Huh. He’s right. I’ve never shied away from his touch when we’re at Paddy’s or with our friends. How have I never considered that? A knot forms in my throat at how thoughtful and observant he is. Then I remember I can’t dance.
“There’s just one problem though,” I say.
“What’s that love?”
“I don’t dance. No, I can’t dance.” I admit, my face flaming in humiliation.
“Good,” he says with a grin.
“Good? Why on earth is that good?” Eamon has lost his mind.
“Neither can I, so we can learn together.” He reaches out and laces our fingers together.
“Where exactly do you plan on dancing?” I question.
“There are ballroom dancing lessons at the student rec center tonight.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “We’ll be a few minutes late, but I’m sure we can slip in the back.”
My jaw drops as I stare at the side of his head. “How do you know this?”
“Don’t you read the newsletters they send out every week?”
“No. What newsletter?”
He just laughs as he pulls into the parking lot outside of the rec center and parks the car a few rows away from the entrance. He turns to me and asks expectantly, “Shall we?”
Nervous energy washes over me and I fidget with the hem of my shirt. I don’t think I’m even dressed properly for this, but when we walk into the back of the room, the instructor waves us in. Salsa just happens to be the style being taught, so there is no chance we won’t be touching.
Eamon was right. He cannot dance. We’ve spent more time stepping on each others’ feet than actually dancing, but his hands are on me at all times. Forgetting that I’m supposed to take a step back when he steps forward, our bodies are constantly colliding, making my breath hitch and my pulse skyrocket when our hips meet with each seductive swivel. My body doesn’t freeze once. If anything, it’s overheating. By the time the lesson ends, I’m ready to take our practicing back to my place.
“Come inside,” I whisper against Eamon’s mouth as he kisses me goodnight on my front porch.
“Norah,” he groans, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me into him. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?” I whine.
“Glacially slow, remember?” He pulls back to look at me. “Salsa dancing felt like hitting the fast-forward button.”
Raising a brow at him, I say, “I don’t see the problem here, Kennedy.”
“We’re not rushing this,” he says with finality and a quick peck to my lips. “Being with you isn’t a conquest to be made by a certain date. When we reach that point, I don’t want there to be any doubt or fear for either of us.”
God, is he real? I don’t think he realizes that his words make me burn for him even more.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Eamon
The next handful of weeks fly by in a blur as I complete the last season of my college football career with thirteen total goals, five of them being game-winners. The MLS SuperDraft is in January, and I’m trying to decide if I want to try out with Ro and Teagan. Unfortunately, Mac is also going, but I have a hard time believing that he’ll actually be picked up by any pro teams. He has talent, sure, but the dosser cares more about partying and chasing women.
Normally, I’d spend every moment of the off-season training, but my class load is heavier with final exams coming. Plus, I have Norah now. We don’t get to spend nearly as much time together as I would like, but there’s nothing to be done about it since she has finals and the play. When we do see each other, it’s usually at her house while she’s putting togethercostumes in her sewing room or sitting next to me on the couch studying. Occasionally, I’m lucky enough to help her study for her history class. My favorite part is rewarding her correct answers with a kiss. Kissing Norah is addictive, and so is touching her. I love every single one of her curves. We pump the brakes every time it starts to get too heated, though. I want her more than my next breath, but it’s not the right time yet. We’ve made it to a couple of other dance lessons that seem to be helping, but I just don’t want to risk setting her back because of my inability to keep my hands to myself.
“What do you have left to do for the costumes?” I ask her, flopping onto the couch.
It’s Friday night, and we just got back to Norah’s after getting a quick pint at Paddy’s and checking in with him. It’s become sort of a ritual for us. Even with our packed schedules, we still make it a point to go once a week.
Norah sits down next to me, stretches her arms above her head, and groans. “I think I finished the last dress today, actually. I’ll have to go back and reinspect it, but the hard parts are done. Anything from here on out will just be touch-ups or small alterations.”
I try and fail to keep my eyes off of the exposed skin of her stomach.
