Page 12 of Flirty Dancing

Archer and Betty warmed up with the rest as eight o’clock passed, then 8:05 and 8:10. He was on the floor stretching and wondering where Stewart was when he saw Mateo look at the clock and sigh.

“Alright,” Mateo said to the group, hands on hips. “Let’s run through the tango duets first, no music. Beau, you’re with Seta. Ben, Caleb. Archer”—their eyes locked—“with me.”

Archer stood and gulped as the rest of the dancers paired off and began to work through their intro sequences.

“Have you danced the Argentine tango before?” Mateo asked, rolling his shoulders.

He had taken a few Latin ballroom classes over the last few months, but he was no expert. “Some.”

“Great. So like that, only now you do it backward.”

“I do?” Archer frowned. “Wait, why do you get to lead?”

Mateo looked taken aback. “I’m taller.”

Archer squinted at the top of Mateo’s head. “I don’t think you are. I think we’re the same height.”

“Well, my shoulders are wider.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Uh…” Mateo’s brow furrowed.

A smile played at the corner of Archer’s mouth. “Alright, teach me the choreo for now, and we can measure width later.”

Mateo huffed and crossed to the center of the floor. “We start in opposite wings and walk to meet in the middle on the second eight-count and then—” Mateo took Archer in his arms in a close hold and fuckingsmolderedat him.

Archer dropped his eyes while he filled his lungs with Mateo’s scent. The reality of what it would mean to dance in this man’s arms hit him hard. “Got it,” he rasped.

“We start with a walk in promenade. Make sure you hold your frame…” He began to lead. Archer tried to let himself be moved by Mateo’s hands and arms. “Slow, slow, quick, quick…”

He thought he was settling in well when Mateo stopped. “Archer, you’re leading.”

“What?”

“You’re leading.”

Archer blinked. “How can I be leading? I don’t know the steps.”

“And yet… you are.”

Archer exhaled. “Sorry.”

Mateo took hold of him again. “From the top. Slow, slow…”

It wasn’t long before Mateo stopped again. “Relax your shoulders,” he told Archer.

Shit, I suck at this.“I thought I was supposed to be erect in the tango.”

The faintest hint of a smile fluttered over Mateo’s mouth. “Your posture is erect, yes, but your shoulders also need to be relaxed and over your hips.” When he said the wordhips, he took Archer’s hips in both hands and pulled them forward so they were under his shoulders. And right up against Mateo’s hips.

Archer stifled a whimper. “Got it.” He knew he was too tense—he could feel the rigidness in his body, like he was trying to maintain a boundary between himself and Mateo. A professional I-didn’t-spend-most-of-my-teenage-years-in-love-with-you wall.

“Then same-foot lunge…” Mateo continued.

Forty-five minutes later, Archer—sweating and trying to be erect, yet not—noticed Stewart shuffling in from backstage, dog under one arm, cane in the other. “Good morning, my darlings!” he announced. “You’ll have to forgive my tardiness this morning. One of us…” He paused and lifted the dog up to press a kiss to its shiny fur. “… was having a bit of a lie-in this morning, weren’t you, Judy? Well, enough faffing about, from the top!” He settled into his usual front-row seat.

“He’s late ’cause of his dog?” Archer murmured under his breath.

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