Page 14 of Two to Tango

“It’s fine.” She shrugs. “Better to be productive here than to be out on another disappointing date.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Now I feel guilty about doing this, about having somebody else pick up my slack. “Well, let me finish up what I can to keep your work to a minimum.”

“Thanks, Julie,” she says, a grateful smile on her face as she leaves my office and heads back to her own.

And then I make it a point to work until I’m the last one in this building to make up for the time I’ll be spending away from it.

Chapter five

Julieta

I’m wearing my powerpants to this first class. Well, my high waisted trousers that Agostina lovingly refers to as my power pants. The ones I didn’t realize I always wore on court days. Maybe I picked them today for an extra boost of confidence.

I rushed out of work, almost embarrassed, as I left my surprised coworkers behind to make it on time for this six o’clock class. Larissa whispered, “Take me with you!” as I gathered my things and walked out the door.

I quickly park, and before I get out of the car, I shakily place the shoes on my feet, heart pounding as I do.

The website said you didn’t need a partner for the classes, but I still see couples paired up and chatting when I walk in. I might be the youngest person here, except for the blonde woman greeting me who seems closer to my age.

“Hi! Are you here for the tango class?” she asks enthusiastically.

I nod, walking up to her slowly. “Hi. Yes.”

“Wonderful. Welcome! What’s your name?”

“Julie Martí.”

She checks down a list on a clipboard. “Perfect. My name is Tara. We’ll be starting shortly so you can get settled in studio B with the other students.”

“Okay, great. Thank you.”

This was a bad idea.

I feel very much like the odd one out. Everybody seems to know each other, chatting and laughing. Most are wearing tango shoes, some are even wearing dancing dresses. I’m out of my element.

This studio is like any other unassuming dance studio: wood floors, a wall of mirrors, bright lights, plenty of space. I linger in the back, unsure of how to proceed, holding on to my purse like a lifeline.

Tara seems nice enough. Maybe she won’t notice if I quietly slip out now. She’s speaking with an older woman in a form-fitting dress with roses all over it. I’ll just pretend to search for the bathroom and calmly walk right out. I walk backwards, slowly making my way to the door, ready to run for the hills. And when I turn around to walk out, my face comes into harsh contact with … a chin? A neck? What did I just run into?

“Woah, there.” A deep male voice says while hands grab hold of my upper arms to keep me steady. “Is class over already?” he asks, and when I look up to meet his face, his smirk tells me he’s joking.

“Oh. I just … needed the bathroom.”

“Ah. Right through there and to your right,” he says, pointing toward the hallway just outside of the studio.

“Thank you,” I manage to get out, face probably turning beet red.

I walk to the bathroom quickly, splashing water on my face to snap myself out of it. It’s one class. For crying out loud, I can do one class. Maybe I can partner up with that guy I just ran into.

I make my way to the studio again and get situated in the back row and out of view.

“Good evening, everybody. Welcome to twelve weeks of the fundamentals of Tango,” Tara states at the front of the class. “This is a recurring class that we offer here in the studio so I know some of you, but I do see new faces. My name is Tara and I co-teach this class with my partner, Logan.”

Of course, it would be the guy I just face planted into. Of course.

Logan is up front next to Tara now, his messy dark hair like he just rolled out of bed, a fitted white t-shirt, and loose-fitting black pants. She’s in a stretchy black dress that looks surprisingly comfortable.

The students say hello back, and judging by the enthusiastic reply, it seems Logan is quite popular in this crowd. Understandably so, I guess. He’s attractive.

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