Page 24 of Flirty Dancing

24

Secret

As the week went on, Archer’s brain started losing the argument.

It’s better this way, it said.

Mateo’s hand rested on Archer’s back.

It’s better this way.

Mateo’s nose burrowed into Archer’s neck during their tango.

It’s better…

Mateo lifted Archer like he was made of air in their pas de deux, before he set him down again and they stood chest-to-chest, breath mingling.

It’s…

Mateo’s lips.

It’s…

Mateo’s eyes.

… What was I saying?

The connection he had with Mateo was undeniable—almost palpable and only getting stronger. Mateo had to feel it too. And yet, Mateo was also choosing not to act on it. That was the only thing Archer could hold on to, the only thing that was keeping him from throwing himself at Mateo’s feet. Getting together now would be stupid, and they both knew it.

Of course, there was still dancing, at least. They spent every day together rehearsing their acro number as the final show approached, and they melted their way across the stage for their tango duet on Tuesday. Archer had to take a cold shower that night. On Saturday, their pas de deux was so intense that Archer was a little shaky as they bowed for the roaring audience.

Archer looked for Mateo in the crowd as soon as he got to Game Night. Speed Connect 4 was set up—four boards in a row along the kitchen island. They had one second to play their piece. Whoever won moved up the ladder. The loser moved down. It was chaotic and fun and distracting enough that Archer managed to mostly forget about staring at Mateo… until he played him.

They smiled as they faced each other across the board, fingers poised to grab their first piece.

“Ready, go!” Dominik yelled. They laughed, jammed their pieces in one at a time in a red and yellow blur, then Archer threw up his hands in celebration when he got four in a row.

“Damn it,” Mateo growled, although he was smiling. “I’ll get you next time.”

Archer won the second time they played each other, and the third.

Mateo sighed and offered Archer a salute after his third defeat. “Guess you’ve got my number.”

“Guess so.” Archer’s heart throbbed.

When the tournament ended and Dominik was declared champion—“Who’s the loser now, Betty?” he gloated— Archer went to the bathroom and to grab another beer. When he came back, Mateo was nowhere to be found. Probably went to bed again. Smart. He shook his head to clear it and joined in a conversation with the others, but it was futile. All he could think about was Mateo. He had barely noticed that the cabin had started to thin out as people finished their drinks and went to bed themselves, until Betty yawned and said she was turning in, too. An image of Mateo in bed flashed behind Archer’s eyes, stretched out… naked, skin glowing against stark white sheets…

The cabin suddenly felt oppressively warm. Archer said good night to Betty and went out onto the porch in search of a cool breeze off the lake. But it wasn’t much cooler out there, the heat of the day lingering and no breeze to be found. He leaned on the railing and blew out a breath, head spinning. The screen door slammed from around the corner and feet thumped down the stairs as another handful headed back to the dorms. Then it was still again, only a few crickets chirping to accompany his thoughts. Maybe when we get back to Manhattan , he consoled himself. Maybe then.

A creak from the shadows at the far end of the porch interrupted his thoughts. He turned and peered into the darkness. There was Mateo, sitting on the wide railing, leaning back on a thick post, one leg folded under him, one dangling.

“Oh, hi,” Archer said, mouth turning to dust. “I thought you went to bed.”

“I did,” Mateo said in a low rumble. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Archer’s feet traveled over toward Mateo on their own accord, then he hopped onto the railing and mirrored Mateo’s pose against the other post. “Wallowing in your Connect 4 defeat?” he teased.

Mateo’s laugh was like syrup, thick and slow. His gaze swung from the lake back to Archer.

“We’re ready for the finale, I think,” Archer said, choosing a safe topic for discussion. “Don’t you?”

“Yeah.” Time slowed down as Mateo slid off his seat and moved closer to Archer. He leaned against the railing, his hip touching Archer’s bent knee. “I hope so.”

Archer swallowed hard, giving into his impulse to reach over and squeeze Mateo’s hand. “You’ve done an amazing job getting us there.”

Their eyes met. The heat sent a charge of goose bumps over his skin, an overwhelming tingle that reached deep into every cell. The shadows slid over Mateo’s face as he shuffled closer, highlighting the ridge of his eyebrows and lips. Then he shuffled closer still until he was between Archer’s legs, his hip resting against Archer’s dangling leg.

Archer dared to hold the gaze, even though he knew it would set him on fire. And it did, a scorching, exhilarating burn that turned his skin to ash before the embers licked at his core.

Heart thudding, blood boiling, his throat closed and his soul shrieked with need. His brain grasped to make sense of the moment, and all it could come up with was Mateo Dixon is standing between my legs . The smell of Mateo’s sweat and deodorant and skin filled his lungs—forest and sunshine—and he wanted to drown in it all.

Their eyes were still locked, the moment stretching out until it was too thin to hold. It broke. A whimper escaped Archer’s lips. And Mateo kissed him.

The kiss swallowed Archer’s next whimper, then a sigh.

Their lips danced—leading, following, in perfect sync, just as the rest of their bodies were so accustomed to doing. Mateo’s tongue was strong and slick as it pushed into his mouth. Archer groaned and threaded a hand into Mateo’s thick hair, the other taking hold of Mateo’s ass and pulling him even closer. His legs grasped Mateo’s hips.

Mateo’s arms slid around him, fingers gripping the back of his neck, a growl rumbling from his chest and sending sparks along every nerve ending Archer had.

Mateo’s hardness pressed against his when he rocked his hips forward, the need between them molten and undeniable. It was heaven. Joy. Pure bliss.

Then Mateo ripped himself away, stumbling backward a step. “Fuck,” he gasped as they stared at each other, chests heaving. “ Fuck .” He spun on his heel and bolted along the length of the deck and down the stairs.

“Mateo—” was the only word Archer could force from his lips, head swirling, blood long since drained from his brain.

But Mateo was gone, the word sorry echoing with the thumps on the stairs.

Archer blinked at the dark, silent porch. Oh, hell no, he decided and jumped off the railing, running after him. There was no sign of Mateo anywhere—the shoreline was empty, no one on the paths. But he knew where Mateo had gone.

Archer was panting when he arrived at the clearing. Mateo was sitting on the jutting rock, staring out at the lake. He must have heard Archer coming, but he didn’t move.

“You had to come all the way up here?” Archer gasped.

Mateo didn’t respond.

“Mateo,” Archer said softly.

He shook his head, jaw clenched. “I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean, sorry? That kiss was—”

“I shouldn’t have done it.”

“What are you talking about?”

His voice was flat. “Nothing can happen between us, Archer.”

“Mateo, I don’t—” Words flitted through Archer’s head but refused to come together in any rational way. “Why not?” he asked. From the moment Mateo’s lips touched his, he officially no longer cared that they had to work together, that a breakup might spell disaster. There were only eight days left in the season, and fuck it. He needed more.

“You’re young, you’ve got your whole future ahead of you in New York. You don’t want some washed-up has-been dragging you down.”

Archer shook his head, reeling. “What are you even talking about? First of all, ‘a washed-up has-been’? That’s crazy! You’re made for Broadway! Nothing has changed about that since the first time I laid eyes on you. And as for me, a future in New York—Mateo, I don’t belong there. I’m nothing. I’m going nowhere. I’m an accountant from Ohio!”

Mateo turned to face him, eyes aflame. “Don’t you get it, Archer? You can do anything. Anything. I don’t even know why you’re here.”

A bitter laugh bubbled out. “No one wanted me, Mateo. No one. But you? You’re a fucking star.”

“No one wants me either.”

“But you haven’t even tried!”

Mateo turned back toward the water, shaking his head. “Archer… I’ve seen you dance. I’ve felt you dance. You have what it takes.”

“Then why did I end up here?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you were nervous at your auditions, or it was bad luck, or maybe it’s just a random, shitty business where talent doesn’t always matter.”

“Maybe I dance better with you.”

Mateo half smiled. “You’ve come alive this summer, Archer, and it’s not only with me. You’ve only gotten better. You’re outdancing me. You will get a job. A big one. It’s inevitable.”

“So could you. You’ve got everything, Mateo. I know it.”

Mateo’s head dropped. Then his shoulders started to shake. He was crying.

Archer climbed onto the rock and slid an arm around Mateo’s shoulders. “What is it?”

It took him a minute to get the words out. Archer waited patiently.

“I’m afraid, Archer,” he finally said. “I’m terrified of trying. What if everyone hates me? What if I… what if I blow it all again?”

“I get it, it’s going to be hard, but… what if I were with you?”

Mateo looked up at him, wet eyes sparkling in the dim light. “You don’t want to do that.”

“Oh, Mateo. I very much do,” Archer insisted, a soft laugh punctuating his words. “You’re Mateo Dixon, don’t you know? I had your face on my wall.”

Mateo laughed, but it was still half sob.

“Even if you don’t want to… be with me, we can just be friends. I will go with you to every audition until you get a part, before I have to go back to Ohio. And let’s be honest, it will probably only be one audition.”

“If I don’t want to be with you?” Mateo repeated.

“Um, we just kissed—a really fucking amazing kiss, by the way—then you said fuck and ran away.”

Mateo shook his head, lips quirking. “Of course I want to be with you. I— Are you sure that you—”

Archer leaned in. “I’m sure.” He pressed his lips to Mateo’s.

They kissed on their rock in the moonlight while the lake glittered below.

“Oh God,” Archer breathed a while later, dizzy from the lack of oxygen, lips tingling. “You’re a good kisser.”

“So are you.” Mateo tilted Archer’s chin toward him for yet another.

“This isn’t a bad idea, is it?” Archer asked him when he could breathe again, over the sound of his pounding heart. “We’re so close to the big show. Are we going to mess anything up?”

Mateo nuzzled Archer’s neck. “I’ve been thinking the same thing. Maybe we should wait until we get back to the city?”

Archer breathed in Mateo’s scent as he brushed his lips along Mateo’s cheek. “That’s probably smart. What’s a few more days?”

Mateo’s hand crept up Archer’s thigh. “We can do it.”

“Okay, that’s the plan.” Archer sighed before they started kissing again.

It was a while until they dragged themselves back down the mountain, holding hands and being careful not to lose their footing in the dark each time they got distracted. Where the path split at the bottom, they paused.

“One last kiss at Shady Queens?” Archer asked. “And then we’re not together.” Overhead, the maple leaves whispered their secret in air thick with the smell of late summer flowers.

“Right,” Mateo agreed. “No one can know.”

“Good night,” Archer murmured, lips ghosting over Mateo’s.

“Good night,” Mateo replied. “Sweet dreams.”

Archer’s dreams, indeed, had never been sweeter.

Mateo was the first thought Archer had the next morning. His eyes flew open at the memory, a smile stretching across his face. Holy fuck . HOLY FUCK. I kissed Mateo Dixon. Like, a lot.

He reached for his phone to send Mateo a text and saw that Mateo had already had the same thought. Good morning. How did you sleep?

Archer wanted to squeal like a teenager. Good. So, so good. You?

Also very good.

Good.

Did you want to meet for breakfast?

“What are you smiling at?” Beau asked from the doorway.

Archer jumped, stammering. “Uh, nothing. Just, er—a funny meme.”

Yes, that would be great. I can meet you there in 15?

“Can I see it?” Beau asked.

“Can’t, gotta shower,” Archer called, already halfway out the door, running for the bathroom.

Mateo was waiting for him outside the dining hall. Archer’s heart sang as soon as he saw Mateo’s tall frame against the pink of the primrose bush.

“Hi.” Archer smiled at him, hands in his pockets.

“Hi.” Mateo smiled back.

They smiled some more.

Archer studied Mateo’s lips before casting a glance around them. He nodded at Gage as he went by.

Mateo read his mind. “We can do this,” he muttered.

Archer nodded. “Right. Breakfast.”

They joined a few of the other dancers and sat across from each other, legs threaded together under the table. Archer tried to occasionally look at places that were not Mateo’s gorgeous face or statuesque shoulders or strong, capable hands. He failed miserably.

“Oh my God,” Betty hissed when Mateo got up to return his and Archer’s trays. “Did you two—?”

“No!” Archer squeaked, his face burning.

Betty inhaled a deep breath like she was about to start shrieking, but Archer frantically shook his head. “No! Nope. No.”

Betty blew the breath back out. “Okay,” she said quietly, squeezing Archer’s knee. “Got it.”

Betty’s eyes were still on them when he stood and joined Mateo strolling back out into the sunshine.

It was torture being around Mateo all day and not being able to kiss him. He started wondering if maybe they could break the rules and sneak a kiss here and there, but as long as they were at rehearsal, there was always someone around. When the group paused for lunch, Archer and Mateo lingered in the greenroom. Mateo decided it was a good time to untangle the jumble of extra metal hangers in the closet, while Archer scrubbed the makeup mirror. When Caleb, the straggler, finally left, their eyes locked across the room. They each took three long strides, reached for the other… and Stewart came in, Judy trotting at his heels.

“Mateo, there you are!” he cried.

Archer and Mateo screeched to a halt, hands awkwardly falling to other tasks. Archer scratched his nose.

“I was thinking, do you suppose we ought to make a fuss for Breckon Galloway?” Stewart wondered. “Or do we pretend we don’t even know he’s there?”

“Ah…” Mateo cleared his throat, gaze drifting down Archer’s body. “Pretend we don’t know he’s there, I think. Don’t want to look like we’re trying too hard.”

Archer didn’t think he was imagining the emphasis Mateo put on the last word. He smirked back and thought about Mateo’s plump bottom lip between his, their bodies pressed together.

“That was my initial thought as well,” Stewart said, linking arms with Mateo and pulling him along to the exit. “But some of these theater types, you know, they love to be fussed over, don’t they? Not me or you, of course, but did I ever tell you about the time Dame Judi Dench came to watch my production of Don’t Stop Believin’ , the Journey tribute? She sent me the most scathing letter afterward, complaining that I hadn’t put a reserved sign on her seat…”

Archer trailed after the two of them on the way to the dining hall, winking at Mateo when he cast a helpless look over his shoulder.

After the show that night, they walked back to the dorms together. When the coast was clear, Mateo took Archer’s hand and yanked him into a patch of hazelnut bushes.

“Fuck,” Mateo muttered before their lips met in a frantic, exhilarating kiss.

“Yes,” Archer whispered back when they came up for air. More, was all Archer could think. He wanted more.

“But we’re not doing this,” Mateo reminded him when they paused after the next kiss, resting their foreheads together. “We’re waiting.”

“It’s going to be so hard…” They laughed. “But you’re right,” Archer breathed. “No more.”

“Right.” Mateo sighed.

Archer’s stomach swirled at the thought of what they were waiting for. For now, the best he could hope for was a week of longing glances and accidental finger brushes.

And the dancing.

There was always the dancing.