Page 17 of First Impressions Series

She stopped and turned around, her hands gripping her bag close to her, and I thought I saw relief wash over her face. Did I scare her? Damn, I felt like a jerk.

“Hey, Dylan. I didn’t see you coming,” she breathed.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I saw you get off the shuttle and thought I’d say hi.” I was walking beside her now, and was glad that I could walk with her the rest of the way home so that she wouldn’t be out here by herself in the darkening streets.

“Oh, I didn’t think you noticed me. You seemed a bit preoccupied, and I didn’t want to interrupt,” she explained, seeming more relaxed.

“It’s cool. So are we good for tomorrow night? What’s the plan?” I asked eagerly.

“I thought we could try El Sabor. Do you know any Latin dances?” Zia replied as she looked up at me inquisitively.

A nervous laugh escaped me. “I can’t say that I’ve ever tried any,” I admitted. “But I think I’m up for it.”

“What time do you want to meet me there?” s

he asked.

“I’ve got practice tomorrow evening, so I’ll need to go home, shower, eat…” Learn a Latin dance, I added silently. “Does ten o’clock sound okay?”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you there. Wear comfortable shoes!” she warned. Then, she added with a laugh, “And watch YouTube videos of salsa dancing if you want to prepare in advance.”

At that, we had arrived at the entrance of her apartment building. I offered to walk her up to her apartment, but she declined in a rush as she disappeared inside. She was only a few blocks away from the apartment building I lived in. Nice!

I pulled out my phone and watched YouTube videos the rest of the walk home.

* * *

The next night after practice, I rushed home, ate, and showered in preparation for my night out with Zia. I had practiced my salsa dancing in the mirror from the night before while streaming some how-to YouTube videos.

I’d always had a natural athletic ability, so I felt like I was picking up on the moves pretty well so far. Tonight would be the true test, and I had to admit I was looking forward to dancing with Zia. These dances were really sexy, and I could picture her body moving, swaying, and flowing beneath my fingers.

I figured that I might have to take my time working for this, so I might as well enjoy the process.

I had considered the options I had for tonight, depending on how things went. While I still held out hope that I could somehow make Zia fall for me, I knew it was a real possibility that I just wasn’t her type, because so far she had not made any indication that she was even remotely interested in any kind of romantic relationship with me.

If that was how it was going to be, then I might as well pay attention and hear what she had to say, because either way, the girls I’d been dating just weren’t what I really wanted. Much as I didn’t want a serious relationship with the wrong girl, I couldn’t deny that a deeper connection with the right someone would be nice.

As I stood in front of my bathroom mirror with a towel wrapped around my waist, I made myself presentable for the evening. I fixed my hair, tousled a little gel in it to give it that perfectly messy look, then dabbed a hint of cologne to my neck and chest, 1 Million by Paco Rabanne. Finally, I put on a polo shirt and jeans. I skipped a jacket since I tended to run hot and I knew I’d be dancing once we got to the club.

While I was getting ready, my phone alerted me to a text from Jonas.

Jonas: You coming out tonight?

Me: Not tonight. Meeting up with Zia.

Jonas: Hell yeah. Have fun bro.

Me: Thanks, you too.

Jonas: I want all the dirty details later.

Don’t count on it, Jonas, I thought.

It was just about time to head out, and I decided to take a cab since we’d probably be having some drinks. Once the cab got there, I gave the driver the address of my destination, and I arrived a few minutes early.

Zia was already there, standing at the bar with a mixed drink that looked like a rum and coke. She looked amazing in a silky, spaghetti strap shirt with a black blazer, paired with a nice, tight pair of jeans to show off her feminine curves.

“Zia,” I greeted her as I approached the bar.

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