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“Doesn’t look like he has a choice.” The amusement in Noah’s voice as he watches the two walk to the stage softens his face for just a moment before he turns back to me. “Sorry, I don’t dance.”
“That makes two of us.” I’m not sure if it is out of choice or not. I don’t go out. Not because I don’t have people I want to go out with, but it just doesn’t happen being a single mom. I have too many things to prioritize and there always seems to be something in the way of going out. Maybe I’m doing something wrong, but I can’t let important things go undone when I’m running a business and raising a daughter.
“Now that does surprise me. You look like someone who, like Blaire over there, enjoys it.” His head tilts toward Blaire getting cozy with Hank on the dance floor. He’s a pretty sheepish-looking guy and doesn’t seem to notice anyone else around them as he stares at her. I’ve wiped the idea of myself ever having someone look at me like that.
“The last time I went dancing was when I was pregnant.” I don’t mean to say it out loud. There’s a lot of things I haven’t done since being up the duff. It’s not like I have a baby anymore. I just never left the feeling of having a baby stage I suppose.
“Why?” I focus back on him, surprised to see him genuinely curious. I feel myself sway between believing this guy has a sincere side and being one hundred percent an asshole.
“Because I suppose I just always put other things first.” I’m starting to feel sorry for myself and I don’t like it. I’m confident in my size, my business, and my ability to be a mother. I don’t need to start feeling insecure about my social life or lack thereof. I wave my hand at him, hoping he will drop the subject as I reach for my drink. I need to stop thinking like this.
He sighs and the heavy feeling in my chest gets worse. Even he is sick of my pity party. I avoid looking at him as he stands up and instead focuses on Blaire and Oliver as they continue dancing in front of the stage.
“Come on.”
Jumping, I look up at Noah as he stands, offering me his hand. He tilts his head in the direction of the stage as he beckons me toward it.
“I wasn’t trying to get you to—”
“I know, that’s why we’re dancing.” His gaze is unrelenting as I glance between him and the crowded dance floor.
I feel myself on the verge of saying no but how often am I going to get asked to dance by someone as handsome as Noah? Even if he is potentially an asshole. What if I pretend I’m someone who has a very active social life and do things that they would do? Just for an hour. I’m sure an hour’s worth of being social will be enough to last me a couple months before I start to feel sorry for myself again.
As soon as I take his hand, I’m overwhelmed by the reality of how long it has been since I was touched by a man. It’s actually a little scary to think about. His hand is warm and strong and rough with the past of laborious work. I’d like a man that worked. Oh, don’t even start thinking like that, you hussy. One man holds my hand and suddenly I’m thinking about a partner?
I feel awkward as he stands in front of me. I’m a big girl, tall not just wide, but he’s bigger and looking up at him feels foreign.
“Do you remember how this works? Because I sure don’t.” His comment obviously doesn’t warrant an answer as his hands take hold of my hips, pulling me close and forcing my arms to wrap around his neck.
All the hairs on my arms feel as though they’re about to jump right off my body as I’m suddenly reminded of my sexuality. Lust? I’d forgotten that existed or how it felt, but by God he just reminded me the strength of it and why it has gotten me into some trouble in the past. I’m not going to get into trouble tonight, I’m just having a tiny bit of fun. Just some dancing, that’s all, and my cup will be filled for months.
I know dancing isn’t automatically a turn-on because I’ve danced with lots of guys and not felt a thing Surely, I’m only turned on because I haven’t danced in a while.
“Wow! Look at you two!”
I’m so focused on appearing unfazed by his smell and the strength in his arms as they enclose me that I don’t notice Blaire beside me. Gasping, I step back from Noah to break all contact from his touch. It’s too nerve-racking being touched by a man. I don’t remember it being so tormenting!
With the moment ruined and Blaire wanting to go home with a sudden urge of inspiration, we stroll back to Fitzpatrick’s Place.
I wave a hand at Blaire and Oliver as I break off toward the pool. They’re so focused on each other that I’m pretty sure that it isn’t inspiration that’s hit Blaire, at least not to write.
“Good night.” His farewell triples the butterflies in my belly as I’m sure he watches me walk toward my back door.
“Good night, Noah.”
Except I can’t sleep when I get into bed. The shower did nothing to calm the feeling of frustration. Why am I frustrated at going out and being social? I struggle to find a reason behind my internal struggle until it dawns on me as I go to the fridge to pour myself a glass of wine and take it back to bed with me in an attempt to put myself to sleep. Am I horny? This isn’t frustration at my social skills during the evening. This feels closer to physical frustration… I haven’t felt the need to scratch an itch since little Lila came roaring into the world, but after feeling him so close to me and inhaling the spicy scent of his cologne, I can feel a slight niggle.
Kicking my duvet off, I walk to my window that overlooks the street outside. It’s deserted and quiet, but I know he is outside still attending to the pool. It feels incredibly cliché to be standing here lusting after the pool guy, but here I am. Should I go talk to him? Should I drink another glass of wine to see if that helps me sleep?
My body seems to be in the same argument as my mind as I pass back and forth, wondering every time that I turn to my back door whether I should stop or keep walking outside to see him. However, every time I think about what I will do when I get out there, I don’t have a good enough answer for my brain to grant permission. It’s just not a logical move.
Although, it’s not logical to think someone can be logical one hundred percent of the time. What if going outside and talking to him is just the cherry on the sundae of this evening? After all, we didn’t even get to finish our dance so the evening isn’t technically over.
It’s enough for me as I reach for the door and slide it open. I almost expect something to happen when I step out, but the pool stays just as quiet and calm. The only disturbance is the lapping water.
“Can’t sleep?” His voice is surprisingly embracing as I sit down on a lounger, so I can watch him continue to tend to the pool.
“No, far too hyped up after our evening.” It could be considered as a normal evening, but keeping in mind that I can’t remember the last time I went out for drinks, I’m a little disappointed.
