When We Dance

“An upgrade?”

He raises an eyebrow at me.

Dutifully, I explain.

“More money. Better lay.”

He laughs slyly.

“Maybe. She and I have never hooked up.”

“Let me guess. She wanted a long-term thing, and her situation was too messy.”

“It wasn’t only that.”

At least he admits I’m right.

“She’s not my type.”

That makes my eyes go wide.

The question is almost there, at the seam of my lips, and it tips over like a dewdrop too heavy to stay put.

“What is your type?”

His answer comes quickly, and it’s different than what I expected.

“I don’t have a type.”

He contradicts himself, but I keep my mouth shut.

“Francisco…” he continues. “I’ve never seen him so guarded. Whatever you two have done, it’s made him pull back. You should expect that from him. It’s only natural.”

I arch my eyebrows, waiting.

“And Alejandro…” he murmurs, flashing a knowing smile. “He won’t give you any pointers, and you have to be extremely careful with him.”

As if he’s the exception.

That describes all of them.

“What about you?” I ask.

“Me?”

“Yes. You.”

“What do you want to know about me?”

I step closer to him. So close, my fingers splay over his chest.

“What helps you keep your cool?” I ask.

His hands are stuffed in his pockets.

“You don’t know if I keep my cool.”

“That’s how it looks.”