Mister Romance by Amelia Simone (the reading list .txt) 📕

sad microwaveable frozen ravioli dish and leered over Virginia’s dinner post. She’d made chorizo enchiladas, and I could practically taste the ooey gooey cheese and sour cream. Mouth-wateringly good. That woman was magic in the kitchen.

I dressed like a pro for my second class, in legwarmers and kneepads. If I wanted to continue in nursing past the age of fifty, being kind to my knees was a must. The thigh-high turquoise leg warmers made me feel a little bit sultry. It wouldn’t be hard to pretend I’d purchased them for the added sex appeal, instead of helping me slide on the dance floor and protect my shins on the pole.

My loose hair, strappy black athleisure top, and yoga pants were relaxed and easy to move in. Scrubs were my professional armor and gave me a sense of control, but dressing for dance whispered of freedom and soft sensuality, and I naturally moved a little more loosely in my new clothes.

I greeted Meghan when I arrived at the studio and sank down on my mat to wait for our lesson to start. I recognized some familiar faces from the intro group filtering in and nodded to them.

“Which musical artist inspires you?” Meghan asked our group as an icebreaker. “Prince is one of my favorites. He has epic music that reeks sensuality. I can find a song for every mood.” I saw a lot of nods around the room.

My shoulders tightened as everyone else started sharing their favorite musicians. One voluptuous woman named Becca with deep mahogany skin told us that Beyoncé was her inspiration, and I could totally see it. I was dying to watch her dance; she radiated sexy confidence and had the plus-sized curves to back it up.

My mind flipped through different options. Somehow, I didn’t think the lullaby we played over the speakers at work after every new delivery was what Meghan meant. It didn’t inspire me to dance, but it did give me a thrill. In the car I usually listened to alternative, pop, or country. I’d been loving the sultry sound of Two Feet lately, but it might be too obscure. Instead, when it was my turn, I blurted out, “Classic Aerosmith.”

Meghan smiled and didn’t let me off the hook with that. “Any particular favorites? They have a huge catalog.”

My chest constricted, and I scrambled to name an Aerosmith song. Any Aerosmith song; but my mind was blank. I finally said, “All of them.”

Her supportive nod of approval eased my tension.

I sank into my mat, relieved when the public speaking part of class was over. For some reason it was easier to strut and roll my hips with suggestive abandon than speak in front of a group of strangers. Too many eyes on me speaking made me squirm.

Throughout the class, Meghan played songs from our favorites, and “Crazy” made me grin. She’d chosen well. This week’s spin combination was a step turn into a backspin around the pole. Meghan was all fluid lines when she demonstrated. She grabbed the pole high on the inside, and her outside leg swept the air as her inside leg wrapped around the pole at the ankle. She spun around the pole backwards, slowly sliding down, until she landed on her knees. Dead sexy, but I was terrified about pulling it off myself.

Meghan did her best to demystify the move. “You just let your inside leg wrap around the pole, which slows your momentum. Then arch your back slightly, and it will look amazing.”

I believed that. I believed that she looked amazing. Me? Not so much. However, I adjusted my trusty kneepads and partnered up with another classmate at the pole and gamely gave it a try. I gripped the pole up high with my right hand and secured my left forearm against the pole closer to my face. I kicked my right foot out and back around, letting it drag me. My inside leg kind of did what it was supposed to, but I didn’t get much momentum going, so my spin turned into an awkward slide down the pole to my knees. Not exactly the look I was going for.

I gave my partner, a petite blond named Jillian, a sheepish glance and motioned for her to try. Maybe I could figure it out by observing someone else. I watched in envy as Jillian stepped up to the pole and with a deep breath, wrapped her arms around the pole and perfectly executed the maneuver. I wanted that to be me.

“Beautiful,” I said. “What’s your secret?”

She grinned. “Thanks. It’s all in the grip. You want to pull the pole toward the floor, like you’re driving it into the ground.”

I stepped up to try again. This time my grip was tighter, and I got more spin and slid gracefully to the floor.

Jillian cheered for me, and I smiled, letting my shoulders drop and push back. I was going to be amazing at one of my new hobbies or bruise myself silly trying. Cooking looked like an unlikely candidate at this point, but I still had hopes for dance. We practiced a few more times as partners before learning more choreography as a group. Mirrors would have let me see how I was doing, but maybe not knowing was better.

“Okay, Athenas. Shut those eyes and let yourselves feel the music. You can follow me if you need to, but I’ll be calling out the moves the first time through,” Meghan said.

I tried to follow Meghan’s advice, but the second time through, I couldn’t resist. I slit my eyes open to peer at the curvy, Beyoncé-loving Becca and confirmed that she was, in fact, amazing. Becca confidently tossed her hair and strutted like she owned the studio to perform her fireman spin. Damn. I could definitely learn a thing, or ten.

For so long my confidence in the delivery room hadn’t carried over into any other part of my life. It was time to change that. I tilted my chin up, thrust my shoulders back,