fingernails. I’ve got a riddle or two for her in my boiling, red thoughts.
Feel a girl’s hand at my elbow. Must be my blue-flaxened friend. Turn to see. Wrong. Strange.
A tall, redhead sways her head with the weight of one drink too many and talks into my ear way too loudly.
“I have a gorgeous friend who thinks you’re hot.”
“What?” I respond—too much on my mind for this nonsense to make any sense.
“His name is Jake,” she says pointing near the stage at a boy with spiky, thick, gelled, black hair that points in many directions, “He’s hot—thinks you’re hot and wants to dance with you.”
The boy raises his head in the air, pointing his nose at me like a wolf to the moon as if he can hear what we’re saying. He dances with a brunette and a blonde in front of him.
The redhead says in a quick slur, “That’s just our friends—they’re not his girlfriends.”
Don’t care if they’re his wives. Nothing wrong with the boy, except for two rubber bands bouncing atop each of his shoes around his ankles. Any other girl would go to him—he’s already dancing with a blonde and a brunette and has a redhead matchmaking for him—he’s surrounded by a Neapolitan girl entourage, but not me. He might as well be a smelly animal, some furry werewolf or something, for all my heart cares. I’ve seen the beginning of love, felt it shoot through me, and it doesn’t look like him.
My eyes have already chosen what my love looks like.
Song ends. The ceasing of music makes me panic that it’s not all that’s ending.
Mumble no thanks or something that sounds like that to the redhead and turn away quickly.
Gray stands with his hands at his sides, not dancing, so much energy, so beautiful, and standing like a statue, warmth frozen over, waiting for me.
Glance at Jake, then to Lyle, and back to my Gray. Gray is to men what men are to children. They’re all male humans but are so far apart in development that they require different names.
He waits. For me. Could jump right into his arms, but I grasp his hand and put it against my waist.
His eyes flash awake. Energy floods back into him. Through him it tingles into me.
His voice seems to run down my spine, “The whole world tries to tear us apart.”
The truth of his words sparks a wave of fear that makes my lips twitch. Lyle. Jake. Ponytail boy. The redhead girl. Fingernails girl. Even Ambrosia. Right—they all pulled us apart. Only boy I’ve ever wanted this way. So unfair.
“They won’t win.”
His words warm me, melting all worry, lighting me up from the inside.
Closely-shorn sideburns run from underneath his shoulder-length hair; giving way to angular, sculpted cheekbones; smooth skin clinging to them even tighter than his gray shirt stretches over his pecs and down toward his small waist. He’s a beautifully torn edge, equally full of the savage and the tantalizing. He could send a wolf pack reeling away in fear or bring any woman to her knees with the same confidence-soaked right-side sneer of his upper lip, and right now it’s focused on me.
His smile-sneer raises a little higher as he dances, and I wonder not if I’ll run from him or step even closer to him, but I only ponder if he is aware he is doing it or if it is beyond his control. I think I’d tingle even more if I knew his unique smile was uncontrollable around me.
My head barely reaches his shoulder, but I leave it there. Cheek pressed against him. My eyes close. Face overtaken by smile.
Such a wild place. Never thought I’d be happy here. So odd that I found him in this strange environment. I feel like I let Ambrosia lead me into hell only to find someone who doesn’t belong here any more than I.
Open my eyes, and for the first time while we’ve been dancing, he looks away from me. Toward the stage. Ambrosia. Dancing.
Lots of guys watch her dance, but his face grows disgusted.
I ask, “What is it?”
Shakes his head.
I squeeze his forearm. He looks in my eyes—still silent. I say, “Tell me.”
“Your friend really shouldn’t be drinking.”
“Why not? This is a bar, isn’t it?”
“Na-nevermind,” he says, looks away from me, and shakes his head to wipe the topic clear, but he still looks very annoyed.
Did I say something wrong? Heaven a moment ago—so perfect. Now he’s angry. What’s his problem all of a sudden? Wish I knew. Then I could decide if I’m irritated or if I just want to help him solve it.
He looks at me—intent eyes and strong lines of his cheekbones offer no clues to his thoughts.
“You’re gorgeous.”
My bottom lip quickly finds its way behind my top teeth, feeling like it’ll burst.
His hand reaches my chin. I release my lip—hold back blushing—lift my head. Pulls me in. His lips come together. For me. So close.
Colorful drink splatters all over a face near the stage.
Furious, Ambrosia shouts at Roderick who drips with her sweet drink. Roderick’s nails dig into her forearm.
“Help her!”
Before the words are gone from my lips, he’s on his way.
A wicked smile comes over Roderick’s face as Gray approaches. Still grasping her forearm, he tugs Ambrosia roughly to the side.
Gray stops directly in front of him, stares him in the eye, and in a flash squeezes Roderick’s forearm that holds Ambrosia. Veins in Gray’s arm throb like raging rivers. Ambrosia’s hand slips out.
Blood runs from the nail marks left behind. Roderick snarls at Gray as her hand slaps him on the bridge of his nose, leaving a smear of her blood on his face.
I can read Gray’s lips as he tells Ambrosia, “Walk away.”
She obeys and turns toward me.
Roderick licks at the corner of his mouth. The two keep staring. Never budging.
Gray flings Roderick’s forearm back at him, pushing his body back a step.
Roderick sneers and puts both his open hands in the air.
Gray turns back toward us, his steps very fast, reaching us in no time.
He touches my elbow, but looks directly at Ambrosia.
Fifteen feet behind him, Roderick climbs on the stage.
Gray says in a desperate voice to my scared friend, “You know what he
She nods, eyes watery.
Two tall guys push their way past the DJ table to the end of the balcony and drop down on the stage with two loud thumps. The three of them stand in the center, casting their shadows on the movie screen. The two hired dancers on the pedestals on each side of the screen quickly flee the stage into the crowd.
Gray sees it all, looks to me with a whirlwind in his eyes, and turns away toward the bar. He pushes Lyle and the blonde who were leaning on the bar kissing out of his way. With one motion he jumps to the top of the bar, toppling drinks, spilling their liquid across the old, stained surface. Grabbing two wooden barmaid stools from the other side, he places them atop the bar a few feet apart.
It looks as though the bartender, who earlier blew him a kiss, now asks him what the hell he is doing. Gray says something to her, his face hard as stone. She nods and throws two towels on the bar, beginning to clean up the mess and console the irate customers.
Gray jumps down and starts walking back to me. Lyle follows, shouting after him. Gray ignores him.
In front of us, Gray looks sternly at Ambrosia and says, “Wait for it.”
He turns from her toward the stage.
She calls after him, “For what?”
He doesn’t turn around. His eyes don’t glance at me, but his hand quickly brushes over my wrist as he passes.
