Page 49 of Broken Chords
Chapter Twenty-One
Scherzo:A light, "joking" or playful musical form, originally and usually in fasttriple metre, often replacing theminuetin the laterClassical period and theRomantic period, in symphonies, sonatas, string quartets and the like; in the 19th century some scherzi were independent movements for piano, etc.
Damian
I lead Charlie over to the desk now laden with plastic water bottles, cans of soda, wrapped cookies, and candy bars. I stuff two more dollars into the coffee can, a little surprised at Mario’s trust in the honor system for both his class fee and refreshments. More people filter in as we drink our water, groups and couples, some looking around like they’re new here, but others as comfortable as if they were in a friend’s living room.
I nod to the candy bars and cookies. “Want anything else?”
Charlie shakes her head, swallowing more water. “I’m still good from dinner. We can grab a snack after if we work up an appetite.”
My eyes scan over her again, without me even meaning to. With her dressed like that, there’s no doubt I’ll be working up an appetite. It just might not be for food.
She gives me a wicked grin around the mouth of her water bottle like she knows exactly what I’m thinking. I don’t disguise my smirk, because the truth is, I’m sure she does know what I’m thinking. I haven’t exactly been subtle about checking her out. But damn. Who can blame me? With the way that skirt flares up every time I spin her … Did she take my advice about the yoga shorts? I don’t know if I hope she did or hope she didn’t. The possessive caveman part of me doesn’t want anyone else seeing what’s under her skirt. But how hot would it be if I had easy access? The things I could do to her in a dark corner, the bathroom, the car …
Looking out over the crowd, I force myself to think about anything else. I don’t need a tent in my pants before we’ve even started. Boxer briefs can only do so much to keep the beast from being too obvious. The band tuning and warming up is a good distraction. The keyboard player gives a B flat to the trumpets, who play together, both adjusting their slides, playing a quick note to check. Satisfied, they fall back into easy conversation, chatting and laughing as they quickly press their fingers into the valves the way trumpet players everywhere do before they play. They aren’t exactly in tune, but they’re only off by a degree from each other, so I guess it’s okay. Hopefully they won’t be playing in unison. Or Charlie’s body will be enough distraction to keep me from caring. Or maybe their intonation problems will keep me distracted enough that I won’t be tempted to rip off whatever Charlie’s wearing under her skirt.
Which brings me back full circle to where I started. Dammit.
I focus on the percussionists who are laying out the small instruments on a towel on a horizontal music stand, the drum set player also getting out a variety of brushes, sticks, and mallets.
One of the trumpet players leans in close to the bass player, then the keyboard and percussion, obviously the leader of the group. With nods all around, the lead trumpet brings his instrument to his lips. With a breath and a quick upbeat from his horn, he cues the group, and they all come in together. Despite the slight differences in tuning between the trumpets, they’re good. They play well, the percussion keeping them all together, the rhythm infecting the blood, making me need to move my feet and hips. With Charlie.
I down the last of my water and turn to Charlie in time to see her do the same. Our eyes lock, and I toss the plastic bottles in a bin against the wall, taking her by the hand and leading her onto the dance floor. We’re not the only ones affected by the need to move to the rhythm now pulsing through the space. Several other couples are already dancing, all people who came in after class. They all know what they’re doing, hips moving, skirts twirling, bodies pressing together. Charlie is easy to lead. She dances like she’s been doing this her whole life, not just some dance classes as a kid. She mastered the footwork before we even practiced with music. Her hips sway just right with the beat. She’s not stiff like the other first time salsa dancers, who are tentatively joining everyone on the floor.
Not wanting to get too carried away too soon, I keep a firm frame, maintaining space between Charlie and me. I guide her through a turn, ending with a spin, bringing her back to the frame of my arms. Gentle pressure on her back and a shift of my grip is all it takes to communicate what I want her to do. It’s nothing like dancing with my sisters or cousins, who never want to follow my lead, or their friends who are stiff and uncoordinated. They usually loosened up over the course of their impromptu dance lesson at one of our family get togethers. But never have I danced with anyone like this. Charlie dances like a pro.
She laughs as I spin her again, then twirl her out, our arms extended between us for a second. When I bring her in, her back is to my front, our dance suddenly more intimate. Like this, the scent of her shampoo tickles my nose, light floral notes, layered with her vanilla body spray and her own particular scent. When she wiggles her ass against me, the chub I’ve been sporting since the lesson gets fully hard. She throws a grin at me over her shoulder, and I give her a dark look as I spin her out again, but I can’t help the stupid smile on my face.
As much as the way she looks and the way she teases me is a form of torture, it’s also fun. I haven’t had this much fun out in I don’t know how long. I tend to be more of a homebody, spending my time away from home in classes and the practice rooms. But if I could do this with Charlie all the time, I’d go out a lot more often.
This time when I spin her out and bring her back into the frame, I pull her more tightly against me. Lowering my head, I speak directly into her ear. “You know, part of the reason guys like to take girls salsa dancing is so they can ply them with alcohol and spin them around until they’re dizzy and easily seduced.”
She laughs as I spin her again. With her body plastered against mine, it’s harder to keep up with the specific steps of the dance, and we mostly move our hips in time to the music. “You think I need to be seduced?”
I shrug. “Seducing you is fun. Even if it’s not necessary.”
Her answering grin radiates happiness, and her hand slips from my shoulder to my neck, pulling my mouth to hers. “Consider me seduced,” she whispers into my ear after breaking the kiss.
Closing my eyes, I clench my jaw and suck in a breath. “Does that mean you’re ready to go?”
Her eyes glint with promise when I open mine to find them. She gives the barest nod, and that’s all it takes to have me dragging her off the dance floor after barely thirty minutes of dancing. It’s time for the next phase of our celebration.
