re here for.”

I did, but also . . . the local crowd were intimidating.

His eyes glittered in the near-dark under-string lights. “Nobody here knows you, if you’re worried about dancing with me?”

“It’s not that.” I’d answered too quickly. It was absolutely that. Two men dancing, and everyone made assumptions. Saga and Navarro could, because it was who they were and the locals clearly knew them. I was a new face, and I didn’t exactly blend in.

“Alright.” Navarro shrugged a shoulder, took a few deep pulls of his beer, and returned to the floor.

Regret tugged at my chest. I wanted to go out there, and he was right, nobody here knew me. There were so many people, the music was loud, the lighting awful. Even if someone did recognize us, they weren’t going to think much of it. People were pairing up without a care, men with men, women with women. I was concerned about nothing.

An upbeat track began, something punchy, and my body wanted to move. I unzipped my top, called the guy behind the bar over, and handed it to him, then made my way into the heaving crowd. The music caught me, and in the next step, I was moving with the sea of people. No real steps, just moving for the feel and freedom of it.

Saga had paired up with someone, leaving a space for me to step into.

Navarro and I danced, not close, just nearby, each with our own space to occupy. The music switched again, and someone leaned into Navarro, saying something into his ear. He laughed and nodded, then leaned over and told me he’d be back.

I assumed he was heading off the floor, but then a space opened up in front of him, and the woman who’d spoken in his ear reappeared, dancing toward him like a professional. The crowd immediately knew what was happening and pushed further back, taking me with them. Then Navarro got involved, of course he did.

The pair of them danced hard. They’d clearly done this before. They were good, heated, tactile. Perfect synchronization. Sensuous. Fast and thrilling. When the song ended, the crowd cheered, and Navarro headed back to the bar and his drink. Saga was there. I let the crowd spill back in, and danced like I didn’t have a care, getting looser and freer as the music carried me away.

Navarro came back at some point, a challenge in his eyes. We didn’t speak. He just slotted into synchronized moves with me, and now we’d become more familiar with each other, it was easier to feel the beat with him inside it. We didn’t touch . . . not to begin with. Then he grabbed my hand, put it on his hip, and we were suddenly close, hips together, rocking. He smiled, but it wasn’t one of his careless grins. He meant it. I let my hand settle against his waist, where his top didn’t quite reach the waistband of his pants, and felt the strip of warm skin under my palm.

I could have stopped it, just lifted my hand off, but I didn’t want to. I wanted more.

I took both his hips in my hands and we stepped, falling into a familiar rhythm. This wasn’t the studio, which should have meant it felt wrong, but it had never felt more right.

He turned, his back to my chest, then took my hands, guiding them up as his ass pressed against my crotch. The fit was almost too perfect. I had my hands on him, guided by him, up his sides, then dropping lower, back to his hips. Lower. Moving, rocking to the fast beat. I breathed into his hair, almost tasting him. It didn’t occur to me to stop. Why would I? We had to stop in the studio, but not here. Here, we were free to do what we liked. And I liked the firm feel of his back against my chest, his ass moving with me, the both of us deep in the rhythm now.