Page 57 of Something Tangled Something True (Rosa Ranch #1)
SWEATIN’ LIKE A WHORE IN CHURCH
I'm standing at the front of the expansive dance studio, the mirrored walls reflecting a sea of curious faces. Fifty pairs of eyes watch me, some eager, others looking a tad nervous, their gazes shifting between me and the neighbors they’ve lived by most of their lives.
I catch the glimmer of Pepto Bismol pink, and the sheepish smiles of Lemmon’s cronies greet me, knocking me back with surprise.
They greet me with small waves, and I don’t feel any bad energy from them.
Maybe they pulled their heads out of their asses.
The air buzzes with anticipation, and the faint scent of lavender wafts in from the field in bloom at the top of the hill.
“Alright, everyone! Bienvenidos ! Welcome to Cuban Night. As most of you know, my family and I are from Cuba, and while I teach all styles of Latin dance, I feel tonight is a very special one. As such, I’d like to focus on where I came from”—I look across the room, meeting Ryder’s eyes—“and where we’re going. ”
The familiar faces all smile back at me, clapping.
“Tonight, we're learning Casino , or Rueda de casino . Many consider this the heart of Cuban social dancing, and it is often referred to as Salsa Cubana . That isn’t necessarily a correct term for it, though, because while Salsa did originate in Cuba and Puerto Rico and was further developed in New York City, Salsa is the genre of dance, while Casino is a dance style that falls under that umbrella.
But what you all need to know about Casino is that it's all about connection, rhythm, and a whole lot of fun. Are you ready?”
“What if we don't have rhythm?” Betsy, the owner of Ever After Boutique, calls out, and several people chuckle.
I wave a hand through the air, meeting her glittering eyes with a smile. “That's what the lessons are for, Betsy! I'll teach you. Don't worry.”
A mix of cheers and hesitant nods answers me, and I can't help but smile. Leading large classes always gives me such a rush, like I’m an orchestra conductor commanding a symphony of movement.
As the music begins a vibrant, pulsing son Cubano rhythm, I raise my arms and step to the side, my hips swaying naturally to the beat. “Step together, step together, back… and forward! Yes, just like that. The basic step is simple, but it's how you feel it that makes it magic.”
I move through the crowd, correcting postures and encouraging shy smiles. In the corner, a young couple giggles as they stumble over their feet. My parents are in the back, showing off with exaggerated spins.
Ryder stands by the door, leaning against the frame.
His flannel button-down stretches over his broad shoulders, and the overhead lights catch on his dark waves.
His arms are crossed over his chest, and he watches me with a feral look in his eye.
His attention sends a jolt of awareness down my spine, and it feels impossible to tear my gaze away from him.
“Good, everyone! That's wonderful! For those of you who haven't already, go ahead and pair up,” I say, forcing myself to break eye contact with Ryder. “This dance is about partnership. We're going to work on leading and following. ”
I make my way to the front and watch as Ryder cuts through the crowd with a natural grace, meeting me in front of the mirrors. “Looks like you're without a partner, darlin’,” he muses, his deep voice carrying over the music. “Need a volunteer?”
His smile holds a challenge I can't resist. “Do you remember how to dance Casino ?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Well enough,” he says, his lips quirking into a grin.
A ripple of excitement surges through my veins as he tugs me into his chest. “If memory serves, you have no issue moving your hips.”
He runs the tips of his nose up my neck, whispering against the overheated flesh in a rumble of approval, “I’d be glad to reacquaint you with my hips tonight.”
Sucking in a deep breath, I recenter myself and try to remember we’re in public.
I place his hands where they need to be, one on my back and the other in my hand, leading him through the basic steps.
His movements are surprisingly smooth, and his touch is firm but respectful, rhythm precise.
“Well, well, well, Ryder Lockhart. It looks like someone's been paying attention after all.”
“It's hard not to pay attention to you, darlin’.”
I roll my eyes, peering over his shoulder to see how the crowd is doing. I project my voice over the music. “You're all doing excellent! Now, loosen up and really feel the music. Watch how Ry and I do it.”
With every step, the room seems to blur. The other dancers fade into the periphery. The two of us are caught in a rhythm both electric and intimate. Ryder’s eyes hold mine, and I can feel the heat spreading throughout my limbs.
He holds me close, our chests brushing, and desire settles deep in my core, where I wish he were right now.
I suck a breath in at the thought, pulling away from him to get a good look at the crowd.
I feel the snap of the tether drawing us together, but instead of breaking, it acts like a rubber band, bouncing me back into him.
With the prying eyes of a small town, I know I need to remain professional, no matter how difficult that might prove to be.
These people are here to support me, but I also need to make a name for myself if I want to continue earning their business after the novelty has worn off.
I leave Ryder for a few moments, making corrections as needed, and when I return, it's like one touch from him could light my entire body on fire.
I swallow thickly, ungluing my tongue from the roof of my mouth. “ Casino is a conversation, not a monologue. Make sure you're giving your partner enough space to reply,” I tell the crowd, keeping my voice even despite the mixture of excitement, nerves, and joy I’m feeling.
Ryder presses his warm hand to the base of my spine, pulling me back into him.
I twirl, pressing my backside to his front.
He mimics my steps, keeping up nicely before putting a hand up for me to take and spinning me, first in place and then around his body.
He turns into me, tugging me tightly to his chest. One of my hands roams over the thick muscles of his bicep, the other bent with his hand in mine, leading us through the moves.
My heart rate climbs, my eyes plastered to his chest, reluctant to meet his gaze for fear that I might see something I like a little too much.
He can tell what I’m doing, using our clasped hands pressed beneath my chin to lift my face to his.
Our mouths are so close, I can feel the tickle of his cool, minty breath coast along my lips.
“Eyes on me, darlin’,” he murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear over “ Rosa La Peligrosa” . Those beautiful baby blues are hooded, and I have to count on muscle memory to carry me through the rest of the dance. My brain feels like un tremendo arroz con mango , a big, confused mess.
The song comes to an end, and the room bursts into applause. I reluctantly step away from Ryder, suddenly aware of the heat rising to my cheeks. I pray it’s not obvious that I’m practically panting after only a handful of minutes in my husband's arms. “You’ve got potential,” I joke.
He ducks his head, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he whispers, “Maybe my wife will give me private lessons.”
My breath gets lodged in my throat, and I avert my gaze, sucking in a deep, steadying lungful of air.
The music quiets down, and the loud chatter stills.
When I lift my head to see what’s going on, Ryder’s body goes rigid beside mine, his hand on my back sliding to my hip as he pulls me into his side, as if shielding me from something—or someone .
I don’t have a chance to ask what’s going on before I’m seeing red.
Or should I say: yellow .
Lemmon traipses through the middle of the crowd, a pale-yellow lace dress hanging around her slim waist, falling to mid-calf.
Tu De Que Vas starts to play through the speakers, and it’s impeccably timed, given the meaning of the song: “What’s your problem?
What were you thinking? Are you joking with me right now?
” None of these are literal translations, but they all make entirely too much sense as Lemmon approaches me, the massive barn suddenly stifling.
She doesn’t cross the invisible line between where Ryder and I stand and where the rest of the crowd is gathered.
A tense hush falls around us. It’s an eerie silence that makes me feel like there are bugs crawling on my skin, and bile churns in my gut.
Ryder’s fingers flex, digging into my hip as Lemmon and I enter a stare-off. “Lola, maybe we sh—” His words are cut off by Mami’s screams.
“Fire!”
The smell of smoke billows through the room, singeing the inside of my nostrils. I cover my mouth, coughing as panic threatens to seize my lungs.
My gaze swings around the room, the crowd breaking into hysterics, shouting as they push through the room, but when my gaze catches on Lemmon, it lingers there.
Stuck on her shocked expression, wide eyes, mouth open in surprise, and not the theatrical kind, but a genuine sense of fear written plainly across her face.
Ryder tugs on my arm, pulling me back into the present as thick plumes of smoke climb the wall in the far corner, coating the newly painted red in black soot.
He drags me through the room, ushering everyone out. “Stay calm! Just get outside quickly, everyone!”
My heart is hammering in my chest, sweat collecting on my brow as we make it outside, and when I look back, it’s the paintings Ryder commissioned, burning to ashes right in front of my eyes, that have my heart sinking. Everything I’d worked for, just gone .