Page 46 of Love Is an Art
Our glances meet as we move to the music, step back in tandem, swing our hips, step forward. My shoulder leans toward his. He swings me around. And then the music slows down. He tightens his grip on my back and pulls me slightly closer. I can feel the muscles in his shoulders working, tightening and releasing. My head is next to his. I look up, and we’re so close. The mint of his breath mixes with mine. He closes his eyes, pulling me closer, the side of his head inches away from mine. We sway there, breathing in the moment. My pulse races.
The next song is slower, and we dance cheek to cheek. My fingers curl around his neck into the short hair at the nape. I’m definitely melting.
And then the tempo picks up in the next song. We step apart.
He gestures toward a couple next to us doing way fancier moves. “Let’s try that.” He spins me around, and his back is against my front. Another twirl and a dip. And then suspended. Our noses almost touch. He holds me firmly, like we fit together. I stare into his eyes. His gaze back is searching, questioning, holding mine.
The trumpets sing their own siren spell.
He switches hand positions so we’re holding hands and swinging them in time to the beat. And twirls me once again. There’s something so feminine-feeling about spinning. I smile, feeling free—and desired. He pulls me back in. Our lips are so close we could kiss. I glance at him. His shirt is warm under my hand, the cotton soft under my touch. He pauses, waiting, asking. I think I nod.
Yes, we’re about to kiss.He angles his head, and his breath grazes mine. My heart flutters. We’re barely apart.
And then his lips meet mine in a firm but gentle kiss. I close my eyes and focus solely on this. His fingers reach up to thread through my hair, to hold me tight. We taste each other, tentatively, our lips slanting as we try to get closer, our tongues teasing and tangling. He tastes of mint gum. Everything else fades away as he pulls me in closer, my softness to his firm chest. I slide my hand through his silky, wavy hair while my other hand presses against his hard back. I’m lost in the sensations, in another dimension of pure feeling.
“And that’s it.” The announcer’s microphone crackles. “Let’s give a big hand of applause to our band, Orquesto La 18.”
We break apart. Clapping erupts around us. We join in, shoulder to shoulder, not looking at each other.
“We hope you enjoyed this night at Lincoln Center. Remember that silent disco dancing night is next week. See you then.”
I blink, confused, readjusting to the moment. That was anamazingkiss. Zeke also appears disoriented. But then he gazes intently at me, and that electric current pulsates between us.
Zeke pulls me in again and kisses me quickly. I kiss him back, sliding my hands around his back to hold him tight. He chuckles against my mouth and says, “Your hand tickles.” We break apart, smiling.
All around us, people disperse to the exits. Zeke holds my hand as we join the crowd leaving. We walk down the steps of Lincoln Center and wait at the corner of 64thStreet.
The streetlight turns white, and we cross the wide boulevard to reach Columbus Avenue.
“Can I see you again?” Zeke asks.
“I’d like that very much.” Four more blocks, and then I’ll tell him. And hope he still wants to see me.
But I’m happy to plan another date now.
“I’m going to an art brush lecture at the MoMA around five on Thursday, if you want to join me,” I say. That lecture should persuade him that dating an artist is not all that he envisions. We walk by the closed stores of Columbus Avenue.
“That sounds interesting,” he says.
I raise my eyebrow. “Does it?”
“Maybe not, but I’d like to see you again.”
He is so up front.
If I tell him now, he still has to come back to retrieve the paintings. He’ll probably abandon them instead.
“I’m not sure I’ll be able to get out so early, but I’d definitely like to go.” He squeezes my hand. “I have to ask my assistant. She is going to schedule a celebration dinner with our law firm who won the case, and I told her my schedule was free that night.”
What? No.“That’s nice of you. Do they want a dinner?”
“You think they don’t? I’ve never met them. The lawyers settled it before we even did client interviews. It’s a huge relief.”
“They’d probably prefer their free time rather than having an awkward formal dinner with some clients they’ve never met before and will never meet again. At least, I think that’s what my friend, who is a lawyer, would say.” We pause as a dog darts toward the curb, his leash blocking the sidewalk. The woman walking him scurries after him, apologizing for cutting us off, and we pass them.
“Then she’s not thinking very long term. It’s good for her to build her client relationships for business development.”
“Maybe.” That was true enough. If I intended to stay, I should build client relationships. “But would the dinner hold that much sway in developing a client relationship? You said they settled the case quickly. Shouldn’t their ability alone be the critical factor as to whether you hire them again or not?”
