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“Like it?” Tyson shouts over the fantastic din.
“I love it,” I scream.
Tyson spots a small table in the corner where we can hole up and pulls me along. A waitress arrives almost immediately.
“Jameson?” he mouths to me.
I nod.
He shows her two fingers and she takes his credit card and puts a pink marker on the table to indicate that we are her customers before sashaying away. My head and body move in time to the quick and catchy beat of the music. I look at the dancers twisting on the dancefloor and their energy is astonishing. Some of them are really good. The men pick up women, swing them over their heads and catch them again. Tutti Frutti comes on.
“Wanna dance?” Tyson shouts.
“I can’t do these sixties moves,” I protest, horrified.
“I’ll show you,” he says and stands. Before I can protest he hauls me up, and with his strong hands around my waist propels me towards the dancefloor.
“I can’t dance, Tyson,” I say, leaning away from him. The last thing I want to do is make a fool of myself when everybody else is so damn good.
He doesn’t take no for an answer. He curls his large muscular hand around my waist, and teaches me right there on the dancefloor. His large hands placed somewhere on my body, make it easy for me to follow his lead. He tells me I’m a natural. To my delight, soon I am doing the mash potato, the swim, the twist, and the pony.
“Want to try a lindy hop?” he asks
I laugh, breathless, and happier than I’ve ever been. “What is that?”
He points to a couple who are doing a fast swing. I watch the woman slide between his legs and get swung up over his head, before she rolls across his shoulder and lands on her feet like a cat.
I shake my head vigorously. “Oh no, no, noooo, Tyson,“ I scream, as he swings my hand and twirls me around so my back is facing his front. He fits his hands around my waist, hoists me high into the air, and flings me backwards. Earlier, I saw another couple do the same move so I do what the girl thrown into the air did. I bring my knees up so that I somersault in the air and land on my feet. Even before my feet can touch the ground Tyson has turned around and caught both my hands to steady me. I look into his eyes and laugh. I was petrified while I was flying in the air, but suddenly I feel free and filled with energy. I had executed the move successfully and I was never in any danger. Anybody who looked could have seen me flash my underwear, but I don’t care. I throw myself into Tyson’s arms. He twirls me around and we carry on dancing.
We make a beautiful team.
By the time we return to our table, we are both flushed and hot. Tyson’s hair is disheveled and his eyes glitter with something unnameable. He knocks back his Jameson and I follow suit. The alcohol burning all the way down to my stomach. I wipe my mouth. “That was great. How come you’re so good with this kind of dancing?”
“It was a pilot program at the boys’ correction facility I was in. They wanted to know if teaching little shits dancing would make them less pig-headed.”
“Did it?”
He chuckles. “Nope.”
I laugh. “Why were you in such a place?”
“I stole a Mitsubishi 4 by 4, took it for a joyride, and caused hundreds of thousands worth of damage when I mowed it into a Lamborghini official dealership.”
I clap my hand to my mouth. “Ouch, that was unlucky.”
“It wasn’t unlucky. I crashed it there deliberately. I was an angry kid. I wanted to destroy precious things. Things I could never hope to have.”
“Oh.”
“Yup, I hated the world.”
“How old were you then?”
He orders two more glasses of Jameson, by lifting his hand and showing the peace sign to the waitress. “Thirteen.”
“You were just a child.”
He shrugs. “I have a very thick skull.”
“Were you in that school for long?”
“I ran away to Ireland when I was fourteen. I would have ended up a criminal, but I stayed a night on someone’s farm and he had horses. The moment I touched a horse I knew what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. Until then the world did not make sense.”
“Where do you raise your horses?” I ask.
“In Suffolk.”
“Ah, I thought your farms were based out of Ireland.” He still has a brogue and all.
He shakes his head. “Nah, I left Ireland when I was 20.”
“So now you breed horses and sell them to men like Brad?”
He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah.”
“What’s the matter?”
The waitress places two glasses on the table. “You say you’re not a friend of Brad’s?”
“No. I never heard of him before tonight.”
He holds his glass in a mock salute. “Well, since you don’t know him, I’ll tell you: I wish Maggie went to just about anybody but him. He cares nothing about her. All he wants is the glory she’ll bring him.”
He looks sad and my heart goes out to him. I never expected him to be such a deep thinker. Kylie had given us the impression he would be loud and brash; desperate for cheap publicity. My hand closes over his before I can think about it. “I’m sorry you have misgivings.”
He glances down and smiles just a little, then turns his hand a bit so it locks with mine. “Thanks for listening. It’s been weighing on me ever since the sale went through.”
“Why sell her to him at all?”
“I made a mistake. I doubled her price because it never crossed my mind that anybody would pay that much,” he says, sounding glum. “I wanted to tell him to take a leap, but I couldn’t go back on my word.”
“The money doesn’t matter to you, then?” I ask, a little hopeful.
He grins wryly. “I wouldn’t go that far. Money’s a wonderful thing to have—the more, the better, but there are things that matter more.”
“Noble of you,” I say with a smirk.
He raises an eyebrow. “What’s that mean?”
“It means it’s very easy for a person with all the money in the world to be choosy. Some of us have to do what we have to do. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s wonderful that you care about your horse, I really do. You’re not half as shallow as the gossip mags make you out to be.”
“Thanks, I think.”
“It was meant as a compliment.” I finish off my drink, then tell myself I absolutely should not have another one if I want to keep control of myself. “As I was saying, though, it’s nice that you even have a choice whether you should or shouldn’t take the money.”
“Is that why you work at a job you don’t like?”
“I guess I had that coming to me.”
“I guess you did. You did just call me shallow.”
“Not fair. I said you’re not as shallow as the general perception seems to be.”
“Oh, right. I got mixed up.” He grins.
“To answer your question, yes. It’s why I work at a job I don’t like. Most people do, don’t they? They have to work to make money to support themselves, and it doesn’t matter a damn whether or not they like what they do.”
He shakes his head, and he’s not grinning anymore. “Then the job you are doing is not good enough for you, Izzy. You are so young. The whole world is at your feet.”
“Oh, well. Let’s not spoil tonight talking about that. Tell me more about you,” I say, sweeping my hair over one shoulder as I silently scream at myself to stop pouring out my stupid heart to him. It’s supposed to be a fun night and look at me. He’s going to think I’m a complete idiot—a corporate drone, selling her soul in exchange for the monthly rent, babbling on about unimportant nonsense.
