Page 15 of It Takes Three To Tango

He instructs me on where to put my hands, and with a quick check that I’m comfortable we’re moving together. I do count for the first couple of times as I don’t want to mess it up, but then I drop my shoulders and let out a deep breath. Florencio mutters a low “bien”and warmth spreads through my chest from the praise. But I’m not given time to enjoy it. Up until now, we’ve been fairly static in the centre of the large room, dancing the steps in a square. Florencio turns slightly, opening up his shoulder, and I find myself following. Suddenly, we’re doing the same steps but moving round the dance floor. It feels like I’m gliding around, and it’s like nothing like I’ve ever experienced before. It feels effortless and I feel graceful, which is not a word I’ve ever attributed to myself. I can’t help a wide smile from breaking free, and when I look at Florencio he’s grinning back at me. I tip my head back and laugh, euphoria making me feel giddy. A couple of times I glance over to Constantin, who keeps up an accompaniment on the piano. Every time I do, he’s looking atus with an intense expression on his face. For some reason, it makes me want to try harder.

I’m exhausted when I finally hit the sheets. It’s been a roller coaster of a day. It seems crazy that it was only earlier today I learned about Loretta and Sloan. I peer at my watch. Well, yesterday, but if I haven’t gone to sleep yet, it’s still the same day. Now, though, I don’t feel the same stabbing pain of hurt and betrayal that I did earlier. In fact, I find I don’t care so much at all, and that worries me more. Am I as shallow as Loretta? Can I forget about her as quickly as she has about me? Did I really love her? I thought so, but then listening to Constantin talk about love, I realised I don’t know anything about it, really.

My thoughts meander back to what was a strange but rather magical evening. I can’t believe I met one of the mainstays of the European society set of the sixties and seventies and she’s invited us to dinner again in a couple of days. I realise I don’t want to go back to England next week.

Did I just think “England” and not “home?” Huh, that is curious. I think it’s just because I need to get some sleep... that’s definitely it. I’m obviously too tired to think straight. I close my eyes and allow sleep to overtake me. I drift off to the feeling of gliding round the dance floor with Florencio’s hand at my back and Constantin’s eyes boring into me.

For the second morning in a row, I wake up with my hand wrapped round my hard cock, and I’m not happy about it.

I’ve managed just fine for ten years. Fuck! It’s been ten years, and it hasn’t been a problem... until now. And it’s a problem all right. It’s fucked up. There’s not a damn thing I can do about it. Except ignore it, of course.

I can pinpoint the exact moment it happened. Two nights ago, at the dinner with Estrella, Florencio, and Rafe. I’d asked if I could play the piano. It’s a beautiful grand piano, a Steinway, a world apart from the old upright at my bar. Estrella agreed, if I played one of her favourite songs. Then I looked up and saw Florencio and Rafe dancing together. Florencio is graceful in the way only a dancer can be, and Rafe was just being his natural self and enjoying the moment. They were perfection, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from them. How they looked together.

Butof course, nothing can come of it. One, Rafe is straight, though I admit he is full of surprises, and two, Florencio is so damn pretty. So what would they want with me? An old, washed-up widower who will never fall in love again. So yeah, it’s pretty fucked up. And now I have a raging hard-on again, which just heightens my bad mood about it all.

Today, we’ve been invited to dinner again. Knowing I missed seeing them yesterday and that I’m looking forward to seeing them again does nothing to alleviate my foul mood. Neither does the niggling feeling in the back of my head... how perverse it is that after ten years of being celibate and not caring one bit, two guys have managed to get past that and knocked me sideways.

No, they haven’t. They can’t have. It’s just the effects of ten years’ celibacy, now my cock is acting like it’s sensed a dog in heat. There’s only one thing to do: take a hot shower and alleviate the pressure that aches so much I can barely walk straight. I run the taps and step under the scorching water, as if almost burning my skin is somehow going to purge all thoughts of them from my system.

As soon as I touch my cock, I know it’s going to be frenzied. Images assault me: Rafe’s amber eyes, and how they sparkle with delight as he talks about something he’s passionate about; Florencio’s pretty mouth curving with witty remarks, and those damn hips of his. I gather more soap, my hand flashing up and down my dick, grunting as I let my imagination take me places where they’re together . . . and I’m watching. Seeing their limbs tangled, their mouths connecting. It might be a fantasy that can’t happen, but fuck, it’s hot, and I want to watch and be a part of it at the same time. That pushes me over the edge, and all too soon, I’m spilling into my hand. I stand there panting, letting the water wash away the cum and soap, knowing that whilst it mighthave relieved the immediate problem, it’s done absolutely nothing to diminish the cause. If anything, it’s made it worse.

The universe is also definitely against me when my shower turns cold and the water pressure drops. With a roar, I jump out of the cool dribble that my shower has become and vigorously towel myself dry to warm up. I look at the person scowling at me in the mirror. I grimace. There’s nothing I can do but get over myself.

Once dressed, my first job of the day is to call a plumber. I can cope with grumbling pipes but not a cold shower. They can’t come out until next week, which certainly doesn’t help my temper.

“Is everything all right boss?” Alena asks when I snap at her for no reason.

“I’m sorry. I’m just out of sorts.” I fill her in on the plumbing problem. She doesn’t know about the rest, and I amnotabout to enlighten her.

I thought I’d dressed casually for dinner, but when I appear in the bar, Alena gives a low whistle, and I see Anton smirk. When I glare at him, he turns away, busying himself with putting glasses away.

“That colour looks good on you,” Alena says as I reach past her to select a wine—one from my cousin’s vineyard. I look down at my midnight-blue shirt.

“Do you think so?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious of what I’m wearing.

“It’s perfect.” Her smile is encouraging and despite telling myself my appearance doesn’t matter, I feel pleased.

When I’m ready to leave, I turn to Alena. “Do you know what to do if there’s trouble?”

It’s Friday night, and although it’s not usually a problem, I can’t help but worry. To give her credit, she doesn’t roll her eyes or make some smart remark, she just recites my instructions back to me, word for word. Maybe I will make her bar manager, especially if I spend any more time away from the bar. I suppress a chuckle at that thought. This is all fine, but both Rafe and Florencio have homes to go to—homes in other countries, in fact. Whatever this is will be over soon, which is just another reason why nothing is going to happen. Then why am I going at all? For a brief second, I consider cancelling. After all, what is the point if it will end soon? But even as I think it, I know there’s no way I’m going to cancel. I don’t understand it, but I have to go.

“Hola.”Florencio greets me at the door with his wide smile. He moves in for a quick kiss on my right cheek and then steps back. “Oh, you brought wine. Wonderful,” he says as I thrust it towards him.

“My cousin’s,” I say as an explanation as he reads the label.

“It will be perfect.” He whisks it away to the kitchen and I can do nothing except follow him.

Rafe is already there with a beer in hand.

“Hi,” I greet him.

“I’m told it’s‘hola,’and I have to do this whole kissing thing now as well,” he says. “In England, we just shake hands for formal greetings and hug close friends and family.”

“Well, we shake hands here, too, if you’d rather,” I explain, and I see him wrinkle his nose slightly.

“That seems a bit awkward now we’ve met a few times, don’t you think?”

“I agree. So you want to try a more informal greeting?”

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