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

and executed my own slow saunter to the pole. Maybe it was a tad wobbly for the first few steps, but I leaned into the unsteady feeling and used it to slow down, swaying my hips with each movement. I ran a hand through my hair, then down my body, feeling each dip and curve of warm skin under Lycra. Slow. Seductive. Powerful. Taking my time let me sink into my body and the moment. Feel every breath. For once, I reveled in pretending I was the center of attention. Even if with our eyes closed, no one was watching.

After class, I peeled off my sweaty kneepads and leg warmers to change into my flip-flops. Becca was doing the same next to me, and I worked up the courage to compliment her. “I’ve been watching you,” I said.

I realized how that sounded. After I said it. I rushed to clarify, “I mean, during the performance time. You’re a great dancer. I love your walk. I wish I could walk that well.”

Becca squinted momentarily before her expression cleared. My face flushed with heat. Great. Now she probably thought I wasn’t coordinated enough to walk. I closed my eyes briefly before opening them to see her smiling back at me.

“I’ve been watching you too. That’s what makes this class so fun. I love seeing everyone’s unique twist on the moves. You’ve got a great fireman.”

I couldn’t keep the small smile off of my face. I had a good fireman. I straightened my shoulders and wished Becca a good night. While a lot of the moves still felt unnatural, I wasn’t quitting. Gina may be the only other person in my circle to ever know about my dance hobby, but I’d know. I’d know I stuck with it. Even if it was difficult and awkward. The bruises on my knees and ache in my thighs told their own story. But the bruises would fade, and I’d get stronger. If I just kept going.

THAT NIGHT I CHOPPED the colored yellow, orange, and red mini peppers while the chorizo browned for my enchiladas. I mostly remembered to break up and stir the meat while cutting, so it didn’t burn. The Rorschach of tomato sauce on my chest wasn’t a good look, but my apron had protected me from the worst of the splatter when I added it to the meat. I dabbed the red mess off the best I could. Luckily, most of the tomato sauce still made it to the pan. I mixed the browned meat and peppers with rice and sour cream before rolling the mixture inside tortillas and placing the pan in the oven to bake with cheese sprinkled on top. It smelled heavenly, the cumin filling the air with savory goodness.

My parents called from somewhere in Colorado as I was setting a timer for the oven on my phone. I popped up my video chat screen to see my folks smooshed together on the screen. Dad was wearing a bright orange tank top that set off his tanned and weathered skin. His gray hair was thinning on top, but he was still a handsome man. Mom had let her hair go gray when they started traveling full-time, because it was too hard to find salons for color in strange cities. She’d cut it short and looked attractive with her sparkling blue eyes and elfin features. I looked nothing like her, to my everlasting chagrin. I was more of a dark and curly-haired version of my dad. I was always wishing for my mom’s cute little nose instead of the larger, flatter version I inherited from him. He claimed it was adorable on me, but I was pretty sure he had to say that because he was my dad and the source of said nose.

“Hey, honey,” my dad said. “How are you? Did you have a good birthday?”

Nice of them to remember. Since retiring, they were hit or miss with the calendar. My smile wilted around the edges at the reminder.

“Yes, I had to work, but I had a good delivery that night. Gina and I celebrated with a cupcake.”

“That sounds nice, dear. What else is new?” my mom asked.

That was Mom. Checked out and ready to move on.

“Not much, just trying a few hobbies. I’ve been doing some more cooking.” That was safe enough to admit. I didn’t think my parents would have strong opinions about my dance class, but I could imagine what my uptight older sister would say if they dropped that tidbit in conversation.

“That’s lovely, dear.”

The disinterest was to be expected. It made me wonder why they called at all.

“Do you have a date for your brother’s wedding? We’re looking forward to seeing you, and it’s coming up so quickly. Only a few more weeks left. We just got off the phone with Nick and Mindy. They’re rushing around taking care of last-minute arrangements. Mindy’s mom can’t resist commenting on every detail. I figure I’m doing my part by staying out of it.”

Bingo. Nick had reminded them it was my birthday. As their favorite and only son, it figured that my parents would be excited for the wedding. Nothing less would draw them back for a visit. Once they tasted warmer, sunnier climes in their travel trailer, we rarely saw them. In typical mom fashion, her words were delivered as one long monologue, which conveniently allowed me to avoid answering her date question. I didn’t have one, and like my dance class, I wasn’t anxious to invite any opinions about that.

“I’m sure Nick is excited to have you and Dad there. How long has it been since we’ve seen you?” I asked.

Cue awkward staring into space. Maybe it was rude to put them on the spot when I knew the answer, but I couldn’t resist the dig. Mom and Dad scrambled to recall, and it was straining their memories. Our last visit must have not been that memorable, given all of their other travel adventures. Resignation