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Tapping the bar top, she winks, then wanders down the line to refill beer glasses.
Over the next hour, we sip our drinks and move to a high-top near the dance floor. Several patrons stop by the table and wish Skylar happy birthday, offer to buy her a drink or ask her on a date. The more water she drinks, the more sober she becomes, the more I watch her lean away from the attention. Not all of it. A few guys have managed to weasel their way into sitting with us. They seem nice enough. Then again, my common sense meter switched off a couple hours ago.
“Let’s dance,” Skylar suggests as she pushes away from the table and stands.
Two of the guys hop off their stools and sandwich Skylar between them. “We’ll dance with you, birthday girl.”
I wince as I watch them touch her hips and shoulders.This just got ten times more uncomfortable.
Oblivious to their intentions, Skylar pushes out her lips and shakes her head. “No, I want to dance with my friends.” Skylar twists out of their holds and reaches out a hand for me and Delilah. “Please,” she says, dragging out the word like a greedy child.
I love dancing. Love shoving money in the jukebox, choosing enough songs to play for an hour or two, then getting lost in the music. Skylar, on the other hand, isn’t keen on dancing. At least not in huge public crowds.
But it’s her birthday, and she is still very intoxicated.
Who am I to deny her? Especially onherday.
I hop off my stool and take her outstretched hand. Delilah does the same, taking her other hand.
Skylar glances over her shoulder and gives the guys a finger wave. “Thanks for hanging out with us. It was fun.” Then she blows them a kiss.
I groan. “Don’t goad them any further.”
Delilah chuckles. “Makes no difference to me. Their chance remains the same. Nil.”
Weaving between the small crowd on the small dance floor, we find a small opening, throw our arms up, and start dancing to the sultry beat of a song I don’t know. For a moment, I get lost in the song. Forget about everything else except this night with my two closest friends.
The song transitions to a pop number. We continue to dance, but I shift closer to Delilah. “They may have no chance with you”—I glance back at the table, one of the guys no longer there—“but they don’t know that. They don’t know you prefer the glove over the bat.”
Thwack.
“Ow!” I rub my upper arm. “No need to hit.”
“Then don’t be crude.” Delilah imperceptibly shakes her head. “Say I only date women. Call me a lesbian.” Her brows tug together. “But don’t use baseball equipment euphemisms. Or any other weird alternatives. Just don’t.”
“Got it.” My lips curve into an apologetic smile. “Won’t happen again.”
“Thank you,” she says softly.
When the current song ends, I tap Skylar on the shoulder. She spins around, brows raised in question. I lift my hand and make a tipping motion toward my mouth, then throw a thumb over my shoulder. She nods, then follows me back to the table with Delilah in tow.
The three guys from earlier are nowhere to be seen. Probably found newprospectsfor the evening. Can’t say I blame them. I drain the last of my Coke, then switch to water. As Skylar drinks the last of her water, she sways in place.
“Doing okay, birthday girl?” I ask. This is the first time our trio has been publicly intoxicated. The initial excitement is long gone. The thrill of ordering drink after drink and being allowed to do so has faded. At least, tonight it has.
“Think I need to lie down. Or maybe curl into the corner of the couch and watch a documentary.”
Delilah and I chuckle. Skylar and her damn documentaries. Not sure how she stomachs watching those things. Serial killers and creepy as hell people doing fucked up shit to strangers. She watches them as if they soothe her like nature documentaries do most other people. Sometimes I question whether or not I should be concerned. So long asshedoesn’t go psycho on us, it’s all good.
I step into her space, toy with her fiery curls, then wrap her in my arms. “Go home. Watch your shows. Drink more water.”
When I step out of the embrace, her eyes lazily trail up to mine. A ridge forms between her brows. “Are you staying?”
I glance past Skylar to Delilah, and she mouths, “I got her. You stay.”
With a subtle nod, I meet Skylar’s gaze again. “For a couple more songs. I’ll be right behind you.”
Delilah opens the rideshare app on her phone and requests a ride. Skylar rises from her stool, her hand quickly gripping the table to steady herself.
