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Alannah gives me the side-eye. Our friend Coraline sees her do this and her head jerks back slightly, her nose wrinkling. She’s giving Alannah a look like… what’s the side-eye about?
Cor knows I’m not the type to tease and lead someone on. Alannah is either giving me that look because she’s annoyed I’m inviting him to dance with us or because she thinks I should go for it. Probably the latter.
“Dance with us, man,” Jeff, another friend of ours invites.
He’s a lawyer at the firm Alannah works at, and he’s tall, built, dresses well, and presents himself as very metrosexual. He pings gaydar and leaves many unsure which way that cookie crumbles. If you ask, Jeffy will tell you he loves cookies in all forms. He loves to come out when we dance and it makes us feel safe because he’s big, strong, and protective.
He also swears that in addition to being into buff, attractive metrosexual men like himself, he especially loves curvy, dark-skinned high-maintenance girls a lot, too. He’s currently trying to get out of the friendzone with the curvy Black beauty Coraline, but whether he wants her for a night or a lot longer than that is a mystery we’ve debated. At length.
As far as Cor and Jeff go, she’s not having it and keeps telling us that although dating him could be a dream come true since she’s attracted to him, she’s sure Jeff is going to either realize he prefers men over women, or he’ll never settle down because he wants to keep helping himself to both. And she’s not only unwilling to share, she says she’s also completely unwilling to ruin their friendship.
While Jeffy knows Coraline’s stance, he told Alannah, me, and our married friend Maddie who is also out with us tonight, to “watch and see” him accomplish his goal with her. He swears he’ll wear her down eventually. He’s not giving anyone a clue as to whether he’s got real feelings or if it’s just a challenge to him as he’s definitely the competitive type, so we’re all trying to stay neutral on the issue.
The guy in the red shirt looks at Jeff with concern. “Thanks, but I’m more interested in one-on-one.” His eyes ping back to me. “Can I buy you a drink instead? Chat by the bar? I won’t keep you from your special night with your friends for long.”
I give him what I hope is a non-bitchy but also non-flirty smile. “Thanks anyway, but I’d prefer to spend the evening celebrating with my friends. Thanks, anyway.” I then add, “And… I’m engaged, so…”
The guy’s eyes rove over my empty left hand. I see the diamond on my ring practically wink at me from Alannah’s hand.
Now Coraline’s eyes are on Alannah’s hand, too.
Shit. She’s gonna ask questions. No, more like she’s going to stare at us until we spill. Cor’s superpower is that she can often make you spill your secrets with one of her long stares.
A guy dressed in a suit with the vibe of a secret service agent and the build of a side-by-side refrigerator is suddenly in our little huddle and clapping his hand on the red-shirted guy’s shoulder with a serious expression.
He states, “That’s it, pal. Already warned you. You’re officially barred from Downtown, effective now.”
The guy in the red shirt looks thrown. “Huh?”
“You heard me,” the guy in the suit advises aggressively, like he’s looking for a reason to throw this dude on the floor, step on his back, then handcuff him.
“You’re mixing me up with someone else, man,” Red-shirted guy defends. “You and I have never had a conversation.”
“When a woman doesn’t welcome your advances, you back off, sir. Anywhere and everywhere, but especially here because this place is under my watch.”
“You’ve got me mixed up with someone else,” Red Shirt asserts. “I just got here, I’m on my first drink, and I haven’t approached any other women tonight. Miss, was I bothering you?”
He looks at me for help. But before I’m able to answer, the security guy clips aggressively, “Ah, so you’ve got a twin? A twin who’s here tonight?”
“No.” The guy looks like he’s about to piss his pants.
“You’re outta here. Don’t make me get physical, pal.”
“This is bullshit,” Red Shirt retorts, looking toward me again. “Right? I’m not bothering you, am I?” He looks back at the guy in the suit. “Man, call a manager over here. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“He’s not-” I start, about to say he’s not bothering me, but the security guy already has the red shirt-wearing guy in a hold where his right arm is bent unnaturally behind his back as he grips the guy’s other bicep and moves him away from us.
“A manager? You’re outta here, Karen.”
“Somebody call for a manager?” A man’s voice sounds from behind me.
Most people nearby are no longer dancing, instead they’re staring.
“I’m the owner,” the voice adds. “If you’re bothering other guests, you’re no longer our welcome guest.”
“I wasn’t,” Red Shirt calls over his shoulder as the security guy continues to march him toward the door.
The owner turns his back on the red-shirted guy and looks directly at me. And I’m awestruck as his dark eyes slowly coast over my body from eyes to toes, then back up to my eyes again. It’s like it happens in slow motion.
