Page 49 of Deliverance

We walk up to the third floor, Santiago and Lion leading our group. At the top of the stairs, there’s an arched doorway leading into a huge industrial-looking space filled with spinning lights and people moving with wild abandon to the pulsing rhythm of the song.

My senses are triggered and old memories scramble to the surface. Sweaty crowds. Hands in the air. Collective screams. Bodies swaying in unison.

I don’t know why I’m feeling so nostalgic about time that’s passed. Must be the sight and the taste of chaos.

Drew grabs my hand and pulls me through the wall of gyrating strangers and toward the bar. Surprisingly, there’s no line. Just a few meandering customers, one of them flirting with a bartender. It’s so obvious, it makes me cringe a little, but I suppose at that age, cringey is acceptable, and suddenly, I want to be twenty-one again. I want to be that guy without a care in the world. That guy who does stupid things without worrying about the consequences. That guy who doesn’t know yet that years later, his best friend will OD in front of him.

“What do you want to drink?” Santiago slaps my back and whips out his credit card. “First round’s on me.” He has to yell in order for me to hear him over the noise.

Drew’s fingers are still linked with mine and my skin where our palms connect is abuzz. “Whatever you’re drinking,” I tell him, my mind not quite working, because I can’t stop thinking about a delicate female hand in mine. It feels warm and…right. As if it belongs there, and I wish I could hold her all night, but eventually, she withdraws to grab one of the many margaritas the bartender lines up in front of us.

“Hope you like it.” Santiago smirks, pushing a tall glass full of clear liquid in my direction before diving into the crowd. Lion and Bebe accompany him.

“What’s this?” I ask Drew, staring at the offering with suspicion. After Chance’s death, I stopped consuming alcohol in the quantities I used to drink when he was still alive. Those few weeks that followed his funeral, when I was so piss-drunk that I couldn’t remember my own birthday, were my final days of hard drinking. Now it’s just a glass here and there while out with friends.

Drew sniffs the drink unceremoniously. “Tom Collins.”

“You can really determine simply by smelling it?” I laugh and prop my elbow against the bar, my gaze locked on hers.

“Santiago is pretty predictable.”

“So…what’s his deal?”

I realize my question doesn’t sound as intended, because Drew’s features suddenly pinch. Besides, screaming every single word makes the conversation even more challenging.

“What do you mean?” She takes a small sip of her margarita.

“He knows I’m straight, right?” It’s probably best to clear the air now, so I come out with it.

“He’s not hitting on you, if that’s what you think.”

Her words offer a small relief, but for the sake of keeping things neat between us, I decide not to mention the fact that her friend didn’t necessarily make any attempt to keep his hands to himself on the way here.

I give him the benefit of a doubt because he’s Drew’s friend. Nothing more.

“Hey.” I lean forward to bring my lips to her ear. “I’m sorry if what I said sounded weird. I don’t mean to insult anyone. Thank you for inviting me.”

She shakes her head lightly and smiles. “It’s okay. Santiago’s very protective of me and I’m very protective of him.”

I nod and understanding passes between us. If I hurt her, I’ll be facing the wrath of the Latin playboy. And vice versa.

The music flowing through the room dies down.

“Yo, yo, yo, yo! Kids! What’s popping tonight?” an enthusiastic male voice hollers over the final notes of the song. “Are we having a good time?”

The crowd hoots, a sea of hands thrust in the air.

“I can’t hear ya, L.A.! Are we having a good time or whaaaaaaaat?!”

My gaze sweeps over the space and darts to the mezzanine level, where in a small glass booth, a young dude with short bleached hair is screaming his guts out. Next to him is a woman in a glittery tank. Both are wearing headphones.

In my peripheral, I see that Drew’s sipping on her margarita, expression serene despite the madness around us. Ahead, on the floor filled with people dressed in all sorts of flashy clothes, I notice Santiago in the company of a young gal in leopard print leggings and a matching top. They stand close enough for me to figure out they know each other well. Their bodies, undulating to a rhythm only they seem to hear, fit like two pieces of a puzzle would. Their drinks are up in the air, glasses and hands pressed together. I’m expecting that Tom Collins to spill over the rim any second now, but apparently, man’s got a good sense of balance.

A dash of jealousy rushes through me when I follow Drew’s gaze. Her eyes are on Santiago, and I wonder if they’re more than just friends. Under different circumstances, I probably wouldn’t care, but somehow, when it comes to this woman, my entire being is twisted up on the inside and I don’t want to share.

“Watch this!” she shouts, our shoulders accidentally brushing when she leans into me.

The crowd begins to part like the Red Sea for Moses. The DJ’s done talking and the remix of the latest chart-topping pop single is now blasting through the room. The lights dim for a moment, sending the audience into a clapping fit, and when they come back on, there’s no one on the floor but Santiago and the leopard print gal. Their drinks are gone, and I’m certain I’m about to witness something interesting.

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