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I tip my head to the side. “We need to dance. This night is getting too heavy.”
“That sounds more like it,” Ellie agrees. She’s the quiet one so that’s saying a lot.
We all stand and head over to the dance floor. We start in a circle. Evan obliges and joins us and, even though his movements are small, the man knows how to move. My mind easily drifts to our therapy session this morning. I kept focusing on his fine ass. Now he’s moving it in the most delicious way possible. I blink twice and try to wipe my brain clean of that thought. I also turn and scope the area around me. Too bad Evan is easily the most good-looking guy around us. The girls slowly begin to disperse as men come up and ask them to dance. We are down to Ellie, me, and Evan when I turn away to dance with a guy I was smiling at, just because I needed to get away before it would be just Evan and me left on the dance floor. As the guy asks me to dance with him, I hear Ellie mutter something about the restroom as she quickly spins away from the dance floor. Evan is left by his lonesome. It doesn’t last long before two girls come up to him and begin to dance. Evan seems to be enjoying himself. I’ve done good. I’ve helped the dude with his broken heart. At least he’s out having some fun instead of drinking too much by himself at home.
The two girls he’s dancing with get really handsy, but he handles them with ease. My guess is they know he’s a famous hockey player. Kevin and I went to college together but we never hung out in the same crowds. I’d heard of the puck bunnies leeching on to the NCAA hockey players, but I was never around to witness it for myself. My brother always preferred to shield me from that world. Daddy also tried to protect me. It’s ironic when I think about everything that went down in my past because as much as Daddy and Kevin watched out for me, I still fell for the wrong guy and got hurt.
The guy I’m dancing with moves in closer. He wraps his arms around my hips but suddenly I’m not vibing with him. I’m not in the mood to have him touch me. I’m not even in the mood to dance. I can’t figure out why that is. I tell the guy I need to go to the ladies’ room. I head there to freshen up my lip gloss. When I leave the restroom, I spot Ellie by herself at the bar so I head over and take the seat beside her.
I yawn.
“Sorry.” I wince.
“Tough day at work?” she asks.
I nod. “It’s a long workday but I’m really hyped about working for the team. I just need to adjust to the long hours.”
“The residency was long hours too,” she reminds of my long days in the hospital.
“It was but this is somehow different. I’m responsible for a lot of players. Even though I’m the assistant therapist for now, there is a lot of responsibility involved,” I explain.
“I’m super proud of you,” Ellie says.
“Thanks.” I smile.
“How are things going with you? Any job prospects?” I ask.
Ellie is an artist. Her art is beautiful but it’s kind of hard to get noticed with so many artists in New York City. She has a degree in ancient history, much to her parent’s dismay, with a minor in art. They wanted her doing a business degree and getting involved in their billion-dollar conglomerate. Ellie wasn’t having it. She goes to the beat of her own drum. Finding a job with a history degree was sort of like finding a needle in a haystack.
“Nothing worthwhile. I applied for a secretarial position at an art gallery, but I don’t think the owner liked me. My only other prospect is this uppity restaurant I applied to be a server at.”
My lips pinch. “Something will come through. You make such beautiful pieces, maybe the restaurant owner will be interested in showing your art in his restaurant if you offer it to him on consignment,” I suggest.
“That’s a good idea. First, I need to get the job,” she says, quirking her lip and then her brows furrow.
“How is your grandma doing?” I ask. The only person in her family she has a good relationship with is her grandmother. She is the one who started the family business. She’s offered to help Ellie financially but my friend is stubborn and wants to make it on her own.
“She’s good. We just had lunch yesterday,” she says. “She offered to introduce me to her friend who owns an art gallery.”
“And did you take her up on it?” I ask, knowing Ellie rejected the offer.
“I won’t,” she says stubbornly. It’s because her parents will find out she couldn’t make it on her own then rub it in Ellie’s face, which is ironic considering her father inherited the family business.
“Why aren’t you out there dancing?” she asks, and that’s her cue that family talk is over.
I’m the life of the party. The one dancing on the dance floor until it’s time to go home. I find dancing to be liberating and music to be calming.
“Honestly, this is my first real adult job. I need to be at the arena by seven tomorrow morning. I’m counting the hours of sleep I have left.” I snicker.
“Gasp,” Ellie says wide-eyed. “You’re starting to sound like an old person with a real job and responsibilities.”
I laugh. Ellie’s been saying ‘gasp’ with a British accent ever since she dated this British banker who was visiting the city last summer. “I know, right? I feel it too.”
Ellie’s lips form a straight line. “I’d give my right nut to have a real job and feel old.”
I blink and shake my head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I know,” she pouts sadly. “What’s up with you bringing Evan out with us? I thought you didn’t hang around hockey players.”
