Emilio Ortiz could feel the thumping of dozens of clapping hands and stomping feet reverberate through his chest. Combined with the song that seemed to come from everywhere at once, it encompassed and enveloped him until he and the music were one and the same.
Eyes closed to block out all but the song and rhythm, he made his way about the dance floor, stamping, turning, clapping, the music building inside him. As it began to crescendo, he threw his head back and opened his eyes. And saw her.
Her red dress swirled about her, a tornado at the height of the song, lifting, rolling, pulling the notes in his chest up and out until he felt the music would burst out of him in shafts of light. He clapped ever more forcefully and drove his feet up and down, up and down, closer to her with every stomp.
He was so close now he could feel the air move around her, in and out, as she pushed and pulled her arms and body, grasping the rhythm with every turn of her wrist, lips slightly parted. He twisted his hips as she arched her back, the beat pounding through them both.
As the music ended, he shuddered and gazed into her dark eyes. She yelled out in ecstasy. Each stood still, arms outstretched, chests heaving, a sheen of sweat across their brows. The next song began.