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
