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“We can go,” I offer, even if I was actually enjoying myself and looking forward to dancing a little more.
She shakes her head hard, wearing a stubborn expression I know too well. “I'm just going to go home and soak my feet and maybe cut them off if they don't stop hurting. You're having fun, you should stay.”
I feel bad since, after all, this was her idea, but I would rather hang out for a little while longer. For the first time in days, I feel like myself. Going home to an empty, quiet apartment would be too depressing after having so much fun.
There's something about anonymity. Knowing I won't see a single one of these people after tonight—and then. even if I do, neither of us will remember each other. Nobody actually looks at each other in a place like this, not really. You might check somebody out, think they're hot, even hook up with them. For the most part though, it's just a sea of faces and bodies moving around, occasionally bumping into each other before carving a new path through the crowd.
I can lose myself here. I can let the music flow through me and wash away everything I've struggled with this week. I can connect with my body, let it move, throw my arms over my head. I can close my eyes and give myself over to the driving beat. I've never felt so alive, so completely me. I almost wish Ruby were here to see it after I dance through at least another ten songs before my body practically screams for a drink.
“Just a water, please!” I call out to the bartender, since water is what I need most right now. While I wait, I casually observe the people around me. They’re doing the age-old mating dance, chatting and flirting, casually brushing against each other. I could be an anthropologist in the wild right now, taking notes in my head.
There's a long mirror attached to the wall behind the rows of liquor bottles lined up and sparkling under blue and purple lights. I almost don't recognize my reflection, and not because of the heavier makeup Ruby insisted I wear tonight. I could be anybody at all, and I suppose there's something empowering in that. Almost like I'm wearing a costume.
The cold water is a welcome shock to my system, and I relish the sensation of it after being overheated. Maybe it's time for me to call it a night, all things considered—now that I've stopped dancing and there's no ignoring it, fatigue is starting to knock at the back of my mind. I haven't had a workout like this in a long time. There's no denying I needed it, but I don't necessarily need to dance myself to death, either.
I'm about to close out my tab when my glance brushes across the gaze of a certifiably drop dead gorgeous guy standing not twenty feet away. He isn't alone, either. With him is another ridiculously gorgeous hunk of man. They're both well over six feet tall, and one of them is dark and sort of broody looking while the other boasts golden blond hair and blue eyes that pierce me, pinning me in place. Immediately, heat blooms in my core and a familiar fluttery feeling sets off in my stomach.
This is crazy. I didn't come here for this, and I'm not in any position to flirt—or anything beyond that. I might be having fun tonight, letting loose, feeling free, but my heart is still way too sore.
Still... The weight of their combined gaze on me is proof of something I'm only just now figuring out. It has been a long time since Kyle looked at me the way they are now. That happens, of course. Four years is a long time, and some of the lust or magic or whatever you want to call it is bound to quiet down. I didn't realize how much I missed it until now, as my skin tingles and my body lights up at their attention.
They exchange a glance that I catch from the corner of my eye, then murmur to each other. Somewhere in there they must make the decision to move in on me. I have the funniest sense of being a fawn eyed by a pair of hunters, but as they close in, I don't have the urge to move. No, just the opposite, in fact. I want them to approach. I want to meet them.
Why not? I'm as single as a girl can get, and it's been a long time since I've felt wanted.
And Ruby called me a good girl earlier tonight. If she could only see me now.
This night just got a lot more interesting.
5
ASH
I’m starting to think it was a shit idea, coming out tonight. There’s not much that can pull me out of a mood as dark as the one I’m currently wrestling with. No amount of drinking or checking out hot, available women has been enough to ease the deep sense of unrest that's been churning in me since earlier today, when my team’s chances of reaching the playoffs officially came to an end.
To think, getting signed by the Palm Springs Raptors was supposed to be a stepping stone. The experience I was going to need to get called up to the majors, to finally play for an NHL team like I've been dreaming of doing ever since I was old enough to follow the sport. So many nights spent in front of the TV with my dad and my brothers, watching the games and imagining myself as one of the players. I could practically hear the roar of the crowd in my ears, could hear my blades hitting the ice.
And here I am. Stuck. Frozen like the ice I skated on earlier. This is the third year in a row the Raptors haven't even touched the playoffs. At this rate, I'll never get called up. I'm going to be stuck in the minors until I age out. In most careers, twenty-three is considered young. It means you've got plenty of time to go, years of learning and experience to get under your belt before you can move on to bigger and better things.
Not so when it comes to sports. The eighteen-year-old phenomenon I was coming out of high school has turned into who I am now; helpless, increasingly hopeless, and with the ticking of a clock always ringing in my ears. How many seasons do I have left before the dream dies?
I grit my teeth and raise my hand to signal the bartender for another whiskey. When I turn to Soren, eyebrows raised, he nods in agreement. “Another lager, too please,” I add when the bartender slides a drink my way. The girl is cute in a vague, basic sort of way. That's the same with most of the girls around here tonight. We figured heading to West Hollywood to blow off some steam might mean getting laid, but I haven't seen much of anything to warrant the effort. I'm just in a shitty mood in general, frustrated, bitter. The two of us have practically been carrying the team on our backs with the exception of another few players, but it's not enough.
And even if we won the rest of the games on the schedule, it still wouldn't be enough to move on to the postseason. Yet we still have to give it our all, at least trying to improve our record in these last couple of weeks of regular season play. Somehow that hurts worst of all. Having to expend the effort when I know it doesn't fucking matter. Nobody's watching for the next big thing on a team that couldn't make the playoffs.
“Maybe this wasn't such a great idea,” Soren offers. He's in roughly the same mood I'm in. Neither of us wants to be stuck in the minor leagues for the rest of our career—nobody does, though it seems a few of the older players have gotten used to the idea. That's probably why they play like third rate nobodies half the time. Just coasting through, collecting their checks. Their chance has passed, so why put in any effort to help somebody else achieve their dreams?
I'm being unfair, but right now I don't give a shit about fairness. I want to win. I want to move on. I don't want my dream to die.
“If you want to get your dick wet, there's plenty of opportunity.” We don't attract the sort of attention major league players do, though in some ways that's not a bad thing. I don't know if I'd want to be mobbed by people wherever I go. There's something to be said for a degree of anonymity, especially when you’re in the mood to have a good time.
He lifts a shoulder. “I don't know. I'm thinking maybe I should save the energy for surfing in the morning.” That's something I'm looking forward to, as well. I don't get a lot of opportunities to surf, and I'm craving the chance to clear my head. There's nothing like the feeling of taming the waves themselves, the rush of watching a swell build and paddling the board out to it, trusting that it will lift me up and carry me to shore.
“We can try another place,” I offer, but my heart's not in it. This is the third club we've been to, and I’m as bored here as I was before. I would be bored anywhere now, the mood I'm in.
“Nah. It's a shame I didn't think to bring the Xbox with me.” Video games are one of the things we first bonded over when we ended up being signed by the Raptors at the same time. Now I sort of wish we hadn't left Palm Springs and gotten a hotel room out here for the night. It might have been a better idea to blow off steam over Call of Duty or something like that.
I'm mulling over the idea of heading back to the hotel when she catches my eye. I've noticed her dancing—it would be impossible not to. She's tall, willowy, and likes to throw her arms over her head a lot. She's also fucking hot, with long blonde hair she sweeps over one shoulder while blowing out a heavy sigh, like she's worn herself out on the floor. She heads straight to the bar, signaling the girl pouring drinks before folding her arms on the polished surface and rolling her head back and forth like she's loosening her muscles.
