by Harper Bliss
She would snap out of the haze of bliss Quinn had left her in soon enough. All it would take, most likely, was spending some time with her family. That should plant her feet firmly back on sensible ground.
Tomorrow, she would be ready to see Beverly again. Her night with Quinn would have started to fade into the background, and Maya would be sitting opposite a woman who was, at the very least, appropriate for her. At her age, those things were increasingly important.
Maya reached for her phone and texted Beverly, telling her how much she was looking forward to their upcoming date. Then she invited herself to dinner at her son and daughter-in-law’s so she could be reminded of what was most important in her life. Five seconds with Ethan in her arms would surely be enough to do the trick—and to banish those pangs of heat that coursed through her at the most inopportune times whenever she let her mind wander and it, inevitably, presented her with an image of Quinn in all her naked glory.
“Maya?” Beverly asked. “Do you want white or red wine?”
“Oh.” Maya had been lost in thought again, foolishly cataloging all the traits that made Beverly objectively attractive. As though that was an exercise that could ever yield a result. “White, please. Sorry. I was distracted.”
“I’d like to think your mind was already venturing past dinner.” Beverly was laying on the innuendo much thicker compared to their previous date. Maya figured it was their texts that had created a sense of familiarity for Beverly that Maya didn’t yet feel.
Maya offered a smile that she tried very hard to let come across as more than polite, but it was a difficult task because as soon as she had greeted sweet, lovely Beverly, and they’d kissed each other lightly on the cheek, Maya had known that this was not what she wanted. Beverly was not who she wanted to spend her evening with. They weren’t even an hour into their date and while it wasn’t exactly painful for Maya—Beverly was still good company—Maya wasn’t attracted to her. She had hoped to be able to write off her attraction to Quinn as something in a category of its own, something that didn’t count because it wasn’t rooted in reality, but she realized now that she’d been wrong. Because, even as she sat opposite Beverly, who truly had some genuinely interesting tales to tell, and from whom Maya could surely learn a thing or two about life, and life in New York City specifically, all Maya could think of was Quinn.
But she was here and she was going to make the most of it. She was still adamant to give this a chance. Maybe she couldn’t stop thinking of Quinn because she forbade herself to do so. Many a scientific study had shown how hard it was not to think of an elephant when you were explicitly told not to think of an elephant. Let alone a gorgeous woman who had given Maya a night that she would never forget—a night that only made the memory of their previous night together even more spectacular.
“I’m so sorry,” Maya said. “Ethan’s been colicky and he’s been crying a lot and it’s been driving us all nuts.” This was only partly true. Maybe Ethan had cried a bit more than usual when she’d spent time with him last, but that’s just what babies did. They cried. It hadn’t worried Maya all that much. But she couldn’t tell Beverly about what was really preoccupying her mind.
Beverly nodded as though she understood. She had three children and five grandchildren, after all. But she was the type of woman, Maya believed, who couldn’t be fooled for too long. She actually liked that about Beverly. If she really put her mind to it, Maya could probably have a wonderful time with her. They could strike up a long, meandering, satisfying conversation, if only Maya’s brain would give her some space to do so. But it felt so crowded up there, with all these images of Quinn screaming for attention.
Half an hour later, Maya was so appalled by her own thoughts that she escaped to the washroom so she could talk some much-needed sense into herself.
She looked in the mirror and shook her head. Whenever she tried to listen intently to something Beverly said, something she’d had no issue with last weekend—before—a little voice in the back of Maya’s head started telling her that she could be doing god knows what with Quinn right now and it wouldn’t be an effort and she certainly wouldn’t have to force herself to enjoy it. Because that was what Maya had been doing throughout the date and she knew it was ridiculous but not half as ridiculous as going on a date with Quinn.
And that was the real issue. Maya felt caught between a rock and a hard place. She already knew that things wouldn’t work out between her and Beverly, albeit through no fault of Beverly whatsoever. Although, as she stood there, admonishing herself in her head, Maya didn’t think it was really her fault either. It was Quinn’s. She was too irresistible. Too delicious. Too easy to be around. Too much fun. Her lips were too soft. Her fingers too nimble. Her tongue too…. Maya had to stop herself. She took a deep breath. “Get a grip,” she told her reflection. She no longer had the luxury of prancing around like a hormonal teenager. This was temporary, she told herself. It would pass. It had done so before. She squared her shoulders and returned to Beverly.
“What’s her name?” Beverly asked after Maya had sat again. “Or his, for that matter.”
“What do you mean?”
Beverly chuckled. “I’ll show you my driver’s license if I have to, Maya, and it will confirm I wasn’t born yesterday.” She shrugged. “A woman like you was always a long shot for me.”
“I’m sorry.” Maya looked into Beverly’s eyes, but she had to look away swiftly. “I really am. I had the best intentions, I promise you, but…”
“You’re besotted with someone else.”
Besotted? Maya wouldn’t put it like that. She had some work to do to get past this whole Quinn thing, yes, but she was hardly besotted. She still had her wits about her. She still knew what needed to be done. That was one of the reasons she was here tonight—not that it was working. “There’s someone else. She’s like a blast from the past that I don’t really know what to do with.”
“That’s a damn shame for me, because I really like you.” Beverly drummed her fingertips on the tabletop. “So much so that I’m feeling a little sting of rejection.” She sucked her lips into her mouth and released them with a smacking sound. “Although I do want to be the bigger person here and not end this date in an overly dramatic fashion.”
“Maybe we can be friends,” Maya tried.
Beverly scoffed. “I have plenty of those already. I had zero intentions of ever putting you in the friend zone.” She leaned over the table. “You are absolutely smoking hot, and I sincerely hope that this woman you’re so obviously infatuated with treats you right.” With that, she pushed herself up, and left.
Maya settled the check, took a deep breath and another generous glug of wine, before reaching for her phone to take Quinn up on her offer of taking Maya out.
Chapter 28
The smile on Maya’s face was the exact reason Quinn had brought her to Noches.
The club was in Queens and hardly around the corner from where Quinn lived, but Quinn could—hopefully—show Maya around her neck of the woods some other time. If she wanted that smile, and it really was all she wanted, this was the best place to bring Maya on a Saturday night.
It was dark and sweaty and, granted, most people were probably a few, if not many, years younger than Maya, but the music and the way they danced was worlds away from most of the clubs Quinn frequented. As soon as they walked in and their ears were treated to the enticing salsa beat, Maya responded the way Quinn had pictured in her best-case scenario.
“It’s like I’m in Puerto Rico,” Maya said.
“That’s the beauty of New York. If you know where to go, you can find yourself anywhere you want.”
“Sounds like another one of your tattoos,” Maya joked as she cast her gaze about the dance floor. “This place is amazing, but…” She leaned closer to Quinn and half-whispered. “Is it, um, LGBT-friendly? I mean, can we dance together?”
“The only obstacle to us dancing together tonight is that you are a pro and I’m anything
but.” Quinn threaded her fingers through Maya’s. “I’ll do my very best not to step on your toes.”
Maya shook her head. “You stepping on my toes is the very least of my worries.”
Quinn nodded at a pair of men on the dance floor. “Check them out.”
“Is it a gay club?” Maya asked.
“It’s a club in New York, which means it doesn’t matter what or who you are.” She tugged at Maya’s hand and they headed to the bar. “I used to tend bar with one of the owners before he started this place. That’s how I first heard of it. They mix a mean mojito. Can I get you one?”
“I see what you’re doing.” Maya was already strutting around as if she owned the place. “Plying me with drinks so you can have your wicked way with me later.” She pulled Quinn close. “For the record, dancing the salsa makes me very, very frisky.”
As she chuckled, Quinn noticed, from the corner of her eye, a man making his way toward them. She hadn’t expected any trouble coming here, but it had been years since she’d been to this club—Morgan wasn’t much of a dancer, nor was she one for going out much. Quinn waited to place their drinks order until she figured out what was going on.
“Excuse me,” the man addressed Maya. “But are you four times US and two times World Professional Latin Dance Champion, Maya Dixon?” he asked, his eyes so wide Quinn feared his eyeballs might topple right out of his head.
“I am.” Maya brought a hand to her chest, as though she was bashful about this.
Quinn suspected the opposite was true.
The man—a fan, Quinn guessed—pointed at a picture on the wall left of the bar. It was the second in a series of about a dozen frames. In the picture, Maya smiled broadly, looking a few decades younger than she was today.
“Oh my god. Is that me?” Maya exclaimed.
The man nodded feverishly. “When you won your first world championship.” He didn’t look nearly old enough to have been alive when this happened. He brought his hands together in a praying position. “Please, please, please, may I have a dance with you? It would be the greatest honor of my life.”
Maya looked at Quinn.
“Go,” Quinn said. “Show them what you’ve got.” Of course, Quinn wanted to dance with Maya, but she certainly didn’t mind just watching her either.
“It would be a pleasure,” Maya said. “What’s your name?”
“Ernesto,” he said. “But call me Ernie.” He held out his hand to Maya, as though they were at some Victorian ball. The way Ernie wiggled his hips as he led Maya to the dance floor, Quinn could only conclude he’d danced a few salsas in his life—or he just really liked to swing his ass about. Maybe both.
“On the house,” someone said behind her. She turned around and saw two mojitos she hadn’t yet ordered in front of her. The bartender shot her a wide smile. “For you and Miss Dixon. Enjoy!”
Quinn thanked him and took one of the drinks in her hand. When she turned around her eyes were drawn like magnets to Maya on the dance floor. Whether Ernie was a capable dancer or not had become completely irrelevant. All she, and anyone else in the club, Quinn guessed, could see was Maya. She was wearing an emerald dress and even though it was dark in the club, as Maya danced the fabric seemed to flow around the floor.
They twirled around so quickly, Quinn could hardly keep up with their movements, yet Maya and Ernie seemed in utter control of their bodies.
Quinn took a sip of her mojito, which was strong and tart and, she thought, even if this was all she did all night, sip from this drink while watching Maya in her element, it would still be the kind of night to always remember.
Even though, for days that seemed to last for weeks, it looked like this night would never happen. Maya had only texted her the day before, when Quinn had started to give up hope. But here they were. There Maya was, being the queen of the dance floor. Quinn had never even noticed the pictures on the wall before, let alone that there was one of Maya. Maybe in this alternate Latin dance universe that wasn’t really hers—until today—it made sense. Just like it seemed to make perfect sense to Ernie to invite Maya to dance. It wasn’t the done thing in the clubs Quinn went to. But this club was different.
The skirt of Maya’s dress ruffled up as she danced, and Quinn’s gaze was drawn to her toned, gorgeous legs. Philosophically, Quinn was opposed to women wearing high heels. She never wore them because they were uncomfortable and painful and just another means for the patriarchy to keep her down—of course—but, admittedly, when she watched Maya dance in her three-inch heels it did not stir up any protest inside her. On the contrary.
The dance ended and as soon as the next song started Quinn lost sight of Maya because she was surrounded by a group of people, probably more contenders for a dance with her. A few moments later, Maya emerged from the group and, gingerly wiping the sweat from her brow with one outstretched finger, walked toward Quinn.
“Ernie knows his moves,” she said.
Quinn gave her the cocktail. “Here. Rehydrate. I have a feeling you won’t get a lot of time to rest tonight.”
“Nor will you.” Maya locked her gaze on Quinn. “I’m out with you tonight. I want to dance with you.” She grabbed hold of Quinn’s blouse. “Come on.” She put her glass back on the bar and, without even considering no for an answer, dragged Quinn onto the dance floor.
Even though the club was packed, they were automatically given space, as if in reverence to the great Maya Dixon. Quinn felt self-conscious because she didn’t have moves like Maya—or Ernie. Admittedly, after asking Maya out, and knowing where she would be taking her if she said yes, Quinn had looked up a few salsa videos on YouTube and she’d practiced the steps in the living room when Griff had been out.
“Just follow my lead,” Maya said into her ear. “Trust me,” she said. “You’ve got this.”
Of course, Quinn stepped onto Maya’s toes and her hips swayed in the wrong direction while sweat trickled down her spine, pooling at the small of her back. Of course, she made mistakes and her feet didn’t feel like they wanted to cooperate, but, in the end, it didn’t matter. Because when she got it right and they were in sync for half a minute here and ten seconds there, it felt like the most exhilarating taste of freedom Quinn had ever experienced. Even in those too-brief moments of unison she could feel why people became addicted to dancing with someone else in this way. The rhythm, the fusion of bodies, the steady hand of your partner on your arm. In this case, that partner was Maya, whom, Quinn concluded as they reached the end of their first dance, it was going to be impossible not to fall completely in love with.
Chapter 29
Maya’s legs wobbled like jelly when she got out of the cab. She hadn’t danced this long and this hard for years. She’d searched on the internet for clubs like the one Quinn had taken her to but she hadn’t had any luck finding a place like that herself.
“The elevator in your building better be working,” Maya said on a sigh. She was tired but her fatigue didn’t match the euphoria that coursed through her. To dance the night away like that was like a delicious dream.
“This,” Quinn pointed at a rather decrepit-looking building across the street, “is what they call a Greenpoint walk-up. We’re on the fourth floor. I hope you have some juice left in those sublime legs of yours.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Maya eyed the building. It reminded her of Tommy’s first apartment after college.
“I’d carry you up but you all but exhausted me.” Quinn unlocked the front door. A too-bright light flickered on, illuminating a stairwell that had seen better days. Quinn led the way and Maya didn’t have much choice but to follow, although the post-dancing euphoria was quickly leaving her.
“Jesus,” Maya panted when she made it up the stairs. “You could have warned me to save some of my energy.”
Quinn held a finger against her lips. “It’s late, and Griff will be asleep.”
Oh yes, the roommate. Add that to the walk-up, and going home with Quinn was beginning t
o feel more like a cold shower—especially after the hot, scintillating bath Maya had just stepped out of. She didn’t much feel like a harsh dose of reality this late at night. Truth be told, she just wanted to collapse into a soft bed.
Quinn showed Maya into the apartment. Maya tried to stop herself from casting her gaze about—she didn’t want to judge how Quinn lived any more than she’d already done—but her gaze seemed to have a mind of its own. The apartment was so small it felt like there was no room to move.
Quinn fetched two glasses from a cabinet and filled them with water from the faucet. She handed one to Maya. “Welcome to Casa Hathaway-Griffin.” She stood there grinning, and it made Maya forget where she was for a moment—Quinn’s smile had that effect on her.
“Thank you for taking me dancing.” Maya drank some water. “What a night. I felt like royalty.”
Quinn set her glass down and bridged the small distance between them. “There was only one queen of salsa in that club tonight and that was you.” She took Maya’s glass and put it in the sink. Then she grabbed Maya’s hand and stroked her palm. “You were phenomenal out there. Not to mention fucking hot.” She put Maya’s hand against her lower belly, fingers pointing downward. “Care to find out how wet I am for you right now?”
Maya was quickly forgetting about her surroundings even more. Quinn had a real knack for setting a mood with her smooth words and small actions, like guiding Maya’s hand down her pants. Maya nodded, because of course she wanted to find out. Quinn had not only given her one of the best nights she’d had since moving to the city, but they had danced together most of the night, their hips glued together, their gaze connected, their arousal growing as time passed.
Quinn flipped her jeans button open and Maya let her hand slide down. Quinn took a step back until she was against the fridge door. Maya’s hand slid lower as she followed.