Page 5 of Coupled (Alphas Forever 3)

Samantha

Idrive home from the first rehearsal in a daze. I keep telling myself it's because I spent the last hour way outside of my comfort zone. But deep down, I know that it's also because of Ethan. Holy hell, did he make everything more intense. The heat of his body next to mine was almost unbearable. I was constantly fighting away mortification, though, knowing that I was making such a fool of myself in front of him. When he asked me out afterward—which I still can’t believe he did—I was still so embarrassed that I couldn’t say yes.

I spend the next week trying to not think about Ethan. But, of course, the more you try not to think about something, the more you think about it, you know? At work, I even embarrass myself one afternoon by drifting off into a reverie in the middle of a meeting. A coworker has to nudge me out of it—just in time before our manager asks me a question.

By Friday night, I've spent the whole week not-thinking-but-actually-thinking about Ethan.

That night, I have a dream about him. In the dream, Ethan and I are dancing. We aren’t at my sister’s wedding—in fact, I can't even tell where we are. We're just in this hazy, warm, lovely atmosphere. There's no one else there but us. He’s twirling me around, dipping me, leading the way. That’s when I realize that neither of us are wearing anything. And then, of course, the dream becomes super erotic. He's planting sensual kisses all over my body, sending shivers of pleasure up my spine. He's spreading my legs, he’s pressing his hardness against me, he’s—

Oh, God. It's too intense. I wake up with a start, my body hot and throbbing. I press my cheek into my pillow and groan as my hands finish off what the dream started. There's no other option. I have to release the searing desire gathered up inside of me. I gasp and bring myself to climax. Then, panting, I drop my hands to my sides and stare up at the ceiling, stunned.

Needless to say, a few hours later, when I arrive at the dance studio, I am utterly embarrassed to see Ethan again. It's bad enough to have a sex dream about somebody you know; it's another thing altogether to have a sex dream about that person and then see them right afterward.

Ethan tries to make small talk with me, but I have to basically give him the cold shoulder. If I look him in the eye, I’m convinced that I’ll immediately die of embarrassment.

During the rehearsal session that day, we go through the warm up again, and then the instructor reviews the steps that she taught us the week before. I’ve mostly forgotten them, but as we practice, I manage to get through the routine. After five or six times of running through it, I even start to feel it taking hold.

Then, to my horror, the instructor says, “Great! Now let’s learn the second half of the dance.”

Second half? There's a second half?

Next thing you know, she'll be telling me that I have a solo.

Having to add even more steps to the routine throws me off again, of course. Ethan keeps encouraging me, telling me that I'm doing well, but I keep ignoring him, because I have to. It's hard to totally ignore him, though, with his big muscles always in my face, with that stupid encouraging voice of his in my ear.

Why do some guys have to be so sexy?

I focus on trying to learn the new steps. But it’s hopeless, of course. I’m a sweaty mess, tripping over my own feet. Even the instructor clearly pities me. When the class is finally over, I’ve never been so glad to be done with something. I rush to grab my things and get out of there.

As I’m heading out, Ethan catches up with me and says, “You know, I could help you practice. I'd be more than happy to.”

I focus on getting my car keys out of my bag. “Thanks,” I say. “But I'm fine.” And before he can say anything else, I'm in my car, driving away. I don’t even look into the rearview mirror to see if he’s still standing there, like he did the week before.

The next day, having cooled off, I make room in my living room and start practicing the routine on my own. I’m determined to get these damn steps right. I can do this. I know I can.

But half an hour later, I’m as confused as ever. Did that step go first, or did that one? And when I try to do one of the turns, I end up smacking my shin into the coffee table. Shit.

Okay. Maybe I do need help from Ethan after all.

But that’s it.

I text Cara and reluctantly ask if I can have Ethan’s number. Knowing that she’ll read into it, I preemptively add, it’s just about a wedding thing.

Cara writes back, Of course :) Here's his number.

I spend way too long composing a text to Ethan. Everything I type sounds either too cold, or too flirtatious, or too something else. In the end, I end up sending: It's Samantha. I need some help after all. Is your offer still on the table?

Yeah, of course, he texts back. Want to come over?

---