Dance With Me (11 page)

Oliver smiled. “He sounds perfect.”

“Yes. And perfect men aren't interested in skinny, uptight, neurotic messes like me,” Laurie shot back.

Oliver's smile faded. “I wish I knew how you got like this. I wish I could figure out where and when you thought so poorly of yourself that you stopped being able to see yourself.” He shook his head. “I wish I had tried harder to assure you that you were fine just as you were.”

The conversation wasn't just embarrassing Laurie now; it was making him downright uncomfortable. “I need to go.” He turned on his heel and walked off before Oliver could reply.

But his thoughts kept drifting back to their conversation all through rehearsal. He thought too about Ed. He knew he was right, that Ed would never be interested for more than a moment in a man like Laurie. Flirt, yes, but date? Or even just hook up for sex? A man who tackled football players for fun? He'd probably laugh Laurie out of the bed.

What was worse was how thinking of Ed sexually put a shadow over their dancing together, which had become a bright beacon in Laurie's life. He knew Ed was doing it because he'd discovered a love of dancing, that it was giving him an outlet he missed. He knew Ed came to the class as a favor but stayed for fun. But he knew too that the fun wouldn't last. Ed would want to move on. He'd want a different partner or want to compete or want to go back to his weights. They would end, possibly very soon. Laurie didn't want to sully their time together by pining after Ed, however desirable he was.

There was no denying, though, that now he found himself wishing Ed
were
coming to his performance. He told himself it was ridiculous and to stop thinking about it at once. He told himself he'd look like a fool asking, and even if Ed agreed, it might backfire and make him nervous. It might make their time end too quickly. It might stop the magic.

But he couldn't stop thinking about Ed at the performance all through the rehearsal, couldn't stop wishing things might be different, especially when he found that the harder he wished Ed were there, the easier it became to dance.

Ed had to admit, right now things weren't bad.

The sound system had never been fixed in the weight room, but they'd given up and just established Ed at the back of Laurie's class in the gym permanently. Eventually Vicky found him an alternate room, but by that time Ed wasn't interested, because now he kind of liked being in the gym. He'd started working with not just the songs but some of Laurie's moves too, giving the guys Pilates bands to pull in time to the beat. For the machines, he arranged to have the kids come in on Saturdays at eleven. That had the added benefit of keeping them out of trouble.

Duon came to every class, and every time Ed stopped by to check on something with Vicky, it seemed like the kid was there. While Duon had always been a regular at the center, he had started to seem like a fixture. Ed asked Vicky about it.

“I'm looking into it,” she told him, grimacing. “I have a feeling something bad is going down at home. I'm not sure he's even there anymore.”

This wasn't good. “You think he got kicked out?”

“Or he removed himself. I don't think he's got a sugar daddy, but that might just be wishful thinking on my part.” She sighed and sank back in her chair. “I probably dropped the ball on him like I'm dropping everything else.”

Ed frowned. “What do you mean? You're not his social worker, Vic.”

“He comes to the center. He's my kid.” Vicky flicked a pen across the papers littered on the desk. “I've just been so busy. Funding is a special kind of hell this year. We're running out of grants, and the city is eyeing us like we're the fat it could trim and seal up its budget.” She glared at him. “And don't bring up local sponsors again. You know how I feel about them.”

“Even if they're the difference between keeping the center open or having it close?” Ed said.

Vicky pursed her lips and started sorting through her papers again. “It's not going to come to that.”

Ed hoped she was right.

He did what he could with Duon, just like he always had, just like he did with all the kids. He even thought maybe things were pretty good, finally. Twice he offered to give Duon a lift home, and he took him up on the offer, and even when Ed stayed for half an hour on a side street, watching, Duon stayed put. Things might be bad inside, but at least the kid wasn't turning tricks in some alley. Not that night anyway.

Dancing with Laurie was great.

The ballroom class had one more session before it was done, but Laurie had already hinted heavily that he'd keep giving Ed lessons after. Which was fine by Ed.

He had managed to control himself after that one night when he'd seen Laurie in tights. It helped that he didn't leave the car until mere moments before class, and on the nights they met for bonus lessons, he made sure he lingered in the waiting area until Laurie came to get him. This meant he had to endure a lot of giggling from the teenage girls and glares from Maggie, who Ed was pretty sure didn't like him at all. But it was a lot better than trying to figure out how he was going to hide a boner while he danced.

And he really, really loved dancing with Laurie.

What he loved most was how hard Laurie worked and how hard he worked Ed. During the classes he let the Baptists get away with all kinds of slop so long as they remembered at least seventy-five percent of the steps and kept to the beat, but when it was just the two of them, he was ruthless. At first he was tentative, but the more they worked together, the more ruthless Laurie became.

“Absolutely no slouching, Ed. You're the frame. You're the stem to my flower. Quit giving me crooked pictures and wilted flowers.”

“Sorry.” Normally Ed would have cracked a joke about Laurie being a flower, but there was something about Laurie when he got serious about teaching that made Ed ten times more eager to please than he'd been with any coach. He cleared his throat and straightened his spine.

Laurie looked him directly in the eye, hands on his hips as he spoke. “I can't dance if you don't lead. Your job is to be strong and stable. Remember the steps, yes, but never forget you're the anchor. Your mistake will become mine.”

Jesus
. Ed wiped sweat from his brow and nodded. “Okay. Let's do it again.”

It was work. It was fucking hard work. He went home sore most nights and usually so hungry he had to stop for two cheeseburgers on the way. And he fucked up a lot, even weeks into it. Eventually he took to practicing the steps in his living room, clearing space enough to dance on the ragged rug in front of the TV. When he confessed this to Laurie, Laurie nodded in an approval that made Ed's heart swell—then got a broom and showed him how to use it to perfect his balance and his frame. Unable to find his broom at home, Ed took to locking himself with contraband from the janitor's closet in one of the deserted offices at work over his lunch hour, dancing with an imaginary Laurie until he had to head to his one o'clock meeting.

Dancing was hard. But man, was it worth it.

Because every now and again, he'd do it right. Every so often the planets would line up, and he could feel he was getting it even before Laurie praised him, and then the game was to keep it going well as long as possible. When he got it right, it was as good as football: the world fell away, and it was just Ed, the music, and the dance.

And Laurie.

As he spun Laurie out into a turn and drew him back into the embrace, he didn't just see but felt Laurie's perfect form, his control, his utter beauty in a dance. As he danced with Laurie, Ed felt ashamed at how he'd written Laurie off as a poof. God yes, Laurie was feminine. And yet he was so very, very male, something Ed became exquisitely aware of as he held the other man in his arms. The arms that bent with such feminine grace were chiseled and muscled and strong under Ed's hands. Laurie was slight, but he was powerful in a way that made Ed think “man.”

Dancing with him made Ed want to be more graceful too. He found himself mirroring Laurie's style, letting his body give and slide the way Laurie's did. This earned him praise and a smile, so his mimicking became more conscious. But what he loved most was feeling he truly was Laurie's anchor, feeling the tension at their grip when Laurie turned or leaned or spun off the axis he provided. It gave him a thrill that felt so much like sex that twice he'd “fumbled” to keep Laurie from sliding up against his body and finding something that would embarrass them both.

And then one day they danced the milonga, and Ed discovered a whole new level of sexual tension.

“This is an older kind of tango,” Laurie explained. “It was danced in brothels quite a bit and then in clubs. The frame is very strong—almost all the movement is in the feet. Once again you are an anchor, but there is more play, more pitter-patter, more traveling and turning. The key is to remember the dance's roots: it was danced by the mountain men who had come to the city to work.” He held up his arms, and Ed followed his lead, creating a frame. Laurie took his hands and kept speaking. “You are a clumsy workman holding a prostitute in your arms. She is likely not pretty; neither are you. But you make a civilization here. You are a worker. I am a whore. But we will dance before we do what is expected of us, because it is a pleasure. We will dance, and in the dance we will have the beauty life has denied us.”

Ed's throat was so dry he had to clear it. “Okay,” he said, his voice cracking.

Laurie smiled. “Ready? And forward, and step, and slide, and step-step, slide, and step...”

At first it was awkward, Laurie calling out the steps, leading Ed in how to lead Laurie around the room. They moved slowly at first, Ed hulking and uncertain. But slowly the dance began to come together. Laurie stopped calling out steps unless Ed fumbled, and then he stopped calling them out altogether. At last, he broke gently away from the dance and went to the cabinet, where he started up some music.

“Lead in whenever you're ready.” He stepped into Ed's frame and waited.

Their bodies were so close, and from the waist up they barely moved, Laurie's cheek nearly resting against Ed's. He could smell Laurie's detergent, deodorant, and the sharp, sweet smell of his sweat. The music was strange—it wasn't tango at all but some electronica number with a percussive beat that lent itself well to the steps Laurie had taught him. It bore Ed up as he drove them around the room, as he held Laurie so close that sometimes when he inhaled through his mouth, he felt like he could taste him.

He had to keep his mind on the steps and on his form, but as the music wrapped around him and his feet began to learn the dance on their own, his thoughts began to wander into daydreams. A dance from a brothel, Laurie had said. A clumsy working man coming to dance with a whore, first on the floor, then in a bed. Well, Ed could play that role well enough. Laurie was no whore, though. Ed wondered if the working men ever thought that about the women. If one of them ever fell in love with a beautiful prostitute, if, as he danced, he felt like he was dancing with a goddess.

Ed wondered if any of those brothels had been full of men waiting for men.

A scene played out in his mind's eye: Ed came into a dark, dirty bar, gaslight flickering above. Across the room he saw Laurie standing in a line of men, painted, groomed, dressed in hand-me-down finery. He saw Laurie cross to him, saw him smile as he paced a graceful circle around Ed, toying with him, pretending he might not accept his invitation to dance. Ed imagined taking Laurie into his arms, knowing what the dance would lead to, knowing that when the songs were over, they would go up the stairs, where he would dance a different dance with Laurie in bed. Laurie, so beautiful, Laurie, so graceful, so strong, Laurie who smelled so good it was all Ed could do not to bury his face in his neck. Laurie, who he wanted to bury himself inside.

Oh
God
!

The dizziness hit Ed like a truck. He stumbled, tripped over his own feet, and pitched backward onto the floor, bringing Laurie tumbling down on top of him.

Laurie, sliding over him, Laurie's open mouth on his chest, his tongue snaking out and sliding into his belly button before traveling down, down—

“Are you okay?”

Laurie loomed over him, half-sprawled across his chest, his hands braced on either side of Ed's head. The lower half of his body was draped over Ed's left leg, which was good because otherwise he'd be lying directly over top of Ed's raging hard-on. Laurie wasn't aroused, though. He was worried.

“Ed?” He leaned in closer. “Ed?”

Ed blinked. The Laurie in front of him and the Laurie in his daydream mingled, then merged, and it was like the tights all over again, except this time it was more than just nice legs. He was hard for Laurie because he looked good, yeah, but also because he was such a hard-ass teacher, because he was so beautiful, because Ed's whole body lit up when he saw him. And he realized, finally, what that meant.

And Ed felt confused. Really, really confused.

When Laurie's hand cupped his cheek, Ed shut his eyes and turned his face into his palm.

“Ed.” The voice was sharp, as was the grip on his face. “Stay with me, Ed.”

Ed blinked again and frowned. What? And then the worry in Laurie's face registered, and he felt his face heat.

Laurie wasn't coming on to him. Laurie thought he'd hit his head.

“I'm fine,” he murmured, shutting his eyes tighter in embarrassment.

“Your neck—is it...?”

“I'm
fine
.” Ed lifted his hand and rubbed his eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just clumsy.”

A clumsy worker, trying to dance with the beautiful whore.

Except there was nothing, absolutely nothing whorish about Laurie. He was high-class all the way.

Laurie tried to fuss over him again, but Ed shoved him back and rolled to a sitting position. Despite what he'd said to Laurie, he reached up and felt tentatively at his neck. A little tender. He'd take a pill and ice it and be fine.

Got a pill you can take to stop you from falling for Laurie?

He pushed to his feet, feeling rattled.