Page 15 of Intrepid

“Oh.” Her lips slid into a half-cocked grin, the sight of which stoked up twice the curiosity. “He’s been coming here for the last couple of years. “Quiet guy. Doesn’t say much, but Lord, he is fine. Boy can kiss, too.”

The weight of her words sank to the pit of my stomach. Not that I’d had any intentions of going out with the guy, anyway, but I certainly wouldn’t be his flavor of the month.

“You … dated?”

“One date. It was a few months back. I finally worked up the nerve to ask him out.”

It made sense. Neveah was beautiful, with her deep caramel skin, tawny colored eyes, and tight curls that gave her a natural appeal. She smelled like vanilla and coffee beans, too, so really, how could Ty possibly resist her?

“You? Y’mean he asked you, right?”

“Ty isn’t like that. That boy is closed off like a well-sealed vault.”

Right. Well-sealed. If by well-sealed she meant hopelessly persistent and borderline asshole.

“Anyway, he took me to a bar, we had a drink, and we kissed.”

“Oh. He didn’t … try to make a move on you?”

“No, are you kidding me? I had to initiate everything. He was like this … lost little puppy, sitting all quiet and broody.”

Huh? Ty and lost puppy seemed to go together like a terrorist and the Dalai Lama. “Are we talking about the same guy? Brown hair, blue eyes?”

“Cheekbones that could slice you?” Bending forward over the counter, she rested her chin on her palm and sighed. “Yep. That’s Ty. You know him?”

“Yeah. I’ve … seen him around. Are you two a thing?”

“No. He doesn’t date.” She leaned into me, lowering her voice, “And I wasn’t about to have a one-night-stand, either, but I’ll tell you what. When he comes in here from work, all sweaty and dirty, I wish I had.” With a disappointed curl of her lips, she shook her head. “A woman’s pride can be a real cock block sometimes.”

Smirking, I grabbed a nearby rag and wiped down the counter, sopping up the dried spots of coffee. Yes, it could.

But I was convinced of one thing—Ty’s interest in me had to be bad news.

4

Sera

During the day, Shockwave Nightclub was like any other downtown building—quiet, unsuspecting, a sleeping monster that sat on the corner of Baubien and Monroe in Greektown. At night, the place came alive with neon blue and red lights, and since it was one of few clubs within ten miles open to eighteen and older, just about every freshman female on campus had come out for ladies’ night.

The first time I went to a bar, I was nine years old. My mom had gotten a pretty steady gig, singing Janis Joplin covers. As long as I stayed in the back, I was allowed to tag along, and God, did I love watching her sing. Blessed with the kind of sultry soulful voice that wound itself inside my ears, she’d always loved being onstage and in the spotlight. After her set, she’d convinced the bouncer to let me join the crowd and dance. We’d danced until I could hardly walk, and my chest hurt from laughing so hard.

Dancing would forever remind me of my mother.

Marshmello pounded through the speakers as I made my way into the club behind Bea and Simone. Yeah, I’d given them another chance. Guessed I couldn’t really fault my roommate for leaving after having been punched in the face, and Bea promised not to ditch me again.

One thing I’d learned living in a city like Detroit for even a week—friends were a necessity, even if they could sometimes be the shitty variety. It was better than being alone, and after living with a man who hardly said two words to me in a week, I knew all about loneliness.

I’d never been a fan of club music in general, except when it came to dancing. The thump of the bass beat a rhythm of excitement through my body, and I couldn’t wait to get out on the dance floor. The first week of classes, along with the hours I needed to put in at the coffee house to make rent, told me a tough semester lay ahead of me, and I craved some release.

Laser lights sliced through the already-packed dance floor, while burlesque dancers stood at either side of the DJ booth as part of their annual carnival night. Down in front, fire performers and aerialists kept with the music’s beat. I absorbed myself into the energy, taking in the buzz of excitement, the heat of the lights, the movement of the crowd. Sticking to the edges kept me from feeling trapped, and on instinct, I searched for the exit. Finding it no more than a few feet behind me helped put me at ease, and with the darkness allowing me just enough freedom to release my inhibitions, I danced.

I danced as if no one else in the club existed. As if the music spoke only to me. It did, I was sure of it, and I closed my eyes, letting all the tension of the week pour out of me. I danced until the sweat beaded across my forehead and my throat begged for something to drink.

“I’ll be right back!” I shouted to Bea and gestured tipping back a glass.

She shook her head. “I don’t think so, chica. I made a promise, and I’m keeping it!”

More accurately, I’d made an ultimatum, and she had no choice. If she ditched me again, I’d be ditching our living arrangement, and she’d be stuck looking for another roommate.