Delaney
The cafeteria in the student center is loud with the sounds of clanging dishes and students’ voices. I’m not here to eat, just to grab a soda before I head upstairs to my first salsa lesson.
I get to the register, pay for my Coke, and then head for the exit. My eyes can’t help but wander to the far left corner table near the windows where the football players usually sit in a huddle. I come to a stop when blue eyes meet mine. A flash of awareness washes over me as Maverick rakes his gaze up and down.
A small smile tilts up the side of his mouth, and it infuriates me that he seems to know he makes my body do crazy things. He’d acted jealous of Alex in The Dead Zone a few days ago but neither of us has mentioned it since. I guess we’ve decided to let it go.
Miss Brunette—the same one from class—approaches his table and plops down in the seat next to him. Her hands snake around his bicep as she looks up at him adoringly.
I feel the eye roll coming, and instead of stopping myself, I let him see it.
There you go, folks: further proof that football players are magnets for floozies.
I tip my soda at him and he smirks, as if saying, I can’t help it if women love me.
You’re so full of shit, my face says back.
He gives me a full-blown grin before looking over at her with that distant smile, the one I know isn’t authentic. He leans in and says something to her, and she looks crestfallen.
He turns back to me and stands.
He mouths something, and it looks like Wait for me.
I glance around to make sure he means me, and the only person near me is a cafeteria worker in a white jumpsuit. Looking back at him, I point to myself, just to confirm.
He nods and makes his way along the tables, weaving through players and girls and the general maze that is our cafeteria.
My body draws up in anxiety. I’m not ready to deal with Maverick and his intensity, so I do what I do best.
I bolt.
I have somewhere to be anyway.
Flipping around with a flounce of my ponytail, I head for the exit in a full-on speed walk that’s debatably a run. I clear the door and dart for the elevator to head up to the third floor.
As soon as I exit, I approach the door to the dance studio. From inside, I hear the low undertones of a conga drum and maracas, so I know I’m at the right place. On the door hangs a sign that says Welcome to Salsa 101! Can’t dance? We can change that! I hope that isn’t a lie. I’m fascinated with Latin music and food, and learning to salsa is on my bucket list…hence the urge to finally show up when I don’t even have a partner.
I open the door to the studio, which is actually just a room on the third floor of the student center. In my hand is the flyer that lists the class times and requirements along with the twenty dollars to cover the cost of the lessons.
I’m tempted to text He-Man and tell him what I’m doing, to see if he’d be proud of me for coming alone. I make a mental note to take a selfie and send it to him later.
It’s a large square-shaped room with a sound system in the corner and an entire wall covered in mirrors. My eyes scan the space and land on a tall, thin male wearing super tight black pants and a red sequined shirt. He’s sitting at a small table in the corner, next to the sound system. Dark gelled hair is brushed straight up from his forehead, and there might be the sparkle of shimmery eye shadow on his lids. I catch a small white nametag pinned to his shirt that reads Ricardo, Dance Instructor.
I’m definitely in the right place.
He looks up from his clipboard and brushes his gaze over me. “Here for salsa?” He looks past me. “Alone?” I can hear the surprise in his tone.
“Um, yes,” I say, forcing conviction and confidence into my voice. I really do want this. “Is that okay?”
A doubtful look crosses his face. “Typically, it works best if you have a partner. Everyone else has a partner. I might be able to jump in and dance with you, but I’m usually too busy.”
Nice. Even the teacher doesn’t want to dance with me.
A group of people standing next to a refreshment table a few feet over swivel their heads as his voice carries over to them.
“Right, I saw that in the flyer. Normally my roommate would jump at the chance to do this, but well, she’s got this new boyfriend. I mean, who doesn’t want to learn to salsa…” My voice peters out and I sigh as I realize I’m rambling.
Ricardo gives me a wry yet kind smile. “Ideally you learn how the rhythm of the body works when you have someone to mirror the moves with you.”
I push my glasses up on my nose and shuffle my feet, thinking I should have just stayed at home and watched a movie.
The instructor gets distracted as another couple comes in the door, and I ease off to the side, looking for the nearest exit.
Could I leave without anyone noticing?
I pause, clenching my fists.
Why do I care so much? So what if I’m alone?
Where are your balls, Delaney? WHERE ARE THEY?
I dare myself to go through with it.
I slap my money down on the table and Ricardo turns back toward me, a surprised expression on his face as he takes in my crossed arms. “I’m here to have fun with or without a partner, and who’s to say I might not start a new trend: salsa sans partner. You never know, it could be the next big thing in ballroom dancing.”
Ricardo’s face breaks into a smile as he swishes around the table to hand me a nametag to put on my shirt. “I like your spirit,” he says as I scrawl my name on it with a pen and slap it on my Game of Thrones shirt. I’m here and I’m ready to rumble.
Bobby Gene appears in front of me. “What! Are you kidding me? Delaney Shaw comes to salsa lessons?” He grins broadly and I automatically give him a hug. With his brown hair and soft eyes, he has an infectious personality that puts me at ease.
“I’m just here for the great Cuban food,” he whispers conspiratorially as he nods his head at the long table filled with various dishes and small bottles of water. “And a girl I work with at the school paper. She roped me into this, and I couldn’t say no.” He points out a perky little redhead with freckles, and she waves at me enthusiastically.
“Where’s your partner?” he asks.
“Don’t have one,” I say.
“Really?” He looks confused. “But how will you—”
“I’m her partner,” says a deep voice behind me, and I know who it is before I even turn around.
A sneeze racks my body—of course.
I battle down the next one and turn to face him.
Maverick stands before me like some kind of Greek god, with his lush lips, magnificent body, and perfect blond hair perfectly swept back. My mouth dries as I take in the fitted black shirt that clings to his sculpted muscles. Does the man ever have a bad hair day or anything?
“What on earth are you doing in here?” I whisper-hiss, although I don’t really have to because Bobby Gene has taken one look at Maverick’s glare and wandered back to his partner.
“Honestly, I was following you. Had no clue it was to a dance class…but now that I’m here, I may as well help you out. I heard you don’t have a partner.” He cocks his head, waiting for my reply. “I must warn you though…I can’t dance.”
I shrug, trying to play it cool when on the inside I’m a mess, quivering with excitement that he’s here…with me. “Well, I am alone, and so are you, and apparently the food is great here. Want to check it out before we get started?”
He grins. “You’re asking a football player if he wants to eat? I just had dinner—as you know, since you ran away from me—but lead the way, my lady.”
He gives me his arm and I take it.
We make our way over to the table, which is stocked with dishes that have little placards next to each one, naming the contents. I take in the marinated olives, fancy cheeses, fried plantains, and flan.
“Wow. If I had known all this was here, I might have tried this a lot sooner,” I say.
Maverick picks up a ramekin of flan and hands me one. “Let’s try this.”
He gets his own and we each take a bite at the same time, our eyes closing in simultaneous ecstasy.
“Damn, that’s good,” he says, his eyes on my face instead of the caramel pastry.
“It is,” I reply as I watch him savor the bite.
I’m relieved when the instructor claps his hands and motions for us to move to the center of the room.
Disposing of our dishes, we follow his directions.
Ricardo’s eyes widen as he takes Maverick in and then he looks at me, a little smile on his face. “I see you found a partner after all, Miss Shaw. Nice choice.”
“Indeed,” I say.
Maverick smirks and shrugs.
Ricardo goes on to explain that the salsa attitude comes from the music, the dance is something you feel with your body, and at the same time, your brain can memorize the mechanics of the eight-count method. He’s enthusiastic as he runs through the steps around the circle we’re standing in. I try to pay attention but it’s difficult with Maverick standing next to me, our arms brushing against one another.
“First, we must start with the embrace,” Ricardo says, pulling on the arm of a tiny woman in a matching red dress who I assume is his partner. He pulls her close with a twirling motion and stares deep into her eyes. “You hold them with intense emotion. You’re going on a journey of love and you must convey this in your every movement, in your eyes, in the sensuality of your muscles as you hold your partner tight.”
I need a fan just from his words. Ricardo is quite the romantic.
He demonstrates by leaning in and putting his left hand on her shoulder. He hugs her tight then wraps his right arm around her lower back, centering it above her ass. His partner then raises her right hand to mirror his movements.
“Keep your head high, your spine straight, your core strong, and your chest lifted. Ooze confidence, my loves!” Ricardo demonstrates with a sliding movement of his feet as he twirls his partner around. “Move forward with your left foot, then forward with your right, forward with the left, then the right. Then, feet together, moving left to meet right. Tada! That’s it, and repeat!” He stops and takes a little bow along with his partner who, of course, mirrored his movements while moving backward. He claps his hands. “Now, let’s partner up and hold each other with deep sensuality.”
Sensuality?
I turn to face Maverick, a small laugh escaping me. “Are you as uncomfortable as I am right now?”
“I don’t have a clue what the hell he just did out there.” He grins in a self-deprecating way, a spot of pink on his cheeks.
“Does that embarrass you? That you can’t do everything?”
“No, but I do want to make a good impression on you.”
My heart does a somersault.
“Why?”
He ignores that comment and pulls me into his arms, his left hand on my shoulder and his right going to the base of my spine. Goose bumps rise on my arms as he tugs me in closer. “Put your arms around me.”
I do, my mouth completely dry, my body in tune and ready to catch fire as his chest grazes against me and his leg fits smoothly between mine. Heat engulfs my lower regions and I ignore it by staring at his chin. I can’t bring myself to look into those eyes.
“I’d do anything for some people—you’ll figure that out about me,” Maverick says softly, and suddenly it feels as if we’re all alone and not in a crowded studio surrounded by people.
“So I’m one of those people? We barely know each other.”
A bit of a laugh comes from him as our eyes meet. “You pretend like you don’t know me, Delaney, but there’s something between us.”
I bite my lip and stammer out, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Plus, I don’t like football players.”
“So you keep saying, yet here we are…dancing.”
“You offered, and I didn’t have anyone else.”
He laughs. “You love being in my arms and you know it.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re so freaking infuriating.”
He just shrugs.
“I’m not changing my mind.”
He leans in and whispers in my ear. “Your body already says yes.”
Oh…God! He’s so annoying, but dammit if his proximity isn’t creating havoc in my internal organs, and it’s all I can do to not straddle his leg and hump it. Luckily, I’m saved when he begins the forward motion of his feet and I take a step back to mirror his steps.
It’s pure torture the way he guides me across the dance floor, his hold firm yet loose, his movements fluid and graceful. He’s not as horrible a dancer as he said, and I feel like he only said that to make me comfortable.
Later, after the class is done, we’re standing near the door talking as the students mill around and Ricardo ushers everyone out the door.
Bobby Gene gives us a wave as he passes us in the hallway. He looks like he might want to say more, but he gives Maverick a wide berth and calls over his shoulder that he’ll catch me later.
We decide to take the stairs instead of the elevator since it’s packed. Maverick walks next to me, his body solid and hard, and I’m feeling more powerful than I have in days.
“Want me to walk you to your car?” he asks as we reach the bottom floor.
“Uh, yeah, sure.”
Even though there are plenty of streetlights and security cameras, it is dark.
We walk toward the exit, but then I see Martha-Muffin watching us from a cozy sitting area off to the right. Her eyes are lasered in on Maverick and then they bounce to me, a slight snarl forming on her face. I must slow or stiffen because Maverick pauses and looks down at me. “You okay?”
I take a deep breath and shake my head. “It’s nothing.”
A scowl forms on his brow as he scans the open space of the lobby, his gaze landing on Martha-Muffin, who’s put her hand on her hip, openly glaring at us.
“Ah, her…” He stops and looks back at me with a grimace. “If it’s any consolation, I can’t stand her. She tried to trick her way into my bed once and I kicked her ass out. She’s been hating on me ever since.”
I can’t imagine anyone hating Maverick, and I’m glad he’s never been with her. But, seeing her just reminds me of Alex’s infidelity and the fact that while Maverick hasn’t been with her specifically, he’s still a football player with plenty of access.
We exit the building and take off across the parking lot. I’m wondering if he’ll ask me out again. What will I say? Am I still on this just friends kick?
We reach my silver Prius and he grins. “The kind of car you have says a lot about a person.”
“Is this where you say I’m pragmatic and predictable?”
He stares down at me. “Maybe. I like that about you. You’re quiet but deep. I am too. I mean, I’m popular but underneath, I’m a quiet guy.”
I bite my lip, wanting to know more. “What would you do if you didn’t play football?” I ask.
He sticks his hands in his pockets and stares up at the sky as he thinks. “Medical school, probably a neurologist.”
Ah. “Because of Raven?”
He smiles ruefully, a contemplative look on his face. “Yeah. I read everything I can about her injury, all the latest findings. It’s a complex condition, and very…personal. No two cases are ever the same. Her injuries were rather serious. She had to learn to talk and walk all over again.”
“You’re a good brother.”
He shrugs. “She’s all I have. I mean, there’s my dad, but sometimes I think he’s already given up.”
I inhale a sharp breath at his vulnerability. There’s so much more to him than everyone thinks.
We stare at each other in silence, and it’s not weird or uncomfortable, and…
I’m dying for him to kiss me.
His gaze brushes over me, lingering on my lips. “Want to do the salsa thing again next week?”
“Yeah.”
God.
I really want him to kiss me.
Which is crazy. He’s bad news…right?
He leans down and brushes his sensuous lips across mine, and for three seconds, I can’t breathe.
My body hums. My heart flies. We feel connected, as if his lips on mine were always meant to be but we’re just now figuring it out.
“Our second kiss,” he says softly, pulling back to stare down at me.
“Yeah.”
“It won’t be the last,” he says huskily, his voice sending shivers over my skin.
Then he takes my keys from me, opens my door, and helps me inside. He waits as I start the car and drive away.
The entire trip home is a blur because all I can think about is him.
What am I going to do about Maverick Monroe and how he makes me feel?