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Just like that, my night is set. Already, the sting of Luke’s rejection softens. Maybe the bandage is made of tissue paper, but it’ll hold for a single night, and that’s long enough for me to get over this and feel like myself again.
The guy flags down the bartender and orders two drinks. The bartender makes eye contact, checking in with me, and I give him a positive signal.
“You changed,” the guy says.
“Would you prefer I didn’t?”
“Those short were hot.” The guy reaches for my waist, lets his hand slide around and graze my ass. “But this is hot too.”
Our drinks arrive. We clink our glasses together, and I take a healthy gulp of something strong and sweet. This, too, is yet another signal. If I was sipping delicately, this stranger might sense some reluctance and move more carefully, but that’s clearly not what I’m here for tonight. His smile curls past the edges of his glass as he drinks as well.
His free hand lingers on my hip. He tugs me a little closer, ostensibly so we can talk more easily, but neither of us are fooled by this ruse. It’s another step in the dance, another bit of choreography we need to follow before we can get to the finale.
He’s telling me about his job while I take down my drink. I want the buzz. I want my head empty. I want to stop thinking about how much effort I put into being ready for this night and any turn it might have taken —anyturn it might have taken. God, what an optimistic idiot I was, going to all that effort for a guy who wouldn’t even kiss me at fist. Why would I think…
It doesn’t matter. My glass is empty, and so is the stranger’s. He’s leaning close, wrapping his arm around my waist, placing his lips almost against my ear.
“You want to dance or you want to just get out of here?”
I hesitate, even though the answer should be obvious. I should leave with him while I have the chance. I should get rid of this annoying ache in my chest in the best way I know how, the way that has always worked for me. Why the hell am I hesitating?
My stomach is in knots, but I lean in and say, “Let’s get the hell out of here. I just have to get my bag from the back.”
“Sounds good, sweetheart. I’ll be waiting.”
He gives my ass a squeeze before sending me on my way. I head toward the dressing room, slightly less steady on my feet thanks to that drink I had.
Then I nearly fall over entirely.
I stop dead in my tracks, heedless of the people pushing past me or searching for space to dance. A large man stands near the entrance of the club, his sandy hair poking up above most of the heads around him.
It can’t be.
I blink, but he doesn’t disappear. Luke scans the club until his eyes meet mine. The moment our gazes lock, the rest of the club vanishes. The music grows quiet and distant. The gyrating bodies evaporate. There’s no one in this place except me and him, staring at each other in stunned silence.
He starts moving toward me, and I jolt back to my senses. I push through the crowd to reach him, but it’spartly to make sure he’s real. I don’t think I’ll believe it until I touch him and my hand doesn’t pass through him like he’s some sort of apparition.
We meet a few steps from the entrance. The music is fractionally quieter here, but we still have to shout to hear each other.
“What are you doing here?” I say.
“I came to see you.” He says it as though this should be the most obvious thing in the world.
“But you said you couldn’t. You said you had to grade papers. And it’s late. You have work tomorrow. You…”
“I know,” he says. “I know. I should have come here sooner. I…”
Luke shakes his head at himself. He steps closer but slowly, like he’s afraid I’ll turn and bolt. Little does he know my feet are rooted to the floor, my surprise holding me firmly in place. I’ve all but forgotten about the guy waiting for me at the bar. What could some stranger matter when Luke is actually here? He actually came to see me after all.
“You’re too late,” I say, but without bite. I’m too shocked to yell at him. “I already danced. My shifts are over. I was going to leave.”
I don’t mention the part where I was going to leave with a stranger. He doesn’t need to know that I was so pathetic and hurt that I was going to throw myself at the first person who might make me feel better.
“I’m sorry,” Luke says. “I’m sorry I missed it. I’m sorry I said I had to work. I’m sorry for being a coward. I’m sorry for all of it.”
He hangs his head, and all I want to do is cradle it in my hands and tell him it’s alright. But is it? My hurt was real, if a bit overblown. I intended to be rational about it tomorrow, but the sting was plenty painful tonight. All I wanted was for him to want me enough to come see a little piece of my world, but maybe that wasn’t a fair expectation while he’s still working through things.
I don’t know. I don’t have any answers. Not tonight. Not for either of us. I’m following my feelings tonight, not my head.
