by Danica Avet
“We’re going to dance,” I tell Jolene as I lead her to the center of our impromptu dance floor.
Mom and Dad are already there as well as several other couples. Jolene tugs on my hand, drawing my attention to her, only to reveal the panic in her face. Again.
“I don’t know how to dance,” she whispers, her gaze darting left and right as though everyone will hear her. “Let’s just go sit—”
“What do you mean, you don’t know how to dance?”
It’s unfathomable to me. It isn’t like I’m Fred Astaire, but Mom loves to dance and there were many times—at wedding receptions, or as we did housework—that I got pulled into a jitterbug, two-step, or waltz with her. I didn’t really mind so much because music has always been my thing and dancing is just another part of it.
“I-I can tap dance a little, but I’ve never danced with a partner before,” she stammers.
“You’ve been to dances,” I state. “Just follow me and—”
But she’s shaking her head, eyes wide. “I’ve never been to a dance,” she confesses as the opening notes of “Jolie Blon” start.
I want to grill her, but if I do that and hear something as equally enraging as none of her boyfriends taking her to meet their parents, I’ll probably lose my shit. Instead, I grab her right hand in my left and put my hand on her waist.
“This is a waltz. Three-four time. Just follow me, okay? It’s easy.”
She starts to protest again, but I don’t give her a chance before I sweep her into the dance. She stumbles the first few steps, glaring at me all the while. I just keep leading her around the floor, whispering the count to her and she catches on quickly. Just the way I knew she would. She’s naturally graceful, not to mention she has a great sense of rhythm. Dancing would be just as easy as playing her trumpet as long as she doesn’t get hung up on what she could and couldn’t do.
Once she realizes she’s dancing, the glare disappears and her cheeks pinken, her eyes sparkle, and she lets out a soft laugh. I never really gave much thought to how intimate a dance could be. It’s easy to ignore when most of your partners are relatives, but with her floating in my arms, our legs and chests brushing, I can see why Dad’s always pulling Mom into step. It’s like making love. Not sex, but love.
Jolene grins up at me and… My heart clenches.
Shit.
Jolene
I can’t believe I’m dancing. With another person. Mama made me take tap dancing, but I never was much good at it. But here I am, floating around the dance floor like my feet have wings. Dancing!
And not just with Levi, who makes it seem so easy. But as soon as the first song ended, I’m tugged in the opposite direction by his uncle. Nonc Drew, as he told me to call him, teaches me how to jitterbug. For such a big man, he’s very light on his feet and he spins me this way and that as though I weigh nothing at all. Most of the music has a country flair to it that should make me think of Mama and the sad songs she plays when she’s drunk, but it doesn’t. It’s almost all in French, but even the slow waltzes have an air of happiness about them—at least that’s how I feel because there’s so much joy on everyone’s faces as they dance.
As darkness creeps over the yard and the string lights take over, the dance floor gets more crowded. Couples, kids, and everyone in between take a turn around the square. Some of the moves are so complicated, I stumble in awe, glad no one expects me to participate in that. I go from Levi’s uncle to his dad to another uncle, then his cousins. Every now and then, I catch him dancing with his mom, little sister, and aunts, but no matter who he’s with, his gaze returns to me, a promise in his eyes.
Levi cuts in as soon as he’s able to, sweeping me into another waltz. I’m breathless, a little sweaty, and having the most fun I’ve ever had before. Everyone, from Levi’s grandmother, to his little sister, has treated me as though I’m a member of the family. There were no snide remarks, no dirty looks, or cold shoulders. They welcomed me with open arms, shoved food in my face until I thought I’d have to roll my way home, and then they told me stories about Levi.
Like how he hasn’t brought a girl home to meet the family since his high school girlfriend, Racine Babineaux. She played trombone and soccer, was named Miss Moiselle Bayou her senior year of high school, and she apparently broke Levi’s teenaged heart. At least that’s what his mama says. I try not to read too much into me being the first girl he’s brought home with him, but it’s nearly impossible. Especially after the kiss in my car. And the way he’s watching me now, his eyes almost glowing with something that makes my breath catch in my throat.
The song changes again, this time the soulful sound of horns greeting my ears instead of the accordion or fiddle, which I’ve strangely grown used to. Levi’s lips curl as he slows us to a near standstill.
That’s about when he starts singing. To me. Otis Redding’s heart wrenching plea to “Try a Little Tenderness” hits a little closer to the heart than Crash—I mean, Levi realizes, but with his arms around me, his gaze locked on me, and his voice crooning the words to me, I feel as though he’s telling me what he plans to do with me.
Love me. Squeeze me. Never leave me.
Oh God.
He’s got both arms wrapped around my waist and he gives me a hug. “What’s wrong?”
What’s wrong? I stupidly fell in love with him and he’s got this wonderful family, a bright future—as soon as he figures out what he wants to do—and he doesn’t date band girls. Although his family seems to think because I’m here, that’s changed.
“I didn’t see anyone else from school,” I say instead of blurting out my feelings.
His smile is wry, his hold possessive. “I normally invite lots of people and I was going to.” He shrugs, not looking in the least bit ashamed. “But I didn’t want to share you with anyone else.”
“Oh.” Say something! “I grew up in a trailer park. Everyone thought I was trash. That’s why I never met anyone’s family before.”
Oh lord, kill me now. My eyes widen in shock. I never intended to tell him about my background. It’s bad enough Josef and Kimber know—the former because I thought I was in love, the latter because I lost my temper—but for Levi to know my shameful past?
We’re just swaying back and forth, the music barely audible over the pounding of my heart. But at my idiotic confession, he pulls away and grabs my hand, leading me through the crowd of dancers. He finds an abandoned bench, giving me a tug until I sit down, sprawling next to me with his arm draped across the back of the seat.
I can’t look at him. Instead, I look out at his family enjoying the cool night and the music. Enjoying each other. No one’s drunk and blaming everyone around them for the way their life turned out. This is what I imagine a normal family is like. Everyone just loving each other. Flaws, mistakes, and all.
“Do you know why I don’t date band girls?” he asks after the silence stretches to near painful proportions. I peek at him out of the corner of my eye and he laughs. “Yeah, I’m sure Mom told you about Racine. I was an idiot. I didn’t take the breakup well. Swore I’d never date another girl in band. It was painful to watch her with her new boyfriend. We fought a lot and it made my last two years in high school hell, especially since he was in band too.
He tilts his head back. “Nonc Tony was goin’ through a divorce at the time from his high school sweetheart. They were inseparable, even had jobs at the same company. She was cheatin’ on him with another coworker, so he was bitter. It was a nasty divorce, ain’t gonna lie. He was my favorite uncle, cool as shit. He pulled me aside when I was at my lowest. Told me not to let myself get tied down with a woman before I lived a little and to never, under any fucking circumstances, date someone I had to see all the time if things went south. Since he was my hero, I took his advice. I made a stupid vow and stuck to it.”
I nod. I can understand that, but I don’t see what it has to do with my confession.
“Then I met this girl. Classy. Beautiful. The most talented
trumpet player I’ve ever heard pick up the horn. The only girl that made me decide to change my mind about dating, especially dating band girls. Everything she does is graceful and ladylike. Even when she’s telling me off.” My face burns at his silky voice coming at me from the shadows we’re sitting in. If only he knew how unladylike I am. “Do you think my family always lived like this?”
I blink at the abrupt change in topic and look at him. “What do you mean?”
He points to a single-wide trailer nestled not far from his parents’ brick home. “That’s where I grew up. Dad was workin’ offshore, Mom was goin’ to school for accounting, and they couldn’t afford to buy or build. It’s a three-bedroom house. We lived there, me and Erika sharing one bedroom, Mom and Dad in another and Nana and Papa in the other, until I was eleven. As soon as Mom started working, she started putting money away to build this house.” He shrugs and takes my hand. “I know that probably seems weird, me sharing a room with my little sister until I was almost a teenager, but that’s all I knew. We had no privacy, which is fucked up when you’re a boy about to go through puberty, but it is what it is.” His fingers squeeze mine. “What I’m tryin’ to say is it doesn’t matter where you come from, but where you’re going that counts.”
“And Jolene?” I turn to look at him just as he brings my fingers to his lips. “You’re going places. It’s my hope that I’ll be with you wherever you go.”
His smile makes my eyes burn and my throat tighten. “Levi…”
“So how’s this for a first date?” he asks abruptly, cutting off the train of thought I hadn’t fully developed.
“What?”
“Our first date,” he says firmly. “How’s it goin’ for a first date? Think you’ll go on another with me after you were mobbed by my family?”
“I-You-What?”
He nods, that smirk firmly in place. “Speechless,” he says with satisfaction. “That’s just what I was goin’ for.” Then he stands and pulls me to my feet. “Let’s get some fresh grattons and then get back on the dance floor.”
Then he proceeds to drag my stunned speechless self around. This boy who swore never to go out with a band girl, yet tricked one into going on a date, and intends to do it again.
Is it any wonder I can’t stop grinning like a fool?
Levi
Several days later . . .
“Are you sure?” I can’t help but ask her, my heart pounding like a timpani.
Jolene’s eyes are wide and a little uncertain, but she nods. “Yes,” she whispers.
I’m kind of relieved she’s as scared as I am. Makes me feel a little better.
Sucking in a deep breath, I let it out and nod. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
As though that was all the signal they needed, the carnival workers pull a lever and the springs holding the sling in place launch us forward at blinding speed. I ain’t gonna lie. I scream like a bitch, but it’s sucked out of my mouth before it can even form. We jerk to a stop and swing backwards, Jolene laughing hysterically.
Glancing over at her, I see her hair’s a fucking mess, her face is all red, and she looks happy. I squeeze her hand.
“God, that was fun,” she says breathlessly. “But I don’t think I want to do it again.”
My heart’s still somewhere in my feet, so I just nod. I know what she means. The Sling-O-Rama is one ride at the annual Sauvage State Student Festival that I’d never gone on before. Until now. Until Jolene practically dared me to go on it with her.
We’re released from the ride and my knees almost buckle. Only pride—and Jolene silently laughing at me—keeps me from hitting the ground and kissing it. I’d much rather be kissing her, anyway.
“I need to reaffirm that I’m alive,” I tell her as we move out of the way of the Sling-O-Rama’s next victims.
The quizzical look she gives me makes me feel like the big bad wolf about to devour Little Red. Grinning at her with all the lust that’s been dogging my heels for the past week, I crowd her against a nearby post, giving in to my need to taste her. She melts like ice cream on a summer day, her hands gripping my hair. God, this girl.
Whistles and catcalls interrupt the moment and I pull away from her plush lips.
Panting, fighting the urge to grind against her like a complete horn dog, I rest my forehead against hers. “You’re fucking gorgeous,” I mutter.
Her giggle is soft and a little embarrassed. My girl’s still insecure about herself, me, and us.
Spending time with Jolene as a friend before tricking her into dating me—yeah, pretty genius plan, I know—made the official start of our relationship a mostly smooth transition. As far as I’m concerned, she’s been mine since that night in Indiana, maybe even a little before that, but after the Mardi Gras holidays, I really ramped up my efforts to courtiser Jolene, as Nana would call it.
It doesn’t matter to me that she grew up in a trailer park, or that the idiot boys she dated back home didn’t realize what kind of treasure they had. She’s mine now and I make goddamn sure everyone knows it. I kiss her every chance I get, hold her hand whenever we’re near each other, and make sure she knows how much I want her. No, we haven’t had sex. I’m sure she’d let me, but we’ve only been official for a week and I don’t want her to think that’s all I want her for.
Oh, it kills me. My balls are about the color of blueberries, my dreams are wetter than they were when I was thirteen and had a room to myself, and I’ve jacked off so much I’m going to start buying shares in the company that makes my preferred lotion, but it’s fucking worth it. Every time I treat her the way I’ve seen my dad treat Mom, with little hugs and touches, kisses, and sweet words, her face glows as though I’ve given her the greatest gift ever.
I swear, if I ever meet any of those fuckers from Pepper Ridge, Georgia, I’ll beat the ever lovin’ shit out of them for tearing into Jolene’s self-esteem. But really? Their loss is my gain. She’s sweet, funny, beautiful, and she makes me feel about ten feet tall. What else could a guy want?
“Hey, you want to let her up for air?” Becca snaps somewhere nearby and I bite back a groan, glad Nessie isn’t with her.
Okay, so I don’t know if Becca’s just looking out for Jolene, but she and Nessie have been about as happy as a couple of rabid raccoons since we’ve made our status known to everyone. I get it. I don’t have the best reputation, but a man can change. If he wants to. And I wanted to the minute I realized I couldn’t fight the pull of this girl anymore.
“Becca,” Jolene chides gently, although she pulls away with a pretty blush.
The grounds outside Callais Memorial Stadium mill with students blowing off a little steam before the final stretch of the spring semester. The scent of crawfish boiling competes with the sweet smell of cotton candy and the musky hops of beer. Professors don’t even bother doing anything worthwhile on Festival Day. Most students don’t bother going to class, or if they do, some of them are already sporting a buzz.
“Well, y’all act like y’all invented sex or something,” Becca mutters darkly, glaring at me in a way that makes me uneasy. Then just like a switch, she’s all smiles. “Did I tell you my cousin’s moving back to LaSalle?” She bounces in place. “Well, she’s just comin’ back for a visit soon, but she’s talking about moving back permanently.”
Jolene slips her hand in mine and rests her head on my biceps. “No, is that your Uncle Johnny’s daughter?”
“Yes!” Becca cheers. She actually fucking cheers. Doing some move I’ve seen the cheerleaders do. I just shake my head. “Mallory’s the cousin who lived in England. Remember I told you about her? She’s the one who introduced me to Monty Python,” she tells me as though I give a shit. She gives me a squinty eye and carries on. “Anyway, she’s coming back home. Eventually. Isn’t that awesome?”
Jolene murmurs something appropriate, but I look around because I swear the hair on my neck is standing up for a reason other than Becca’s evil glares. But I don’t see anyone staring me down. Just
a bunch of students having fun, laughing and talking.
“Oh no, she’s like fifteen years older than me. She’s actually my nanny,” Becca’s saying. Then she pauses to explain a nanny is a godmother to Jolene. “She’s really awesome though. Great dancer and she’s crazy! Oh my god, she’s so wild! I can’t wait for you to meet her.”
Great. Just great. Another crazy one, but I hold my tongue.
“So what are y’all doing tonight? Lena’s working, Root’s studying for his Kegels and Concepts class—”
“His what?” I cut in because I don’t remember that class being offered. I would’ve definitely taken it at some point in my four years here.
She waves her hand. “Kegels or Kinetics, something like that. It’s a K-word, that’s all I remember. Anyway,” she stresses with a glare for me interrupting her. “Nessie’s… Well, I don’t know what crawled up her ass, but she’s not doing anything lately. So that leaves me with loose ends. Which brings me back to my question. What are y’all doing tonight?”
“We’re goin’ back to my house to watch a movie,” I insert before she can convince Jolene to change her mind. The last thing I want is for her to drag my girl out to a club or something.
Honest to God, I don’t have any kind of seduction planned. There’s no Netflix and chill happening tonight. I just want to spend some time with Jolene when we’re both available. For the first time since Mardi Gras, neither of us is working and we don’t have a game. Chilling out at my place, just the two of us—
“Awesome, what’re y’all watchin’?”
And Becca.
Jolene squeezes my hand and gives me a small smile. I bite back a sigh.
“Mr. Holland’s Opus,” I mutter ungraciously.
“Sweet! I’ll let everyone know.”
Great. Just fucking wonderful.
My skin crawls and I swear someone’s giving me the evil eye. Looking around again, I still don’t see anything out of the ordinary. Must be just a ghost walking across my grave or something. Either that, or suppressed lust is making me paranoid.