Conversation flows naturally between us, with him leading the way. He’s easy to talk to, slowly pulling me out of my shell with his stories and easy humor. I find myself laughing and talking more than I usually would with a stranger, which surprises even myself.
He lavishes me with stories of previous nights spent at the bar, drunken crowds making fools of themselves as he sat idly by, watching. I even crack a few jokes myself, enjoying the way his eyes come alight when he laughs. Their darkness transforming into a sea of stars.
Sometime between one song and the next, his hand finds mine. A jolt runs up my arm, but I don’t pull away. He leads me towards the stage. We find a place near the back of the crowd, close enough to enjoy the music, yet far enough to still be able to breathe.
He stands close, his body just brushing against the back of mine when I move just right. Electricity flows through me witheach touch. I don’t usually do this, dance with strangers or lose myself in the moment, but I don’t want to overthink it. Not tonight.
Jace’s band must’ve retreated backstage, likely taking Sal along with them. A new band transitions to a cover of an old classic,Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls. I sing along, stealing quick glances up at him. And every time I do, our eyes connect. He watches me, not the band, and I die a bit inside at the palpable chemistry between us.
Who am I right now? And where did my sensible brain wander off to?
When his hands find their way to my waist from behind, I don’t stop him. I lean back, swaying with the music, pressing my body against his. I relish the feel, the solid warmth of his torso, his strong hands holding me close.
The songs blur together as we lose ourselves in the music and in the feel of each other. I find myself savoring this moment. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt so carefree. Our bodies seem to press closer together with every song the band plays. His voice belting out the lyrics is the only sound I’m really paying attention to – he may not be the best singer, but he’s plenty entertaining to me.
The grin affixed to my face has my cheeks hurting, but I can’t help it. I’m having a blast here in the arms of a stranger. Then, between songs, he dips his head down, breath warm against my cheek.
“I just realized I’m the absolute worst… What’s your name?”
A laugh bubbles up from inside me. I can’t help it. I hadn’t thought to ask him, either, but something about sharing names will make this picture perfect night fall apart, let reality sink in. That I have no idea who this guy is, and if he knew I was only eighteen, he’d likely not have his hard body pressed up against mine.
I hum thoughtfully, before turning my face up to his and whispering, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Another one of those beautiful smiles graces his face, and he tilts his head down, our lips just a whisper apart. His grin is slow and lazy, and my insides melt like butter.
“Yeah. Yeah, I would.”
My breath catches in my throat, his serious tone catching me by surprise. In that moment, I decide I want to know his name, too. Before I can tell him, a hand yanks at my arm.
I whip around. Sal. Her face is streaked with tears, and her grip is urgent. I immediately go into best-friend mode. One look at her expression and I know she needs me now.
Behind me, Mr. Perfect Stranger tenses, stepping forward as if to shield me. His protective instinct makes my stomach flip in a good way. Later, I’ll pause to appreciate that.
But for now, I shake my head, heart hammering. “It’s okay, she’s my friend.”
And then I’m moving, being pulled away from him, towards the exit. Sal’s clear distress brings me back to reality, leaving behind the twilight zone I’d just spent the night basking in.
As we reach the doors, I glance back. Just once. He’s standing where I left him, his eyes glued to me, a wistful expression on his face. Regret courses through me.
I should have gotten his name.
Sal doesn’t stop movinguntil we’ve reached her car. She fumbles with the keys, her hands trembling and unsteady, before unlocking the doors in a rush and sliding into the passenger seat. I take my place behind the wheel, knowing without question that she’s in no state to drive. The engine hums to life and I crank the heat. Warm air fills the car, combating the chilly autumn night.
She exhales a shaky breath, using the edge of her shirt todab at her eyes. Black streaks of mascara run down her cheeks, and she wipes at them half-heartedly, trying to erase the evidence of her tears.
“You okay?” I ask, hesitantly. My voice is soft and careful, unsure if she’s ready to speak.
“Mhmm,” she says unconvincingly. “I’m fine. The guys were just being assholes.”
My grip tightens on the steering wheel. “Do I need to go kick their asses?” The words are light and teasing, knowing damn well I’m no match for anyone, let alone four grown men. Plus, violence really isn’t my thing.
She lets out a small laugh, giving me an appreciative glance. “Thanks, girl. I think I’ll be okay.”
I nod and ease the car onto the street. Atlanta hums with late-night energy. Horns blaring, neon signs alighting shop windows, people weaving through the crowded city sidewalks as we pass by in a blur. The traffic is ruthless. If you aren’t going at least ten over the speed limit, you’ll be run over. You might as well be standing still.
Sal connects her phone, and Paris Paloma’s voice spills through the speakers, raw and haunting. We ride in silence, but my thoughts stay back at the bar. Withhim. The stranger without a name. I should’ve asked, should’ve gotten his number, or at least found out who he was, but if I’m being honest with myself, I know better.
There’s no version of reality where he’d want to see me again, especially once he learns my age, but the idea of it? Of knowing him? Wishful thinking might as well be my middle name.
