Page 54 of Tell Me What You Want, Or Leave Me

He looks at me with a serious expression.

“You go dance,” he says when he realizes I won’t stop moving.

I want to dance and sing along to the song by Orishas that’s playing, so I go out to the dance floor with my friends. We move languidly and seductively. The music invades our bodies as we dance along.

The dance floor is jammed. We’re all dancing and singing along at full volume. Eric won’t take his eyes off me.

My friend Reinaldo comes over.

He sees Eric and goes to say hi. My guy introduces him to Dexter and Graciela and points me out to him. Grinning that giant Cuban grin, Reinaldo comes running out to the dance floor, takes me by the waist, and begins to dance to the hot little song.

I watch Eric and realize he doesn’t like this at all. I quickly get loose, and everyone starts jumping up and down as we sing.

The entire place is dancing, drunk with the song, and, when it’s over, the DJ changes the beat. I go back with my husband. I’m thirsty and take a long swallow of my mojito.

“You won’t dance, my love?”

Eric just stares at me as I sweat, and he pulls a stray hair off my face.

“Since when do I like to dance?”

His response is provocative, but since I don’t want to argue and I don’t want to remind him that during our honeymoon he danced all he wanted and more, I let it go and wrap my arms around his neck.

“OK. Then kiss me. You like doing that, right?”

He finally smiles!

He kisses and kisses me, but then Marta pulls on my arm and drags me to the dance floor, and we dance to “Bemba Colorá.”

Eric’s face darkens again. It’s becoming very clear he doesn’t like Guantanamera at all.

I wave Graciela over to join us. She doesn’t hesitate and comes out shaking her hips. Dexter and Eric look at each other and both sigh.

Those two!

Reinaldo, Anita, Arthur, a couple of other Cuban friends, and Mr. Perfect Torso quickly join us.

Mother of God, up close the Argentinian is even hotter.

Since I’ve been to this club before, I know how to dance here. We make a little circle, and each couple takes a turn in the middle, showing off their dance moves. Marta and I gyrate like a couple of crazy women and shout, “Azúcar!”

I go back to Eric’s side the minute the song is over.

“Is it going to be like this all night?” Eric asks, clearly irritated.

I notice Dexter is saying something to Graciela, and she rolls her eyes. I take a long swallow of my delicious mojito and gaze back at my non-Latino lover.

“Don’t you like to have a good time and enjoy yourself out with our friends?”

Eric—or, I should say, Iceman—looks all around the club. “No, not at all,” he says with his brutal honesty. “But you do?”

I finish my mojito. “You know the answer to that, my love,” I say.

His nostrils flare.

“You get me going like a Ducati when you get so possessive,” I whisper.

I rub up against him. Even in heels, I only come up to his nose. Eric doesn’t move. He just looks at me, and so I begin to move my body to the beat of the music. I notice his erection and kiss him.

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