Page 119 of Flirty Dancing

“Good.”

Archer stepped onto the darkened stage. Mateo’s shadow waited for him. The audience hushed as the first strains of music filled the theater. Archer took his position, in third, arms extended. He exhaled. The spotlight turned on and illuminated them both.

Their eyes met.

Mateo’s beauty took his breath away.

Archer’s heart crashed into his rib cage, a bird that refused to be contained, that needed to fly.

So, he flew.

He pirouetted and reached for Mateo. Their hands met, firm and yet gentle. Mateo grasped his waist, then his thigh as Archer dove toward the worn boards. Then his waist again, his shoulders, as the music took them. Their arms and legs threaded together, weaving a story, a spell that captured them both. Mateo lifted Archer to the swell of the music, held him. They breathed at the same time, their sweat mingling on flushed skin. The thump of Mateo’s pounding heart vibrated through Archer’s hand when he rested it on Mateo’s chest. His fingers brushed Mateo’s face, and then they turned and came back together once again. Archer fell, Mateo caught him, safe and secure in those arms.

The audience vanished; it was only the two of them as one. As Archer stretched and turned and leaped, he knew Mateo was there, right where he was supposed to be, perfectly in sync, never a hand misplaced, never a missed beat. Archer lost himself in the dance, let the emotions take over, put every grain of every feeling into his legs and toes and arms and fingers, neck, torso—his body as fluid as the flame that burned inside him.

When the music faded and the roar from the audience rushed back, they held hands and bowed, then exited the stage while the others went on.

They stood in silence in the shadows, watching each other, chests heaving. Every hair on Archer’s body stood on end. His every cell, alive and wanting.

“Mateo,” he breathed.

Their lips met, bodies wound together again, slotting together perfectly. Archer dissolved into an ocean of bliss.

It wasn’t until they heard their next cue that they broke apart, panting.

Mateo nodded, took Archer’s hand, and squeezed.

He didn’t need to say anything.

After the show, Archer tingled, as if he and Mateo were tied together by an electric wire, humming and singing with an undeniable current.

He stole glance after glance at Mateo as they changed and stored their gear. Mateo was always looking back.

When there was nothing else left to put away and the room had thinned out, Mateo approached him. “Archer.”

“Yes?” He waited, pulse humming.

Mateo leaned in, his lips nearly brushing Archer’s cheek as he whispered. “Tonight… would you like to—I think we should… that is, do you—”

“Are you asking me out on a date?” Archer winked, eyes sliding over Mateo’s face, taking in every inch of skin, every hair, wanting to remember this moment.

Mateo closed his eyes briefly, embarrassed. “Yes, and doing a terrible job at it.”

Archer tilted closer, lips grazing Mateo’s cheek in turn. “Yes, I would love to, thank you.”

Their eyes met. Mateo smiled. “I’ll pick you up at your room in thirty minutes.”

Archer shivered. “Make it twenty.”

Nineteen minutes later, Mateo was rapping on Archer’s doorframe. “Ready to go?”

Archer smoothed his hair with one last look in the mirror. “Where are we going? Night out on the town?”

Mateo took his hips and pulled him in for a kiss. “Would it be ungentlemanly if I took you straight back to my room?”

“Do you care if—?”

“I don’t care who sees. I don’t care who hears. I don’t care what anyone thinks. I just want you.”

---