“Rusty?” he had the nerve to ask. “I’ve been doin’ this since you were in diapers, Peewee.”
“Eh.”
I wasn’t sure if he specifically pulled me in or if it just kind of happened as we moved, but we were right up in there together, our thighs constantly brushing together. Zac twirled me around right at the end a few times, and he made a face to warn me as he dipped me back right at the end, with a laugh that had me choking one out too as blood rushed into my nose.
When another country song started right after that, he spun me around the floor some more, putting it all into it like I’d offended him or something during the first song.
If he’d expected me to trip over my own feet or step on his toes… he would have been in for a real surprise.
I knew he was impressed when his gaze caught mine, forehead furrowing as he asked in a voice that I barely just caught, “Who you been dancin’ with like this?”
I caught a glimpse of my sister’s face as he spun me around, and I waited until we were facing each other again—well, I was facing his chest more than his face until I lifted my head—and answered back loud enough for him to hopefully hear, “People.”
I’d spent a Saturday a month going to country clubs with one of my old coworkers. My ex used to hate me going, but since he didn’t like to dance, I didn’t listen to him. My favorite partners had always been the older men whose wives were so busy dancing with other people that they were pawning their husbands off on strangers. Those men knew how to dance.
Just like Zac did.
Fluid and almost sinuous, a lifetime athlete who knew every movement of his body. Strong and secure.
I wondered for a second how many partners he’d had that he’d gotten so good at it with.
Whatever.
Apparently, my answer hadn’t been enough for him because the second we were facing each other again, he ducked his head to speak into my ear, his breath a tickle along the sensitive skin there, “What people?”
My mouth was inches from his chest. I could smell the sweet, clean scent of his cologne. “People at the club, buster. Good teachers, huh?”
His breath was still in my ear. “What club?”
I told him the name, imagining him going for a moment—imagining him dancing with any of the hundreds of women who went to it—and then forced myself to stop that mental image.
He waited so long to say anything else, his next words surprised me more than they should have. “I’ll dance with you anytime you want.”
“Oh yeah?” I asked, lifting my face.
He was focused down on me, on my face—eyes, whatever. “Yeah” was his simple answer.
“You don’t mind the height difference?” I’d kicked off my shoes and put Band-Aids on after we ate.
“Nuh-uh, shorty,” he said with a smile that lit me up completely, all affection and love and comfort. “You move real well with me.”
I waited until he’d spun me around again to say, “That’s Miss Shorty to you, and you still got it, old man.”
I felt his laugh in the way his chest puffed against mine more than I heard it.
We moved toward the right and then the left, the hand that had at some point moved to span the center of my back sliding a little lower over my gold wrap dress. I could feel the pressure and weight of every single one of his fingers on me. That was when I glanced over and saw Connie and Boogie moving across the floor… arguing.
“Look at these assholes,” I muttered, gesturing toward them with my chin.
Zac’s laugh brushed my ear again, and it made me smile when he lifted his head and peeked at them. The hand he had on my back flexing for a second before he moved us around. “Did I tell you how nice you look today?”
“Nope.”
His breath tickled my ear again. “Well, you look real nice, kiddo. I like your hair like this.”
I squeezed his hand and smiled up at him. I’d just left it curly and tied it loosely back with a couple pieces sneaking out because my hair didn’t like being restrained unless I’d straightened the shit out of it. “Thank you, Snack Pack. You look real nice too.”
He winked at me, his smile that lopsided one that was my favorite.
We danced another song, this slow thing that had us moving together in a circle with my arms on his shoulders and those big, big hands light on my waist. It could have been romantic and sweet… if we were anyone else. Instead, we cracked jokes the whole time.
And that was when the DJ called everyone to the floor… to do the hokey pokey.
Zac’s hands loosened, and he took a step back.
I grabbed his forearm. “Where are you going?”
His face was a little bit pink under the lights, but he was grinning. “To go sit this one out.”
“What? Why?”
One corner of his mouth went up, and he gave the table we’d been at a side look. “’Cause. It’s the hokey pokey.” He drew his forearm across his forehead before blasting me with another bright, white smile.
I blinked at him. “You’re gonna make me do it by myself?”
He was still smiling even as his head lolled to the side. “All right. Come on, I’ll do the hokey pokey with you then.”
And he did, his expression nearly pained, but he was laughing the whole time he turned himself around along with the two hundred other people at the venue.
Afterward, Boogie came over and asked me to dance, my sister gesturing to Zac to come over to her.
One line dance and another song later, my aunt came over and stole my cousin, and I took the chance to put my shoes back on, with a groan, and go get something to drink and pee. Zac was spinning Luisa, my niece around, and my sister was talking to Boogie’s dad.
That was when I got cornered by the one person in the family everyone tried to avoid. The one person who I had purposely kept an eye on to make sure we didn’t get close enough for her to feel the need to come over and say hi. We’d chosen our table by the wall on purpose.
Shit!
“Hola, Bianca,” the older woman said as she purposely blocked the exit to the bathroom.
I pasted just about the fakest smile in the universe onto my face—one that rivaled every expression I’d ever given Gunner—as I finished drying my hands. “Hi, Tía Licha,” I said, taking my time to turn around and give her a hug—the most half-assed hug in the history of hugs, but it wasn’t like she deserved more. She’d always been mean, especially to my mom, Connie, and me.
My mom’s cousin raked her gaze up and down my body as she stayed exactly where she was standing. “I like your dress.”
Wait for it.
“Did you gain weight?”
She’d gained weight, but okay. I tried to smile at her, but you try and form a smile when your damn face is made from granite. It was a grimace. It was definitely a grimace that I made at her, trying its best to disguise itself as a smile and failing big-time. Because I knew all about respecting my elders. I could remember the one and only time my abuelita called for me and I answered with ¿que?—what—instead of ¿mande?
I don’t think I’d ever backtracked so fast in my life.
But even my mom had lost her patience with her cousin a long time ago. I wasn’t sure what was said, but I did know that my dad had to grab Mom by the back of her pants and carry her out of the room like she was a bowling ball. That was after years of little cutting comments she was known to give to everyone.