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We’ve been told we could be brothers with our dark hair and short beards, his hair slightly longer than mine, curling at the ends. We’re the same frame, about the same size. He’s always borrowed clothes whenever he’s in town, my current wardrobe having been carefully curated over the past decade.
He looks up from the screen of his phone, a smile flashing across his face, that dimple digging into his right cheek.
"Finally!” he says. “You're back. Rockland get tired of kicking your ass?"
"Yeah," I say, leaning my clubs against the black metal stair railing to open my door. I’ll put them in my closet later, never to be used again. "It couldn't have been much fun for him. I sucked."
“You wanna go out tonight? A few of us are going to Gotcha's for drinks.” He follows me into the brightly lit foyer. Not getting an answer, he prods me. “You need to get out."
I take a deep breath, considering Savage's offer. The truth is, I can't stop thinking about what Rockland said. About moving on. Going out with Savage and the guys might be just what I need to shake things up a bit. It's been a while since I've done something outside of work with friends.
"Yeah, sounds good," I say, nodding my head. "What time?"
"Nine o'clock. And dress nice. Gotcha's is a classy joint.” He laughs, knowing we've been there a million times before and growing up Bachman I’ve only ever owned nice clothes.
"Alright," I say, feeling lighter. "I'm in. Let me shower. I smell like shit."
"Hell yes, you do. I could smell you as soon as you hit the gates." He leaves, giving me a fist bump. "Beau and I will be around later to pick you up."
As I scrub the shampoo through my thick hair, working the suds into a decent lather, I feel excitement building in my chest. It's been too long since I've had a night out with the guys, and I can't wait to see what trouble we get into tonight.
Maybe I'll even take Rockland's advice and burn off some of this aggression.
I may not be married but picking up women at the club then taking them to the penthouse suite of the Mark Hotel has always led to some pretty amazing sex. Since my mother died, I’ve been careful to choose women who are just looking to be spoiled for a night, to have a good time. No strings attached.
Maybe tonight, I’ll find someone real to pass the time with.
Savage hits my doorstep right at nine, surrounded by a group of guys we’re close with, all of us similar ages, in our late twenties, early thirties. We walk down the sidewalk, loud as hell, giving each other shit, making fun of one another as we go.
Eyes widen as we bypass the line of young men and women waiting outside the club, dying to get in and have the chance to dance among us. We fist-bump the guard stationed out front as we walk through the massive double doors into the dark, thrumming world of the club.
The crowd in the nightclub is noisy and vibrant, spinning, laughing, moving to the pulsing rhythms of the music. In the center of the dance floor, couples and friends move in time with the beat, their arms and legs weaving in mesmerizing dance moves.
I scan the room, seeing if anyone catches my eye.
One figure stands out from the crowd.
I zero in on her.
In the corner of the room, a short, curvy blonde woman wearing a little black dress is dancing on her own. She has an energetically awkward style, almost as if she's doing an imitation of a dance instead of actually dancing.Her arms move robotically, a beat or two out of sync with the song.
Despite her off-the-beat movements, there's something strangely endearing about her.
Suddenly, a sleek brunette with blunt-cut bangs and a seductive air moves toward her, swaying her hips and batting her eyes suggestively. The blonde woman pauses, her arms stopping mid-swing, and laughs. She reaches up and pulls her golden curls up into an unruly bun, using a scrunchie from her wrist to hold it in place.
Then, as if she just remembered the music, her arms begin moving again, and she continues her clumsy shimmy. The brunette moves in closer, still swaying her hips provocatively, and the two women dance together, both lost in the music.
The brunette stops mid-sway, making direct eye contact with me. She crooks her finger, gesturing for me to come join them.I had no idea either of them knew I was watching.
I step up to the duo, feeling like an outsider interrupting a private conversation.
As I approach, the brunette smiles knowingly at me before turning her gaze back to the blonde.
The blonde woman continues dancing, oblivious to my arrival, but her movements have become noticeably more confident and expressive now that she is no longer on her own.The brunette holds out her hand to me, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
"Hey, come dance with us," she says. “I saw you watching my friend.”
I take her hand, allowing myself to be pulled into their dance.
