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It’s weird to say, but it feels… safe.
Someone is pushing me, and I hear a muffled ‘Sorry’ when Emilie takes me by the arm and tries to speak in my ear over the music.
“Let’s go find a place to sit. Or we can go to the bar. This bartender is yummy.”
I chuckle. We head towards the bar when the bartender notices us. No need to try to have his attention now, I guess. Emilie put on her provocative ‘fuck me’ eyes, and that works like a charm. Each. Time.
“What can I get for you ladies?” he asks, his gaze fixed on Emilie.
“Ladies, uh. I like that,” she coos.
“I’ll have a gin and lemonade with a slice of lime, please,” says Bailey.
“What kind of blended whisky do you have?” He looks at me like I’m from another planet.
“A woman who likes whisky,” he says with admiration, “is a woman who’s not afraid to break some hearts.” His smile is bright. “But to answer your question, I have Monkey Shoulder, J&B, Clansmen, the Famous Grouse —” I stop him.
“I’ll take the Famous Grouse, please.” He nods, and I add, “Without ice.” He turns towards Emilie.
“And for you, beautiful?” The tension between them is ridiculous, seriously. She’ll probably bang him in the back room and forget about him tomorrow, knowing her.
“I’ll have a Cape Cod, please.” She glances in our direction as though she can sense our eyes fixed upon her. “What? It’s a classic. You can never go wrong with a cranberry vodka.”
I can’t help but shake my head in amusement as we take the newly vacant seats around the bar. The drinks come quickly, and I sigh as I take my first sip. Which earns me a disapproving look.
“What?” I ask, confused.
“You drank,” says Bailey accusingly, as if it was enough for me to understand. She elaborates. “What about our toast?” I shake my head.
“Seriously, Bai? You’ve been too accustomed to the French culture.” My tone is tinged with amusement rather than annoyance. “Okay, let’s do it. What are we toasting to?” I ask, looking back and forth between the two of them.
“To your return!” Bailey shouts, lifting her glass.
“To getting laid,” adds Emilie, with her drink already in the air, waiting for me to finish.
I lift my glass and add, “To family.”
“Slàinte Mhath!” We shout in unison.
Despite my initial reticence, going out tonight was definitely the right decision. I forgot how it was to be 26 years old. And it feels really good.
We order a second drink and catch up. I am not a light drinker, but I feel good. Relaxed. The music gets louder, and I already anticipate covering my ears when the DJ plays ‘Get Low’ by Lil Jon and The East Side Boyz.
“OH MY GOOOD!” yells Em, standing from her stool. “GIRLLLLS, I love this song. We need to go to the dance floor.” I exchange a look with Bailey, already knowing it’s no use for us to refuse.
I’ve known Emilie for a while now, and her love for this music has been unwavering since day one.
Together, we make our way towards the dance floor, the sound of the music getting louder. I move to the beat, lifting my arms above my head. I sense the weight of stares on me, but I keep moving, my hips following the flow of the music. Closing my eyes, I let the beats flow in my veins, guiding my steps. A few songs have already played when I open my eyes to see Bailey standing with someone I don’t recognise, presumably one of her friends, and she seems to be engrossed in their conversation. As for Emilie, she has her tongue deep inside a guy’s throat, not far from me.
The feeling of being observed comes back, stronger this time, as if invisible eyes are branding my back.
I look around me but see nothing. My job has made me aware of my surroundings, and I always listen to my gut.
It’s probably the alcohol and the slutty dress Emilie made you wear. Stop being paranoid.
A new song starts, and I’m swept away by the feeling of warm hands wrapped around my curvy waist. I feel his head fall onto the top of mine and his warm breath tickling my ear. He’s a bit taller than me but shorter than the average guy around us, which is not much, knowing that I’m at the limit of 5’.
It’s slow, not in rhythm with the music, but I don’t care. I rarely let strangers near me, let alone put their hands on me. I mean, they usually end up at the hospital if they do that without notice.
