And by free, I mean single. I would’ve celebrated sooner, but wasn’t in the mood while Aunt Flo was visiting.
It kills me I didn’t see that Tom was a rat earlier. And not just any old rat, but a dirty, mangy wharf rat. Not diseased at the moment, but he will be soon, with a case of incurable hemorrhoids. He’s an asshole, and I believe in karma. It’s insulting that he lost it over a late period, like I’m some kind of breeding goat.
And I’ll be damned if I ever beg a man to keep me, especially someone like Tom. He’s not God’s gift. If he were, he would’ve been hung like a horny elephant, ripped like a fitness model and able to fuck like a lion, which I’ve read can do it up to forty times a day.
Thankfully, Tom and I had only dated for three months before I kicked his ass to the curb, so I wasn’t overly attached to him yet. It’s nice to be over and done without any emotional baggage.
Sweat mists my skin despite the cool air blasting through the vents, but I’m having a fabulous time. There’s nothing like dancing to decompress. A couple of guys start to move in, but I’m not interested tonight. I put out the “men not needed or wanted” vibe. And they slink away, like frat boys realizing there’s no free booze.
Except for this one guy.
He moves toward me as though he’s impervious to my keep-out vibes. No asking for permission verbally or otherwise. He just joins me. Maybe I should tell him no, but I can’t, even while thinking it’s too bad his stay-away radar is broken.
Because—call me shallow—he is hot. Like, “I might need to wipe the drool off my chin” hot.
He’s tall with broad shoulders—my catnip. The planes of his face keep drawing my eye. Everything about him is perfectly proportioned, and the mathematician in me is utterly fascinated and thrilled. It’s like he’s a living embodiment of the Golden Ratio.
The totality of his appearance is like getting punched in the face with a whole new understanding of the wonders of the universe. So screw the no-man rule. I’m going to enjoy him moving with me tonight.
He starts dancing up close. Every time our bodies brush, an electric sizzle prickles over my skin. My heart thumps harder and faster, but it has nothing to do with the exertion of dancing. It’s purely him.
This close, I can smell his subtle scent—some kind of liquor and something piney. It makes my stomach flutter, like it’s full of newly hatched butterflies ready to take their first flight. It has to be the kind of excitement Columbus experienced when he finally saw land after his endless voyage.
The thing is, we aren’t even moving against each other overtly. It’s beautifully subtle, his fingertips stroking my shoulders, the contact feather- soft. Coaxing me to see where it goes.
I didn’t come out tonight to hook up, but now I’m thinking, What the hell. One-night stands were invented for this—a chemical moment you have to seize and enjoy. Otherwise I might never experience it again. And it’s the sort of thing that makes a woman wonder and regret for years to come. All the best discoveries in math and science happen by chance. Who says it can’t happen in someone’s personal life?
After five or six songs—I’m not counting—I realize that I’m thirsty. But I’m reluctant to leave and break the spell.
Leave it to fate. Tell him and see if he comes along with you.
I lean close. “I need something to drink.”
The sizzling look in his eyes makes me shiver deliciously. “Perfect. I’m starting to get thirsty, too.”
He puts his hand on the small of my back. The touch is firm and sure, and I love it. It’s like a brand, the heat radiating and spreading over my body. Even though I’m already warm from dancing, I don’t mind it at all. Actually, I move slightly closer, so my shoulders brush against his chest. Just a little.
We go to the bar. Luckily, I don’t see Curie or Joe. They’re probably dancing or making out in some dark corner. Since I don’t plan to make this more than a one-night deal, I don’t want to bother with introducing this guy. It’s better—easier—to keep things anonymous.
The hottie catches a bartender’s eye quickly. He’s very tall, after all. Probably six four or five. He flexes his hand on my back. “What you want?”
You. “Gin and tonic.” Drizzled all over you so I can lap it up. My cheeks warm at the idea. I bite my lip.
The bartender nods, then turns to my dance partner. “How about you?”
“Whiskey.”
I give the hottie a quick glance, to see if I’m still feeling the same sizzle. Yup. I text Curie.
Found a guy. Might be the one for the night.
She responds. Woohoo. Take a pic.
I hide a smile. And scare him away? Just take my word for it.
Fine, fine. Go for it. Bone voyage!
I shoot her a few laughing emojis. She and I have tracking apps on each other’s phones for safety, and I also know she won’t bother me for the rest of the night. Just in case.