Page 4 of Amor in the 305

“Want to dance?” the tall man to my left asks in a thick accent, extending his hand.

CHAPTER TWO

Soledad

The man who asked me to dance has dark features—thick black hair and a scar cutting through his left brow. He has high cheekbones, dark stubble covering his jawline, and light eyes, although I can’t see their color because the night sky is black and the lights surrounding the dance floor are dimmed.

“I’d like that,” I respond. He grasps my hand and guides me toward the dance area. We stop along the outer edge of the swirling crowd and nestle into a spot. His hand finds my thick waist, grasps onto me firmly, and we start moving to the beat of the conga drums.

“I don’t know how to dance salsa,” I tell him, my lips hovering at his ear.

“It’s okay. Follow me,” he responds, his breath tickling my ear as he speaks. I drop my eyes to watch his feet and try to mimic him to follow along, but it just causes me to get tangled up with myself.

“No look at your feet,tienes que sentir la música,” he adds, his voice deep and husky. Sure, letting the music guide me is easy for him to say since he knows what he’s doing.

Growing up, I never learned how to dance salsa or any other type of Caribbean music, which means I have two left feet when it comes to dancing. My mother is from Argentina, and she mostly listened to tango or old folklore songs—neither of which calls for swaying of the hips the way the salsa music does. My mother isn’t much into dancing and our family parties usually consisted of tango music rather than Caribbean beats like salsa and merengue, hence my hesitance.

Our bodies sway with the music, and I may have stepped on his feet a few times, but I feel the music and my body is tingling while in close proximity to him. His grasp tightens and he pulls me closer. He’s wearing cologne, but I can still smell his unique scent, spicy and masculine mixed with sweat. It makes my skin prickle and my belly stir. Mr. Handsome is taller than me, but not by much considering I’m six feet and wearing low heels.

“Your hands,están hirviendo,” he says, while stepping to the rhythm of the music and guiding me to follow. My hands don’t feel hot, but I know when I’m attracted to someone, my internal temperature rises, and I radiate heat. My left hand rests on his upper back, just below his shoulder, my right at his trim waist, and I let him lead, allow his gentle nudges together with the music to guide my movements.

After dancing two songs, the band announces they’re taking a short break and reggaeton music starts streaming through the speakers. The thumping of the urban music beats coupled with the fast-rhyming lyrics has people bumping and grinding on the dance floor, and leaves me in awe of the way the couples move with such fluidity. As I watch in wonder, I feel a tug and he says, “Ven,” grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the bar to our left. I glance around, searching for the girls and catch sight of Melida on the dance floor while Jestine and Krissa are off to the side sipping drinks.

“¿Cómo te llamas?” he asks, leaning into my ear when we stop at the crowded bar.

“Soledad. And you, what’s your name?”

“Amaury. I never see you at this club before, your first time?”

“Yes, it’s our first time,” I say, nodding. “We’re here on vacation.”

“Where you live?”

“Boston.”

“I know Boston.Hace frio ahí.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, it’s very cold. Even now in April.”

“¿Quieres tomar algo?”

“Yes, please. I’ll have a Cosmopolitan. Thank you.” He waves the bartender over and leans into her and orders.

After handing me the martini glass, he curls his fingers with mine and says, “Vamos al salón en frente, it’s quiet there. We can talk more.” His hand is on fire, the heat scorching my skin as he rubs his finger in my palm. I can feel the calluses on his palm—rough and uneven. The blood is pumping through my veins and his touch ignites something inside of me, which worries me. I don’t know this man and need to let the girls know what I’m up to.

“Okay, but first I need to let my friends know where I am so they don’t worry about me,” I say, lifting my chin in the direction of where I can see them, and pulling my hand free from his.

“Dale, te acompaño,” he responds, offering to accompany me. When Krissa notices me, her eyes meet mine and widen.

“Kriss, Jess, this is Amaury. We’re gonna go to the front bar area where it’s quieter so we can have our drinks and chat a bit.” Jestine raises her eyebrow and sips her drink.

“Hola,” he says to the girls, “nice to meet you.”

“Okay,” Krissa responds. “When Melida is done on the dance floor, we’ll find you.”

I mouth “thank you” to them as Amaury pulls me in the opposite direction.

There is an empty booth off to the right and we settle into it, him sitting to my left rather than across from me because although it’s quieter here than where the dance floor is, it’s still pretty loud.

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