“Hellooo?” Candee slaps the table a few times. “Are you getting paid to talk to your boyfriend? If yes, then I’d like to meet the manager because this job seems pretty cool, and I want it too,” she says, deliberately raising her voice.
The lady whispers to the other person quickly and disconnects the call. “I’m sorry, it was my mother. She’s not very well,” she explains.
I press my lips in an understanding smile, knowing she’s lying. “I was here earlier, and I think there’s a little confusion. I wanted to enroll for the Zumba classes but got enrolled for the kizumba classes instead. So …” I leave the phrase hanging there, hoping she’ll catch what I’m saying, but she just stares at us, waiting for me to continue.
“We don’t refund if that’s what you’re here for,” a voice replies behind us. I turn around and—
Holy hotness.
My gaze scrolls over the faded jeans and his SHIRTLESS broad chest, travels to his square, unshaven jaw, and pauses on his hard lips before moving to his messy, dark-brown hair and finally settling on blazing amber eyes. Our eyes lock, and with all that masculinity oozing from him, gravity stumbles—holy hotness is the right phrase indeed.
By the time I’m done checking him out, he’s standing right in front of me. “There’s just been a slight misunderstanding,” I start to explain, my voice crumbling like flaky pastry. I glance at Candee, hoping she’ll nod, but she hasn’t finished checking out Mr. Holy Hotness. “I wanted to enroll for the Zumba classes, but she handed me the kizumba dance form—”
“Kizomba,” he interrupts.
I nod. “And I thought they were the same and signed me and my friend up”—I point at Candee, and she waves at the guy, a slight frown marring her forehead—“but we’re not interested in dancing, you see?”
“That’s sad,” he says, cocking his head, but his voice and expression don't show an ounce of sadness. “But we don’t refund.”
“No, I don’t want a refund,” I clarify. “I just want to switch classes from kizumba to Zumba.”
“First, it’s kizomba,” he points out and takes a step closer. His proximity does something to my oxygen supply, making it difficult for me to breathe. Why is the man shirtless? Unable to stop myself, I feel myself leaning forward—drawn to him like a magnet. “And second, it’s not possible to switch classes once you’ve paid.” With each word he utters, I like him less.
“But I don’t want to dance. It’s useless,” I say, cringing. I used my father’s word when he used to chastise Mom for dancing. I remember hating when he said that, and I hate I’ve used this word now.
One second his eyes are amber, and the next they catch fire—oh-oh. “Then you’re welcome not to attend if it’s that useless,” he finishes with tight lips.
“It was two hundred fifteen dollars.” I raise my voice, hearing my dad’s chide at the back of my head. “Raising your voice is a signal to the opponent that you’re losing the battle.”
“Any problem, Remi?” another voice calls out, and I turn to see a blond guy with headphones around his neck, walking toward us.
“Nope,” Remi says. “Everything’s good.”
“Good morning, Nicholas,” the lady at the reception greets the blond one, twirling her hair like a nine-year-old. Nicholas replies with a slight nod and returns his attention to us.
“I want my money back,” I continue, bringing my attention back to Remi, my pulse accelerating.
Did he drop his gaze to my boobs? I glance down and realize he’s reading the “Don’t Cluck with Me” on the shirt.
His lips twist into a cold smirk. “For the third and last time, we do not refund.”
I switch my attention to the Nicholas guy, but he’s busy looking at his shoes. “I don—”
Candee finally finds her tongue. “I love dancing. I’ll be here,” she admits.
My head whips to her. She’s checking out the blond guy—Nicholas. And there we go.
#FriendTurnedTraitor
#BecauseofSexyGuys
“Be here on Tuesday at seven-thirty p.m. And bring the chicken.” Remi smiles at Candee and walks away with Nicholas. Candee nods, her eyelashes fluttering after their retreating figures.
$215 gone, an argument lost, and a dance class looming ahead. Dad will be so proud.
But the chicken … what chicken?
My gaze snaps down to my T-shirt.
THE CHICKEN!
#BigHeadedAss
#TooRudetoBeHandsome
THREE
#ReboundAlert
“What?”
Candee nods, a delightful smile on her face.
“You cannot be serious,” I utter, still not believing her.
“Uh-huh, it was him,” she repeats, throwing herself on the bed. “Just imagine how lovely our babies will look.”
And that was it.
I still can’t believe Nicholas is the same guy she met at the store. My mind replays her words in repeat mode—we’re meant to be, and I know it. I’ll see him again.
“And that is why you agreed to the dance class?” I’m a little pissed she agreed to dance because now I’ll have to hide this from Dad. But who am I kidding? They were very clear. I couldn’t switch classes, which meant that I either attend the class or lose my $215. I may come from a wealthy family, but we just do not waste money.
“Yeah.” She sits on the bed, curling her legs in Indian style. “I told you he has a great ass, and kizomba is all about the ass. If I get to see that ass shake every week, I’ll die a happy woman.”
Something tells me that her devotion to that ass is going to cause a lot more trouble later on.
“We’ll see about that,” I grunt and grab the dance passes. “Do we need to wear dresses and heels like they wear when dancing salsa?” I ask, not wanting to go on the internet and search for kizomba because if I do that, I’ll chicken out—and I don’t want to give anyone the impression that I’m a chicken.
“Nah. For classes, we can wear our regular clothes. But I’ll be wearing some very tight jeans and shirt,” she admits, her lips spreading in a conspiratorial smile.
Apart from her shoulder-length blonde hair and baby blue eyes, Candee has flawless ivory skin, and for her five feet two, she has nice curves in all the right places—quite similar to Paula, the ex-best friend.
I, on the other hand, am five feet six with small boobs and a slightly curved ass. While I do look good in jeans, I won’t turn any heads, compared to Candee’s ass, which will stop traffic and maybe break some necks.
“I bet he’ll stand no chance.”
“None,” she gloats. “And you saw the friend, Remi. O.M.G. He was pretty hot too. But those eyes,” Candee groans, her eyes rolling back. “He could kill someone with those eyes. He could be your rebound, you know.”
Remi was good looking all right, but it was those amber eyes that keep you captivated. They’re pure passion with a hint of mystery … Ehem. “He’s definitely not going to be my rebound. He was average looking,” I say, which is a clear lie.
“Puh-lease, I bet your Ryan doesn’t even hold a cand—”
My body stiffens, hearing his name, and Candee’s voice fades as she realizes her mistake. Shitpouch, she mutters under her breath.
“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” she apologizes.
I shake my head. “It’s okay.” But it’s not. I haven’t allowed myself to think about Ryan since I arrived in Wishme, and now that she’s mentioned him, my heart tightens. “And he’s not my Ryan,” I correct her.
Candee gets up from her bed and comes to sit on mine. She places a hand on my shoulder. “Do you want to talk about him?” I’ve only told Candee that I broke up with my boyfriend, so she doesn’t know the whole story.
“My dad’s firm moved to town two years ago. He started mingling with other lawyers there, and I met Ryan and Paula, who were best friends.” A burst of mirthless laughter escapes me. Best friends—they were best friends, and I was the third wheel.
> I wipe away the tears sliding down my cheeks. “Six months ago, Ryan and I started dating. He was sweet, caring. The perfect boyfriend. Never in a million years did I think he’d be cheating on me with Paula.”
Candee inhales sharply. “Geez … the friend?”
I nod. “I never had many friends, but I liked Paula. And because she was my one serious friend, I considered her my best friend. I used to tell her everything. Things about Ryan, so it hurts to have her betray me in this way.” This is the first time I’ve spoken these words aloud, and it doesn’t feel good. “I didn’t love Ryan, but I liked him. We were heading to different colleges, and a long-distance relationship would have been a pain. We were thinking of ending things once we embarked on this college journey, but then I caught them kissing.”
Candee listens patiently as I tell her how I stayed rooted to the ground, looking at them until they stopped kissing and turned around to see me lurking there like a creep. And how I ran.
“You’re not going to like what I’m going to say, but maybe they were already in love, and when you started dating Ryan, they realized it,” she says, and my jaw clenches.
“This is not a book, Candee. It was my relationship. My life,” I scold her.
“I know, but maybe it wasn’t your story,” she says, and with two fingers under my chin, she turns my head toward her. “We’re the main characters of our story, and the secondary characters of other people’s stories, so in the end, if you’re not happy, then your story has yet to be told.”
#SheNailedIt
#CandeeIsaPoet
#IThinkIGotaNewBFF
FOUR
#MyHandsonCandeesBooty
“Take the heels.”
“Is it necessary?” I ask, taking two pairs and dropping them in my backpack.
“In our case, yeaahhh,” she replies, pulling the jeans up. She wiggles, wiggles some more, and jumps, finally pulling them up her waist. She sucks in a deep breath, quickly tugs the zipper and buttons her jeans. She exhales loudly, muttering hippobooty under her breath.
I laugh at her expletive as I check the contents of my bag: heels, a bottle of water, the entrance pass, phone, and perfume (very important, according to Candee). “All set,” I announce, zipping the backpack.
Candee inspects her clothes in the mirror. Sticking her boobs out, she stands on her toes and lifts her ass. “Is the T-shirt tight enough?” she asks as I try to see myself in the mirror.
Tight enough? Any tighter and I fear her boobs will tear the material off. “If Nicholas’s eyes don’t stick to certain parts of you tonight, then he’s blind,” I allude, finally getting to see myself in the mirror. I take a last look at my fitted jeans and pale-purple shirt with “Sorry I’m late. I didn’t want to come” written in black across the front material. Yes, it’s a deliberate choice, and no, I’m not sorry.
“Ready?”
“Yeah.” She runs a hand over her French braided hair and nods.
I hang the backpack on my shoulder. “Let’s go.”
By the time I park the car at the studio, it’s 7:25 p.m. Not as late as I wanted, but that’s fine—he’ll get the message.
We spray some perfume before getting out of the car and then walk into the studio. To my surprise, there are at least twenty people of varying age in the room. For some reason, I thought that only young people would be interested in dancing.
“You came.”
My heart thuds and the hair on my neck stands, recognizing this voice. I turn around, and my gaze lands on Remi. He’s dressed in a black shirt tucked into black pants, and his hair is styled in a perfect mess with a few curls falling on his forehead. He looks … fine. When my gaze reaches his, I notice he’s reading my shirt. A ghost smile touches his lips—he got the message, all right.
“We start in five,” a girl shouts, and everyone starts pairing up. At that moment, I realized that it’s going to be weird dancing with Candee.
#MyHandsonCandeesBooty
#Awkward
“Get ready,” Remi says and joins the girl. Is she his girlfriend?
Candee signals me to join her near the table at the corner of the room. We remove our sneakers, put on the heels, and join the class. Remi stands right in front of everyone while the girl stands at his side. And with his headphones around his neck, Nicholas is behind the DJ's console.
The girl calls everyone’s name to check attendance, and then Remi begins the class. “Good evening,” he greets, one hand in his pocket and the other in motion as he speaks. “I am Remi, your instructor. This is Layla, my dancing partner, and Nicholas, our DJ and sometimes dance partner, whenever needed.” He points at them, and they nod in greeting. “And since this is the first class, we’ll cover the basics—body movement.
“Dance is a language you speak with your body, and that’s what you’ll need to remember in this class—speak with your body. And for those of you who don’t know what kizomba is,” he says, landing his gaze on me. Heat crawls up my neck, and I drop my gaze to the floor. “It’s where two romantically involved people use sensuality to express and communicate …”
Candee nudges me with her elbow, and I lean closer to her. “In this case, we’re as romantically involved as cow’s dung to hay. We do stick together, but it doesn’t mean we belong together,” she whispers, and I cough to hide my laughter while hoping that I’m not the dung in this comparison.
#FailedSimile.
“So, to begin with, we’re going to do some dance exercise, okay?”
We’re made to stand with some distance between us so that we don’t knock into anyone while doing the steps.
“Listen to my instructions and observe Layla and me. Ready?”
I may have never danced in my life, but this brings out emotions in me—excitement and thrill. Maybe because it’s the first time I’m doing something where I didn’t ask permission. Or maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to feel what Mom felt when she danced.
My palms sweat with anticipation as I wait for the music to fill the room. That one tiny step toward freedom. Mom always says, “when it’s time to fly, Kaci, you spread those wings wide, and you soar.” I take a deep breath. I’m ready, Mom.
#SpreadingMyWings
Remi signals Nicholas, and he plays the music. “All right, everyone, move with the beat.” Remi and Layla turn their back toward us, and even though Candee’s not very close to me, I still hear her groan and mutter.
Remi shows some simple steps where we had to move a step to the right and a step to the left and a few more. It looks simple enough, so I follow them and do the same. And then the rhythm merged with the beat, and we do the same moves but this time with smoothness, accompanying one beat to the next.
Still dancing, Candee inches closer to me and whispers, “If my eyeballs end up sticking to his muscles, please help me unstick them.” And I chuckle.
Despite having his back to us, Remi turns his neck and signals Candee to get back to her place, and she obeys.
I nod at Candee, grinning and mouthing, I will help you.
And as if these ass movements weren’t enough, they take it to another level. Now, we stand on one spot but swing our waist (more like our asses) from right to left to right in slow motion to match the beat.
I glance to my right. Candee’s gaze is on Nicholas and not on Remi and Layla, but she’s still getting the moves right—damn, she’s good at this. I look at her moving body and back at Remi. They’re bending their knees a little and turning their soles, keeping their toes in place, and then they’re swinging their ass from right to left. I try the same movement and … yes! This is definitely better.
This is fun, I mouth at Candee when she glances at me. She winks and blows me a kiss.
We do some more steps, and while Layla stays in front, Remi merges with the class, moving from one side to the other to monitor us.
“Okay, everybody.” Remi claps his hands together, and Nicholas turns off the music. “Feel good so far?”
There are no
ds everywhere, and the excitement on everybody’s face is evident. I look back at Remi and see his gaze on me. He raises an eyebrow, and I shrug, showing my indifference, but if the flush on my cheeks is any indication, he’ll know I’m enjoying this.
He shakes his head and gives the class his attention. “All right, everyone. Grab your partner. We’re going to do some circle exercises now.”
He shows the steps first, and then Layla and Nicholas demonstrate as a couple while Remi explains what they’re doing.
“Can you do that?” he asks, running a hand through his hair as he takes back his place in front of the class. We all nod and take our positions.
After ten minutes of doing some movement, which I’m not even sure I can call dancing, Layla stops us. “You three will need a little more help,” I hear her say, and glance up. She signals Nicholas to come and help.
“I’ll ta—” Remi starts, but he’s interrupted.
“I’ll pair up with Kaci,” Nicholas announces. He presses the play button and makes his way toward me.
This shocks me because I’m the one who is faltering, and therefore, I should have been paired up with the instructor and not the DJ, but since no one else found it awkward, I roll with it.
I peek at Remi, and his unblinking gaze follows Nicholas—the poor thing seems stunned too but shakes himself out of it. He motions Candee to join him.
I risk looking at her, and see she’s sulking, her eyes throwing daggers at Nicholas. When she reaches Remi, he circles his arms around her, and Candee looks at me. Her lips press in a non-amused smile, and she shrugs lightly.
And we move with the rhythm.
Nicholas turns out to be a surprise. He doesn’t talk much except to help me with the dance steps, but whenever he speaks to me, his voice is low as if he’s not instructing but having a conversation. For the duration of our dance, he looks everywhere but at me, keeping his hands lightly on my body—I don’t think it’s even called touching.
Darling, Dance with Me Page 2