Page 44 of Tension
He stares at me for a long moment, as if weighing my sincerity in his hands. Then he jerks his chin toward the door. “Go.”
I push past him and into the club.
The bass hits me like a wall, vibrating through my ribs. The air is thick with sweat, smoke, and desperation. Lights strobe over a sea of dancing bodies, arms raised, mouths open in joy or lust or oblivion. My eyes sweep the chaos, searching and hoping I’m not too late.
I weave through the crowd, breath shallow and chest tight. I move past couples grinding against each other, past the press of bodies too lost in their own worlds to notice the storm inside me, and then I see him.
Mateo is standing at the bar, shoulders tense, and eyes glassy. A glass glistens in his hand, the amber liquid trembling as his fingers twitch around it. He’s not drunk. Not yet, but he’s right there and he looks on the edge.
Glancing back toward the entrance, I watch as the bouncer lets in a few more girls and still no Yvonne. I move to him without thinking, and once I’m within touching distance, I reach out, rip the glass from his hand, and hurl it over the bar. It shatters against the wall, shards flying like crystal confetti. The bartender curses as people turn.
Mateo stares at me, stunned, his lips parted in disbelief. “Vaeda?”
“You can’t do this,” I snarl, stepping into his space, trembling with adrenaline. “Not like this. Not now when you have so much to lose.”
His expression crumples, and something inside me breaks with it. “I wasn’t going to drink it,” he says, voice hoarse.
“You ordered it.”
“I know.”
I reach for his chest, splaying my hand over his heart and feeling the rapid thud beneath my palm. “What are you doing here, Mateo?”
He laughs bitterly. “Trying to forget. Trying to feel normal. Trying not to think about you and how badly I want something I can’t have.”
I close my eyes. “And you called Yvonne?”
“She called me.” He exhales, long and broken. “And I answered because... I thought maybe if I wanted someone else, this wouldn’t hurt so much.” The words slice through me, equal parts painful and true. “I’m fucked-up over you,” he confesses, his eyes glassy with emotion. “And I hate that. I hate how much power you have over me.”
My hand trembles against his chest. “Then why didn’t you drink it?”
His eyes flick to mine, stormy and desperate. “Because I still want to be the kind of man who deserves to stand next to you.”
My tears come fast, hot and helpless. In the chaos of this place, in the glow of temptation and noise, he’s holding on by the thinnest thread, and somehow, miraculously, he chose to keep fighting.
“Let’s get out of here,” I suggest as the music attacks my eardrums. I want to talk to him, let him know just how special he is.
The beat of the music pulses behind us as we reach the edge of the dance floor. I’m ready to drag him straight out of this place, but then a familiar rhythm rolls through the speakers, a beat we know intimately. My breath catches.
It’s the same track we danced to in that hip-hop class, the one where his hands held my hips like they belonged there, the one where our bodies aligned too perfectly to be innocent.
He recognizes it too. I feel it in the way his hand tightens around mine, the shift in his posture, the pull of something we both try so hard to resist. Mateo turns toward me slowly, his expression unreadable, but I see the flicker of memory in his eyes.
The song commands us and we answer.
I don’t think as I let him draw me back into the crowd until we find a pocket of space near the center. Bodies sway all around us, but I feel only him. The first step is natural, the second is instinctual, and then we move together effortlessly.
His hands find my hips again, not tentative this time. His touch is firm, knowing. My back arches into him, and I feel the press of his chest against mine, the heat of him a live wire along every nerve. I raise my arms around his neck, fingers sliding intohis hair, tugging lightly, and his breath hitches against the shell of my ear.
We move like a current, lost in the beat. The music fades to background noise and the lights become a blur, and there’s only the tension between us, electric and reckless and real.
Mateo’s forehead brushes mine, his breath warm against my lips. We don’t speak. We don’t need to. My eyes close, and then he kisses me.
Hard.
Hungry.
His mouth claims mine in a way that steals all logic, all fear and restraint, while his hands slide up my back, pulling me closer, and I let him. I fall into the kiss like it’s the only place I’ve ever wanted to be. Our bodies move in sync, the dance forgotten, replaced by something deeper.
