Tuesday night was Salsa practice. Out of all the classes and lessons his parents forced him to take, Salsa was by far Ryan's favorite. This was partly due, as guilty as he felt at admitting it, to the absence of Sharpay, who quit Salsa over a year ago after having a falling out with the instructor. This minor setback forced him into getting a new partner, which he found to be an enjoyable change. Salsa was an escape for him; he got lost in the movement, was filled with the music, and, for a few hours, forgot about everything that was bothering him.

Dancing with his partner, Nicette, was an entirely different experience than dancing with his sister; it was so much more intimate, so natural, and so…sensual. Chivalry lived in dance; and she, unlike Sharpay, was submissive to every move he made. It made him feel powerful, and for once, completely in control.

They were to perform in a recital in two weeks, and their instructor, Emiliano, was extra hard on them.

"You're half a count slow!"

"That under-arm turn was pathetic! Start over."

"If the cross-body turn is off, the next four steps are off! Try again."

Criticisms poured off his tongue with a thick accent and a thoroughly annoyed tone. But that just made Ryan work harder; he would not accept anything less than perfection from himself.

They repeated the dance over and over again, improving slightly each time. Ryan disappeared into the dance and became entirely focused on Nicette. It was an exhilarating and deeply sexual experience. His senses were heightened; he became acutely aware of every movement, every touch. His heart leapt each time his fingertips brushed against her soft, smooth skin. He was scarcely able to smell a hint of her sweet, sumptuous perfume on her neck, leaving him craving more. His arms wrapped tightly around her waist, his hand at her hip, embracing the delicate velvet of her dress. She pressed her body firmly to his, her hips tight against him, awakening a monster inside of him, and he bit down on his lip to suppress it. Her blue eyes locked seductively onto his as her red, glossy lips curled into a taunting smile. How he longed to lean into those lips, tangle his hands into that blonde hair, and force his tongue into her tender, perfectly formed mouth...to do even more…

And then, the dance was over. His breathing was heavy, and he was overflowing with a feeling of ecstasy. He looked to his partner, his sexual interest in her gone. It was the dance that turned him on; the rhythmic beating of their bodies, the suggestive movement, the music pulsing through his veins. He smiled at Nicette. Every time they danced, she offered him something Sharpay never could: an escape.

When practice ended, Ryan fell back into his depression. He got changed, climbed into his polished, candy-apple red convertible, and drove home, wondering what ridiculous argument he'd walk into this time.