Page 43 of Summer with My Sexy Ex
I think it was me.
And just like that, I snap out of it.
Technically, a mime snaps me out of it, but it’s kind of the same thing, right?
One second, my world is filled with nothing but Wyatt Reed. And the next, a mime has interjected his face into that world, scant millimeters from mine and Wyatt’s. The mime takes my hand and pulls me down the block, motioning to Wyatt that we’re in love and running away together.
“No can do, buddy,” Wyatt says with a slow smile as he comes after us. “Afraid I’ve got dibs on this one.”
“Oh, like I had dibs on not doing the pole dance?” I say as sassy inspiration strikes and my voice returns.
“That was opposite dibs,” he says like he’s had to explain it a hundred times already.
“Is opposite dibs a thing?” I ask the mime.
He shakes his head.
“He says no,” I call over my shoulder to Wyatt.
The mime is still holding my hand. Swinging our arms between us, strolling the boulevard like we have a destination in mind. We stop to watch a group of street buskers performing a fantastic cover ofSuperstitionby Stevie Wonder. Not surprisingly, a small crowd has gathered to watch them. The mime pulls me to the front and dances.
I’m just relaxed enough to go with it. And by it, I mean that I’m swaying back and forth and letting my arms hang loose. His moves are a little erratic, and I have no hope of keeping up, so I let him do his thing and search for Wyatt.
Wait, where is Wyatt?
All night, I’ve found him easily in a crowd since his head is above everyone else’s. But that’s not the case now. I scan the people I can see, he’s not one of them. The band segues into that song that the guy listens to at the beginning of that movie, where he’s dancing in space with a Walkman and kicking little space creatures around a cave. Zoe Saldana is green, I think.
I like this song.
The mime rests his hands on my hips and has moved in closer. I’m not completely sure how I feel about it. Wyatt’s words from earlier run through my mind.
I don’t care if it was your pinkie toe, Brie. When someone’s touch makes you uncomfortable, you fucking ask them to stop. Verbally. Audibly. Clearly. Loudly.
This is just the mime’s bit, right? I want to play along, but it was funnier when Wyatt was right here and looking jealous.
The band draws a bigger crowd and people are wondering why the mime is dancing with a girl and what’s going to happen next. He keeps pointing at me and then his heart. I think some might actually believe we’re a couple.
We’re not.
It occurs to me that I’m stoned, in a strange city, surrounded by people, yet still alone, and feeling like I have no control, which I wasn’t expecting. I can’t even see the edge of the audience any longer.
At what point do I panic?
Is it now?
Tears pool in my eyes.
Where the hell is Wyatt?
wyatt
That fuckingmime pulled her into the crowd, and now I can’t see her. I push my way through the throngs of people, not relaxing until I have eyes on her again. She’s still a good ten feet from me, which I don’t like. Is she…dancing? No, she’s trying to find something.
Aw fuck, she’s trying to find me, and she looks upset.
I hate that I upset her. But relieved as fuck that I found her. Even though I’m a head taller than the crowd on average, I still raise my hand so she sees me. Relief floods her face just as the mime pulls her into a spin and dip.
“Okay, that’s enough, buddy.” I grab Bristol by the hand and pull her toward me.
