Dancing Lessons Read Free

given name. “If he agrees, I’ll use him to show you the proper arm positions again. Is that all right, Francisco?”
    In a town like this, of course he would know Chico’s name. Everyone would know. But Chico returned to his senses at the sound of those hated syllables and he tilted his head up. “Chico,” he corrected, with a trace of rudeness in his voice he didn’t mean. He made sure to soften his tone, and his pronunciation, so the word was Portuguese and not Spanish. “Sheeco. Nobody calls me Francisco but my mother and bill collectors.” The breathless note in his voice would have been alarming if he hadn’t already been shaking over everything else.
    The instructor squeezed Chico’s hip, perhaps in apology, and took his hand away. Chico clenched his jaw to keep anything else breathless from slipping out, and shivered wildly when that hand returned to him. This time two hands curled around his ribs. They slid up, slowly, too slowly to be real, and then came up to raise his arms. He was arranged just so, lightly, with care, and then the teacher withdrew his presence at Chico’s back and walked around in front of him.
    Chico met his gaze for a few seconds. The teacher’s lips parted, and he pulled in a breath before he faced his class again. “There’s a reason we start our summer dance classes with the waltz. It’s easy and there’s absolutely no pressure.”
    “Waltz?” Chico noticed the classical music all over again. How had he wandered into a ballroom dancing class? He wasn’t old, or half of a bored married couple, or a straight groom worried about the first dance at his wedding. Although he belatedly realized the class was mostly younger people, and the senior citizens in attendance probably already knew the steps and were taking the class for exercise.
    “A slow waltz, for now anyway.” The teacher carefully picked up Chico’s hand, where Chico had obediently left it poised in midair, and placed it on his shoulder. The skin there was bare, hot, either from the weather or all the dancing the man had done already. He pulled Chico’s other hand up a little higher while Chico blinked at him in stunned surprise, then opened his hand so Chico’s fingers curled around his palm.
    Chico was dancing the girl’s part, but no one was laughing or saying shit about it. They were all taking similar positions, as if this was a cue.
    “Wait.” Chico’s word caught in his throat when hazel eyes focused on him. They were mostly brown with flecks of dark green, yet somehow clear. “Uh. This isn’t… I don’t know how.”
    That got him a curved smile and a whispered answer, just for him. “No one else here does either. They’re learning right now. You’ll be fine.”
    He was so certain. Chico nodded before he remembered himself. “What do I do?”
    “Aren’t you a brave one?” No one should be able to put that much encouragement and confidence in their voice and still sound gentle. The dance teacher was some kind of sexy dancer whisperer. “You’re going to move backward without looking behind you, which might make you nervous, but I’ve got you. I promise I won’t let you fall or bump into anything. Okay?”
    His smile was like cinnamon coffee. People probably took these classes just to see that smile. In another life, Chico might have been one of them. Before John, maybe, or sometime in the future, when Chico wasn’t a wreck who could barely dress himself for work.
    The teacher gripped Chico’s hand tighter for one brief moment and then raised his voice.
    “Everyone, remember what we talked about. This is a simple box step. Traditionally men are the top of the box, but if you want to mix that up, feel free.” Some people let out a small laugh at that, especially the two women dancing together. Chico wanted to laugh too, but he knew it would come out too loud, too desperate, like any kind of top and bottom joke he could have made. Innuendo-laden flirting had never been his style, and he