Page 3 of Dancing Diva
What the hell is wrong with me? I was just ready to fight two guys for something not much worse than the thoughts rolling through my head.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
She smiles brightly, and my heartbeat sputters in my chest.
“I’m Claire.” She holds both hands out to me. “Dance with me.”
"I don't think so," I say with a chuckle. "Not enough room. Why don't you get down before you hurt yourself, and I'll dance with you all night long if you want."
She considers my offer, but before she can decide anything, a stream of police officers make their way into the club, causing the crowd to part. I wonder for a moment if maybe the two guys called the cops because of the incident with the phone, but there are way too many here for that.
The music stops, and the reprieve from the pulsing bass is almost just as deafening.
"We need everyone to exit the club quickly!" One of the officers near us announces. Suddenly the laid-back atmosphere is replaced with a heavy tension. "There's no need to panic. Please make your way to one of the exits."
“Claire, we’ve got to go,” I tell her.
She shakes her head, still dancing to the club music that’s no longer playing. Another officer walks over to us.
“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to get down. Now,” he says up to her.
“I’m good,” she says, still dancing.
I laugh, looking nervously from her to the officer. “She’s kidding.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, she is.”
The crease between the officer's brow deepens, and his hand moves to the handcuffs on his hip. "Ma'am."
“I’ve got her,” I tell him.
“See that you do,” he says to me and then gives Claire another look before moving on.
I don't bother trying to coax her down. Clearly, this good girl is trying to break bad, and eventually, if she's not careful, she will get her way. There’s no time to try and reason with her tipsy ass—so I don’t. I reach out and loop my arm around her knees, pulling her towards me. She loses her balance and drops over my shoulder.
3
CLAIRE
The sensation of being carried on this guy's shoulder wouldn't be so bad if it weren't making my head spin. The hard liquor churns in my stomach like a handful of metal bolts in a blender.
“Put me down,” I grumble.
“Not until we are outside,” he says.
Normally I’d feel self-conscious about the looks being thrown my way by the other people exiting the club, but all I can think about is not releasing the contents of my stomach down this guy’s back.
He doesn’t set me down immediately when we are outside. We move with the current of the people exiting the club.
"Here," the guy says, finally leaning down to set me on my feet, but the alcohol in my system makes my legs buckle beneath me. "Whoa. You okay?"
I look up into his dark blue eyes and really see him for the first time. He isn’t classically handsome in the way you see leading men on the movie screen today, with their symmetrical pretty boy features. Those guys never did anything for me. Their perfections didn't seem real in a world full of imperfections. But this stranger standing in front of me with his aquiline nose and square jaw, I realize that it's no longer the booze in my blood that's making it hard to stand up. He looks like the old Hollywood actors in all the classic movies I loved watching when I was sick. I’d fill my days watching nearly every movie ever made.
“Are you okay?” he asks again, leaning down to meet my eyes. There's something about him that feels familiar, and I can't help but feel drawn to him.
My limited experience with men prior to now hasn’t deepened the insight into what I’m feeling at this moment. I’ve felt the physical urges of attraction but never the emotional. I don’t know if it’s because he looked out for me when he didn't have to, and no one else did, but I don’t want this connection to end.
