14- Meeting a handsome stranger doctor

Now that I wasn't kissing her, I missed feeling that, something, nothing. I felt the cold pinching my shoulders and legs again.
Yes… - She admitted, staring at me - Will you give me your number? I would like to call you Dasy more often.
That's the sweetest way someone has asked for my number in a long time… - I whispered, caressing her with my gaze. I felt another tingling sensation in my cheeks - And how did you end up here? - I asked, curiosity about her awakening inside me.
I don't know if you know Virginia… do you know her? - She said.
Yes, of course, I live with her.
Well, my friend is dating her and he asked me to accompany him.
The crab? - I asked, furrowing my brow.
Do you know him?
Yes, he's Isa's headache - I confessed, rolling my eyes.
Wow… I had no idea. He's a good guy.
Yeah, that's what the Nazis said about Hitler.
You're quite ironic.
It's black humor, I'm Latina.
I'm a quarter French, a quarter Portuguese, and the rest of me is Jewish and a woman in denial.

Wow, I thought the world was divided between men and women." I said.
I thought the world was divided between those who smoke marijuana and those who don't.

"I smoke marijuana," she said while laughing.
"And I'm not surprised," I admitted. I rolled my eyes and let out a sigh, making it clear that I didn't like smoking weed.
"Since I've been living in Spain, I think the divide is between those who dance bachata and those who don't," the girl with blue eyes confessed.
"If you don't know how to dance bachata, believe me, you'll never know how to move well with something inside," I said, raising an eyebrow. She burst into laughter.
"Alright, thanks for the advice. I'll put it into practice."
"I think bachata is like flamenco," I added. "You carry sensuality in your hips, just like in flamenco it's in the posture."
"Do you dance flamenco?" she asked me.
"Yes, since I was little," I admitted, remembering the old photo album my mother must have of my performances. "And you?" I asked, observing her thin pink lips curve into a smile.
"No, I'm not very good at dancing. But don't worry, sometimes that happens, and you know how to move in other situations," she said, looking up at the sky. We both laughed and felt a wave of good humor wash over us as we talked.
"In Spain, do they make you learn flamenco like in Venezuela with joropo?" I asked her with my eyes, realizing I should speak more. "It's the typical dance of my country. I'm sure you danced los Angelesnas in school…"
"Yes," she admitted, "but we always had the freedom to decide whether to make a fool of ourselves or not." We both laughed.
"I see. Well, I used to dance flamenco. It's fun, and the wrist movement is very elegant," I admitted, twirling my wrist in the air like a ballet dancer floating her hands in a spiral. She reached out and grabbed my hand, her fingers sliding over my wrist. Her touch was stealthy, almost secretive. She continued to feel my veins as she spoke.
"Once I went to see a cousin in a flamenco performance," she said, pressing on the vein in my wrist, which now seemed to throb in my hand at her touch. "There were like fifteen los Angelesnas," she explained, moving quickly over my skin until she reached my shoulders. "Los Angelesna one, los Angelesna two. Fuck… I swear they all looked identical." We both laughed.
"No, they are different," I assured her. "There are four los Angelesnas, you just have to pay attention." I explained, my voice becoming more sensual. My skin burned with the touch of her fingers. My desire to fuck quickly resurfaced.
"I wouldn't have a hard time paying attention to you if you danced for me," she whispered, sliding her fingers to the other vein on my arm, which seemed to perceive her touch. "But please, don't make me come see you dance flamenco." She laughed. She was funny.
"And I'd like to know more about you, besides the fact that you hate that song that reminds you of your ex-boyfriend…"
"It's ex-girlfriend," I corrected her.
"Oh, of course. I just kissed you, so I know you play for my team," we both laughed. She continued to move her hand up to my bare and cold shoulders. I held onto it, but her hands were quicker and she squeezed mine, enclosing it in her fist. I watched the play of hands with my fingers on her knuckles, the mountainous shapes my fingers took between hers inviting me to caress her. I looked into her eyes, searching for something I had lost a long time ago. However, I found nothing except the intense sparkle in her blue eyes. When you look to the present hoping to find the past, you only find lost time.
And God… it's not that simple in my secret life…
Once again, a feeling of emptiness seemed to absorb me from my stomach. It was as if I was being sucked into myself, swallowed by nothingness. I felt dizzy, falling off a precipice.

"Don't you think we're going too fast?" she asked, holding her breath. "You already kissed me, and now you're talking about your ex," she said, letting go of my fingers as if she could read my thoughts, and then touched the vein on my arm again. I let out a sigh and remained silent. "I like your skin, I can easily feel your pulse," she continued touching me. I could barely hear her, my mind was flying far away. It skimmed my body, I focused on my senses, barely feeling any thoughts as I got lost in the touch of her hands. I bite my lip I buy what I'm told I felt the cold caresses that night, devoid of stars. It felt like it was snowing on my skin, burning my bones with her hands, and a storm was coming with the breeze moving my hair. All my senses sharpened as she continued touching my wrists and sliding down my hands, and suddenly I just wanted to lie down in the legs of this stranger and hold her. I wanted to cry so badly, so much sadness, so many emotions on the brink of boiling over if he kissed me again. I could cry in her mouth if he kissed me again.