Page 17 of The Embrace of Evergreen

“To friendships, old and new.” Blue’s voice is soft, and even though I’m sure he’s just being polite, and it’s likely a toast he gives every week or something, it feels like he’s speaking directly to me. It feels like he’s glad I’m here. It feels like I’m wanted.

I clink my glass against his before braving a small sip.

“Yamato?” I’m so surprised that the question just rushes out.

Blue’s eyes widen in shock. “You know Japanese whiskey? No one drinks this but me.”

A flood of heat pools in my belly as I take another large sip. “It’s one of my favorites.”

Blue’s teeth toy with his lip ring for just a moment before he breaks into another of the most blinding smiles I’ve seen in my life. “I guess our friendship is just meant to be.”

Friendship. Something that’s been so lost to me for so many years that I’ve nearly forgotten what it feels like. I know that this is probably nothing special to him, to any of them. I mean, there are a dozen of them here laughing together like it’s a perfectly normal thing to have a dozen people in your life who like you and want to spend time with you, but for me, it feels…momentous.

By the time I’m on drink number four, we’ve been sitting in the booth for a couple of hours. Everyone has been nothing but kind to me, drawing me into their conversations and bringing me refills every time someone heads to the bar. They act like I’ve always been a part of their group, like I belong here with them. They listen when I talk and laugh at my occasional jokes. They ask me to dance and try and drag me with them to singkaraoke. They won’t stop trying to drag me up to sing karaoke. In their defense, I’m the only one who hasn’t agreed to sing. The rest of them are up there bouncing and giggling any chance they get. Gabriel and Blue have sung a handful of obscenely bad power ballad duets, and during each of them, I’ve laughed so hard my abs have cramped. I can’t even remember the last time I laughed like that. In truth, it was probably with Jordyn before I left home.

“Dance with me?” Blue’s eyes sparkle in the club’s flashing lights.

“No. Thank you, but I…I don’t dance.”

He winks at me for the second time in our relationship. “Dance with me, and I’ll get you out of having to sing tonight.”

I don’t want to sing. I don’t want to make a fool out of myself like the rest of them have been doing for hours now. I don’t think I’m even capable of letting go like that. I don’t want to dance either. People can watch and judge as I do that just as easily. Somehow, though, the idea of dancing with Blue isn’t as off-putting as it should be. It’s not like I want to kiss him or fuck him or anything else in that ballpark. I’m still just as broken as I’ve always been, even sitting here, buzzed and staring at half-naked men singing and laughing and gyrating together on the dance floor. Even though I’ve had Gabriel and Blue and a handful of strangers’ shoulders and thighs pressed up against mine in the cramped booth allnight, I don’t feel anything resembling sexual attraction. Still, something about Blue’s touch settles me, and I know deep down in my soul that he won’t let anything happen to me.

A sigh I can’t quite suppress escapes, but I reach out and settle my palm on top of his outstretched hand. “One dance.”

We twist and weave through sticky, tightly packed bodies as we make our way to the dance floor, and before I even have a chance to wonder how close I’m supposed to stand or where to put my hands or to tell Blue that I don’t think I’ve ever actually danced in my adult life, his fingers are curling around my waist. His blue-grey eyes are close enough that I can see specks of cobalt and charcoal in his irises, and his teeth are toying with his lip ring yet again. He tightens his hands as the music throbs through me, and then he’s pulling me, moving my hips with his. I don’t have to wonder or think or do anything other than respond to the pressure of his touch, and I let myself fall into the sensation and the wave of release that washes over me.

I’ve spent nearly every weekend since I moved to Seattle exploring the misty beaches and dense forests just outside the city. Every week, I pull out my map, find a new small campsite or trailhead within driving distance, and head out to sit with the sound of branches whipping in the wind and birds singing in the distance while the scents of earth and green fill my soul the way they used to when I was young and naive and spent my timewandering through dense pines and snowdrifts. I lose myself in the overwhelming experience of feeling small and insignificant while I watch the ever-shifting play of light filter through leaves and the swaying of moss-covered limbs.

Dancing with Blue feels the same somehow. I close my eyes and focus on the way my body suddenly seems so aware of his strong fingers pressing into my hips and the beat of the basspulsing through me, and the world falls away. There is no work. No stress. No numbers. There is no painting on a professional smile. No triple-checking my thoughts before I speak them to make sure I’m not going to make a fool of myself. No sense of loss and emptiness. No missing Jordyn or my mom or dad. No roaming aimlessly from city to city and state to state searching for something mysterious and indefinable.

Dancing with Blue is comfort and peace and weightlessness. It’s floating through the woods without deadlines or projects or goals. It’s the scent of smoke and pine mixing with salt and sweat. The embrace of ancient redwoods and soothing green as far as the eye can see closing in around me and holding me safe and tight and warm.

Blue

Ethan fits in my arms like he’s always been here. As if he’s meant to be here. He fits effortlessly and completely despite the fact that he’s spent the night blushing and ducking his head in embarrassment every five minutes at my friends’ crassness and the half-naked dancers. Even through his obvious nervousness and anxiety, he’s laughed until tears have squeezed out of the corners of his eyes. He hasn’t stopped smiling or shaking his head at our antics, and even though he’s declined each sweet-talking invitation to sing or dance, he’s done so with a kindness that has only led to the person asking smiling at him and accepting his refusal gracefully. It’s not awkward or uncomfortable trying to fit him into our group or my life. He knew the name of the whiskey I drink. He orders the same espressos and long blacks that I do. Even though everything about him appears to be my complete opposite on the surface, he just fits.

I am so absolutely, completely, overwhelmingly infatuated with him. That’s not something I ever expected to let sneak up on me again, and it’s definitely not good.The last time I let myself give in to infatuation, I ended up in Seattle, basically homeless and trying to convince myself that a few broken ribs aren't really all that unexpected in a passionate relationship before Gabriel had found me and talked some sense into me.

Maybe Ethan’s not even queer. I mean, even though he agreed to dance with me, I had to bribe him with the promise of karaoke escape in exchange. He hasn't responded to anyone's flirting all night. For all I can tell, he hasn't even noticed, even though there’s been plenty of interest. Maybe he's a straight, ace, Catholic monk who teases puppies for fun and murders folks in his spare time. Yep, that’s good. Maybe if that's true, then I'll be able to convince my traitorous heart that it doesn't love the way his hip bones feel under my skin and that the scent of spiced orange isn't sentimental and warm and comforting - it's cloying and sneeze inducing. Maybe I can stop watching the curve of his throat and waiting for his gaze to find its way back to mine so that I can stare into mesmerizing emerald eyes. Maybe I can stop wondering if that's what his expression looks like when he's doing something slightly less clothed than dancing at the club.

Yep. He's definitely straight, definitely ace, definitely a murderer. That’s what I’m going with.

As the bass lightens and the beat changes, his eyes snap open as if he’s awakening from a daze, the blush that’s reddening his cheeks somehow deepeningfurther as if he’s only just now realizing that he’s spent the past few moments gyrating in my arms in public.

His eyes flutter a few times as he regains his bearings before his gaze shifts to his shoes, and a nervous smile appears.

“So that counts, right? I don’t have to sing?” he yells over the music.

I don’t even try to suppress the laughter that bubbles out of me as I throw my arm around his shoulders to lead him back to our table.

“I’ll protect you. I promise.”

It’s a statement that feels more and more real with every moment I spend in his presence.

I’ve barely dragged Gabriel out of the booth so Ethan and I can slide back into our previous spot before Evie leans over the table in my direction.

“So, who are you taking home tonight?” she nearly screams over the noise of the bar and the dance floor. I haven’t taken anyone home from one of our weekend date nights in almost three months. It’s probably the longest I’ve gone without sex since I swore off relationships six years ago, but of course, Evie doesn’t ever seem to remember that once she’s had a couple of drinks.

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