Page 91 of Mexico Can Choke On It
The music builds, and Nigel drops into a split—a full split—while Miss Muffy leaps over him. Nigel springs up as if he’s got coils in his shoes, and they kick into side-by-side footwork that would shame professional humans.
My stunned brain forgets how time works—because suddenly, it’s the finale.
Nigel lifts her overhead, a spinning glittery cyclone, and throws her skyward. She rotates midair.
A double backflip!
He catches her in a dramatic dip. For her ending pose, she kicks out one leg, her tiny paw poised in perfect prima ballerina precision.
The room explodes with applause.
Fiona and Hana are on their feet, shrieking with delight. Even the normally reserved guests are clapping.
“¡Magnífico!”Rosita beams.
My brain’s still buffering from the dog ballet whenWHAM!Rosita pounds her cane on the floor with fury.
“Now, find your partners and prepare for romance!”
I’m halfway to Hana when Echo slithers toward Petra like a shirtless snake.
“My radiant muse,” he purrs. “You’ve invaded my subconscious. I spent all evening clothed only in moonlight, attempting to translate your beauty onto canvas. I must have you tonight for a private modeling session. Naked, of course. For art.”
I’m across the room and claiming her before I know it.“She doesn’t dance with anyone but me.”
That dangerous spark ignites in Petra’s eyes. “Did I agree to that? My memory’s fuzzy. Hmm. This is a pickle, isn’t it? Who should I dance with?”
“The guy who bought your dress,” I say firmly, closing my fingers around her wrist and steering her away.
“I’m enjoying this dominant side of you, Moneybags,” she murmurs breathily.
Fuuuucccck.This is not good. But it’s too late—the class has started.
Rosita paces like a general in stilettos, her cane tapping out the rhythm.
“¡Uno, dos, tres, cuatro!”
At first, we practice the steps on our own.WTF?Petra failed to mention she had a previous life as a professional backup dancer.Where did she learn this?
Me? I’m a sweating pile of panic in khakis, moving as though I’ve got concrete shoes and a spreadsheet for a soul.
“SeñorSterling! You are too buttoned up! We must liberate you!”
Before I can object, she’s rolling my sleeves and popping buttons like it’s an F1 pit stop. Cool air hits my skin, and suddenly I’m the reluctant star of aMagic Mikesequel.
With a firm push, she shoves us together—tight. My palm lands on the curve of Petra’s waist, our fingers lock. We’re pressed so close that my dick is already third wheeling us in the salsa.
“¡Excelente!Now feel your partner’s body moving against yours.”
Petra presses in, nipples grazing my chest. And—
Ooof!I trip over her ankle.
“Awesome! I’m stuck with two left feet over here,” Pip announces.
“Petra, go easy,” Gavin says, half laughing.
“Oh, I’ll go easy—once he stops dancing like he’s dodging bullets.” Her hand slides up my neck, fingers slipping into my hair.
