AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Enough about that piece of shit,” snarls Rami. “I’ll throw him off a fucking bridge if he ever goes near you again.” She raises her glass of Mezcal high. “Come on ladies, let’s drink. To Arlo!”
Fran and I follow suit. “To Arlo!”
13
Indigo
Half an hour later after a couple more drinks each, the last of which we did our best not to spill amongst fits of giggles during which I tried my best to ignore the sear of my erstwhile boss’s glare, Frannie and I pivot to face each other, mouths widening into the goofiest grin as “our” song begins to blare out through the bar.
My Sharona.
Yeah, it’s kitsch and a hundred years old, but years ago, a couple of guys tried to seduce us at a bar by dancing to it with one of them falling flat on his ass and of course, leaving us in fits of hysterics, and ever since then, whenever we hear it, we jump to our feet and grind it out.
Only this time, I know full well that Mr. Uptight with the megawatt body will be watching us. Watching me. My body is restless with pre-emptive embarrassment as Frannie shouts, “Come on!” grabbing my hand.
“No, I can’t.”
“Bullshit!”
“You go,” I implore. “I’ll watch.”
“This isn’t because of Hot Prick, is it?”
“I—”
“Get the fuck up!” Rami orders in full-blown general mood. Despite her grin of naughty amusement, I reluctantly make it to my wobbly feet.
There are only a handful of people dancing on the wooden dance floor in the middle of this kitschily decorated bar, and I purposely drag Fran behind them so Grey can’t see me as we face each other and begin to tipsily dance our clumsy asses off.
When I got up, I thought there was no way in hell I’d be able to dance in front of the man I see out of my peripheral vision, but after a year of feeling like I've been wearing a concrete overcoat, stiff and heavy, stealing my breath, tonight my body suddenly feels light. Free. Nimble.
I mean, that’s probably mostly the alcohol and the fact that I feel safer on an island that you need a boat to access, but still…
I flap my hair about, jutting my hips, jumping a little, twirling around Fran as we reenact the same silly dance we’ve done every time we’ve heard this song since—in airports, at parties, even in a field once when it came up on someone’s playlist.
Fran and I try to be serious while not falling on our behinds as we spin around, showing off our best moves.
As we bounce and strut and spin to the music and just generally make asses of ourselves, I do what I swore I wouldn’t, my gaze reaching for him over Fran’s shoulder, wondering if he’s watching and is now convinced I’m thoroughly ridiculous.
But maybe not, for despite my beer goggles, I find him leaning back against the leather casing of the booth, one hand around his drink on the table, his lips turned up slightly at both corners and those luminous eyes of his tracking me like a wolf, glimmering as if enjoying the show.
I swear my heart skips a beat as his lips twist up a little as I find myself grinning, half out of drunken giddiness and half from the unexpected feeling of being free for the first time in months.
Partly just to provoke the man lurking in the shadows stalking me with his eyes like a wolf, my hips twist and I hoist my arms into the air as Frannie and I spin around each other, our fingers interlocking, our eyes burning into each other—just for fun… though he doesn’t have to know that.
But just as we’re getting to the deliriously ecstatic stage of mid-third chorus dancing, a large shape fills the space next to us and a stocky man faces us both, grinding his hips in our direction and I swear, licking his lips for good measure. It’s as if he first read the manual on how to be a lecherous creep before coming up to us.
His glassy eyes and the slight stumble to his step tell me he’s had one too many and Fran throws me a look that I can read like a book and tips her head, turning to walk back to the booth.
I follow her, side-stepping the guy with one of those “We’re all good here”smiles women feel obliged to plaster on to keep themselves safe, only to feel an unfamiliar hand on my arm. I pivot to find the drunken stranger’s hand gripping my bicep.
“Wanna dance, sexy?”
Although I’m hardly unsafe in this room half-full of people and I doubt he means much by it, the callous grip of his fingers on my arm leaves bitter cold seeping into my gut, taking me back to the numerous times that Micah, would grab me, or push me into a wall, or stop me from leaving when I tried to. Not to mention, other things…
Frannie’s voice jolts me from behind. “Hey, let her go.”
“Come on, sweetheart. One dance.”
