Free Wet: Part 2 by S. Jackson Rivera

up the other things she’d done that night that may have contributed to her soreness.
    “You didn’t say anything about being sore.”
    “Making a point. The last thing I needed that day was you, grouching at me about slacking off.”
    “Tough as nails,” he mouthed.
    “Not stiff!” she mouthed back. “I remember that much.”
    “Me too, but remind me again.”
    She yielded with a grin and folded herself backward, giving him his wish. He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her to him, touching, hip to hip. He grinned wickedly as she righted herself, finishing face-to-face.
    “That doesn’t feel like pretending.” No humor showed on her face.
    “Girls pretend that better than boys.”
    She tried to put some space between them, but he held her without breaking eye contact.
    “I thought we were dancing. I can’t shimmy if you won’t let go.”
    “You have a point.” He still didn’t let her move away. “I know how to dance, but you’re the best dancer I’ve ever seen. I just hope I don’t kill us trying to keep up with you.”
    “I’ll hold back.”
    “No, don’t. Well, maybe a little, unless you want to humiliate me, and I’m sorry, but I won’t be throwing in all the hip wiggles and wrist flicks that make Christian a better dancer than I.”
    “Spoil-sport.” He released her hips and she started moving to the song. “Ready?”
    “Oh yeah.” He twirled her and the music carried her away.
    By the time the song ended, they’d attracted the attention of almost everyone at the party, but they kept on dancing through several calmer songs.
    “Where did you learn to dance?” Paul pulled her in to dance the way you would for a slow song, even though it wasn’t.
    “I just always knew how. As a kid, a bunch of us, other little girls in the neighborhood, we spent our time on each other’s front lawns running through the sprinklers, learning how to do cartwheels and worked up from there. We used to pretend we were competing at the Olympics and we danced.” She giggled. “In high school, I joined a dance club. We met in the choir room after school, a couple of times a week, making up dance routines and teaching each other moves we learned somewhere else.
    “Occasionally we performed at school assemblies, or at halftime, but I’d get so nervous, performances made me sick. I didn’t know alcohol cured stage fright.” She laughed. “It would have helped in college too. I took some belly dancing classes. That was fun, but quite intimidating. Our finals—the teacher made us perform a recital—solo, and in a Bedleh, those skimpy Aladdin-ish costumes.”
    “Mm!” he grunted and flashed his eyebrows up with approval. “Still have one?”
    “A Bedleh?”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “No, thank goodness. I see the look on your face.” He seemed more than pleased with the way she danced with him at the moment. Noticing only made her self-conscious, and she took it down a notch.
    He pulled her closer and rubbed noses briefly, gazing at her. His eyes reminded her of the night he kissed her in her bedroom, making her nervous again. She glanced down.
    “Don’t,” he whispered, but she couldn’t look back up. “Look at me. It’ll be okay.”
    He hugged her so her cheek pressed against his chest and she could hear his heart beating, slow and steady. It always made her feel better for some reason. At night, when she had nightmares, his heartbeat, as she rested her head on his chest, helped her relax. He kissed the top of her head.
    “Do you realize how much that helps, or is it just a lucky coincidence?”
    “What helps?”
    “You resting my head against your chest when I’m nervous or upset.”
    “I’ve picked up on a few things.” He squeezed her tighter.
    The next song played slow and beautiful. “Everything” by Lifehouse. Mitch dragged Shanni onto the dance floor and began dancing amorously next to them. Rhees squeezed her eyes shut, knowing the time had come to get serious. Paul pulled