Norberto’s dark brown eyes gazed into her soul. Becky felt the tingle run up her spine.
He reached for her hand and stepped closer.
“Shall we rumba?”
“I can’t,” she whispers. She couldn’t. Norberto belonged in the comfort of her dreams along with his white open shirt and hypnotic voice. It’d been a mistake to come here.
Norberto wraps his arm behind her back.
“I will teach you,” he says hoarsely and gently pulls her onto the studio floor. They begin to dance, their feet in perfect harmony to the soft music and the rhythm of her beating heart.
I wrote this story in response to November 11, 2015 Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction Challenge: In 99 words (no more, no less) write about a place of comfort that is a refuge.
The game of basketball has been everything to me. My place of refuge, place I’ve always gone where I needed comfort and peace. It’s been the site of intense pain and the most intense feelings of joy and satisfaction. It’s a relationship that has evolved over time, given me the greatest respect and love for the game.
~ Michael Jordan
I don’t play basketball, but I do love to dance and therefore chose it as the backdrop for my story.
The rumba, in turn, is slow dance, oozing in sensuality as the lady teases and flirts with her partner. It’s a love story told through rhythmic body movements and hip actions. Or so I’ve heard.