Page 52 of The Slayer
“You shouldn’t do that and drive.”
“But I can have you groping at my dick while I drive? That’s not dangerous?”
“That’s dirty.”
“Iamdirty,” he said as he plugged in his phone and messed with the buttons on the radio until Latin music overtook the country music. “That’s why we’re only friends.”
She held up her hands in defeat and leaned back. She closed her eyes, listening to the music. “This makes me think about dancing with you. I like this song.”
“I think you likeallsongs.”
“Is it a love story?”
“Does it sound like a love story?”
Alaine shrugged. “How would I know? It’s in Spanish.”
“But the song, does it sound like a love story? It’s fast-paced.”
“There can’t be a fast-paced love story?” Alaine laughed and then asked, “What’s it about?”
“It’s about dancing. He’s singing about dancing with his woman. All night. Until the sun comes.”
“I’d like to do that. Dance all night until the sun comes up,” Alaine mused to herself. “Is it dirty?”
“Yes, it’s dirty.Very dirty.”
“You dance with me to this song,” Alaine pointed out.
“Yes, I do. Remind me to stop doing that.”
Alaine closed her eyes again, listening to the music, imagining dancing with Chuito in his apartment. That was their new thing. Dancing. He was a better dancer than her, which was a surprise, because Alaine wasn’t a bad dancer. She’d been going line dancing with Jules over in Mercy since she was eighteen, but Latin dancing was much faster and more complicated.
It was almost like sex, or at least what she imagined sex to be. Sweaty and breathless, with Chuito’s body pressed against hers. More often than not, it left her very frustrated, and when she went to bed, she would touch herself to no avail.
All it did was leave her more frustrated.
Even when she imagined it was Chuito’s hands on her, it only left her on the edge of bliss. Just like loving Chuito—so close, but not quite there.
When the song ended, she pointed to the radio, her eyes still closed. “I want to hear it again.”
He turned it back to the same song. For the first time, she really listened to the words, because she loved the way Spanish sounded.
“He saysmami,” she observed. “He says it the way you say it.”
“Did you think I was the only one who said that?”
“But you said he’s singing to his woman.” Alaine lifted her eyebrows, still listening to the words. “And it sounds the same as when you say it. Like he means it. Like it’s a love story.”
“It’s not a love story,” Chuito reminded her.
“Does he love her?”
“I don’t know.”
Alaine gestured to the radio. “Does he say it? That he loves this woman he’s dancing with until the sun comes up.”
“Alaine—”
