“I know you don’t exactly want to be here,” Andre speaks into my ear so I can hear him, “but I’m glad you didn’t leave me alone with these two.” He gestures over to my sister and her friend, the same one that has been trying to get in my pants for years. Claudia is a sweet girl and works at my sister’s salon, but she’s never been more to me than a pseudo sister I felt the need to look after. Unfortunately, that line was one I never felt the desire to cross, and I hate that I can see the disappointment in her eyes when I shoot her down repeatedly.
“What? You didn’t want to be the token Black guy in the country bar?” I nudge his shoulder with my own as we both take a sip of our drinks, watching the hordes of cowboys strut by us.
“I will always be that guy,” he chides. “But now you can be the token Hispanic guy with me. And you know I do this shit for your sister.”
I rest my palm on his shoulder. “I know. You’re good to her. You better always be too, or I might just have to kick your ass and go back to jail.”
“Shut the fuck up, man. You know she’s my life.”
“Yeah. I do.”
“Boys!” Selena shouts, running over to us with Claudia at her side. She’s already at the bottom of her drink and we’ve only been standing here for a few minutes, so I know the alcohol is already hitting her. “Claudia and I want to dance. Let’s start heading toward the dance floor.”
I groan and roll my eyes as Selena grabs Andre’s hand, Claudia reaches for mine, and I let her drag me along, mentally preparing to have to let her down easy later when she comes on to me for the thousandth time, and then we follow my sister and her husband through the crowds toward the largest dance floor in the building.
A white-washed, two-rung wooden fence frames the floor with breaks in the slats to allow people to float in and out. Couples hold hands and slide along, rocking their hips and kicking their heels and toes of their boots along the polished wooden floor.
“Hurry! Snag that table!” Selena shouts as she practically dives for a table with four stools around it just as a couple leaves their seats.
“What if they’re coming back?” Claudia asks.
“You snooze, you lose,” Selena sing-songs as we place our glasses on the surface. “Come on, babe. Dance with me.” She pouts her lips at my best friend as I watch for his reaction, enjoying the fuck out of watching him squirm. She’s pleading and holding his hands while bending over to provide a view of her cleavage for him. She may be my sister, but I’m impressed with her persuasion skills.
“Fuck, babe. Fine.” Andre rolls his eyes as he rights his jeans when he stands. Glowering at me over his shoulder, he tells me with his eyes not to say a word. And I laugh, because I may not give him shit tonight, but I’m definitely going to get my jabs in about this later. “Watch the table. You know as well as I do if it gets snagged, Selena is going to have your balls.”
I chuckle while I sip my Coke. “Noted. Go. Dance with your wife.” I watch the smile on my sister’s face light up the entire bar, the gesture so normal that no one would think anything of it. But I do. Because I know that smile wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t what I did for her.
“Do you wanna dance, Javi?” Claudia purrs next to me, turning my attention over to her.
“Sorry, girl. I’m on table watching duty, didn’t you hear?”
She licks her lips and then starts to walk away from me backwards. “Too bad.” Turning around to give me a view of her ass, she marches on to the dance floor, but not before giving me a predatory wink over her shoulder. Fuck, when is this girl gonna realize I’m not interested?
I don’t have time for females and their issues right now anyway. Relationships never have been and probably never will be my thing, unless I find some woman who can handle the fact that I come with a chip on my shoulder and flare for violence.
Of course, that was the old me, not this new version I’m trying to be. But that inkling to always be looking over my shoulder, assessing the room and any possible threats to the people closest to me, the need to stand up to people who think they know who I am or what I’m capable of because of where I live or how I grew up—I don’t know if those intuitions and memories will ever leave my mind. I think people are capable of change, but there are certain inherent behaviors that are born within us that you can’t possibly overcome.
As I watch the couples dance on the floor, the song changing from a slow one to something more upbeat, a wave of anxiety radiates from my chest. I shouldn’t be here. I don’t belong here. This isn’t my scene, at all. Hell, I’m in a country bar wearing black jeans, Nikes, a gray t-shirt, and my black ball-cap on backwards. I stick out like a sore thumb, clearly indicated by the confused looks I’m getting from every white cowboy in his Levi’s walking past. The urge to pick a fight builds in my veins, a strong need to be on the defense in case someone chooses to run their mouth to me. And then I’ll be in a situation where I’ll have to decide if shutting the fucker up is worth me having to appear before a judge and defend my behavior once again.
Just
