Page 11 of One Hotlanta Night
“What was that?” the guy directly across from me inclines his head toward mine, eyes twinkling.
“Didn’t realize I’d said that out loud.” I smile back, because he does have a nice smile. Ugh, my kryptonite: blond haired and blue-eyed.Really, universe?Yet a quick once-over tells me everything I need to know. His polo shirt and khakis are a little too clean-pressed for my taste.
But he’s easy on the eyes, and from the way we’re lined up I’m guessing he’s going to be my dance partner. Given my anxiety that I’ve all of a sudden developed two left feet, I’ll tolerate him for the time being.It’s just dancing, not a date, I remind myself.
If—and that’s the biggestifof the year—I decide to jump back into the dating pool, I’m going to be very particular this time. Almost aggressively so.
I deserve it.
If I tell myself that enough times, maybe I’ll start to believe it.
His eyes peruse my body, and when they land back on my face, his gaze turns warm and flirtatious. It’s unfortunate that pretty boy’s not doing anything for me though.And that’s okay, you’re here to dance, not to hookup.Never mind Claire giving her blessing, the last thing I need is complications.
Now we’re told to practice the steps with the partner across from us. The lady emphasizes how women should rest their fingers on the men’s shoulders “just so,” and the guy shows proper placement of hands on her waist in order to lead the dance.
Blondie steps forward and hesitantly takes my hands in his. His palms are warm and smooth, almost too soft, and I smirk. What can I say? Old habits die hard, and I’ve been sizing guys up forever. Pretty sure I could bench press his weight.
“First time here?” he asks as we awkwardly try to imitate what the couple next to us are doing.
“Yup,” I respond, trying to make sure I don’t step on his toes. Or let him crush mine. I don’t want to ruin my new purple pedicure.
“Mine too.“ He grins.
“You don’t say,” I murmur as I take in his jerky movements. Okay, that was a bit unkind and the guy is only trying to be nice. His lack of rhythm is probably not his fault. Maybe he’s never really danced before.
“Yeah,” he laughs, “there’s this other club I usually go to with my boys”—Boys? Is he serious?—“called 112 down in Buckhead. You heard of it?” Um,yeah, but he is definitely not the type I’d expect to see there. They have a dress code that doesnotincludekhakis, I know that for a fact. But I keep that to myself in light of his obvious name-drop attempt to impress.
“Yeah, I’ve been there a few times.”
“That’s more my scene,” he says, and I bite back a grimace because I’m doubting he has the moves to make it anywhere past the bouncers at that place.
“I get that. I like hip hop too.”
“Yeah?” he grins. “I’m Matt,” he says as he lifts my arm so we can attempt a twirl.
“Oof!” The twirl doesn’t go as planned, and I trip, falling against his chest. But I’m saved from having to give my code name Amanda, reserved for those Idon’twant to get to know better. His cologne is a little strong and doesn’t blend well with the body odor seeping through. Didn’t feel like he was deliberately using the pull to grope me, so I won’t be an ass by jerking away. But the way his eyes light up at our body contact tells me that it wouldn’t take much to encourage him, and I’m not invested yet.
I pull my hand away from where it had landed on his shirt, and take his hands lightly in mine, putting some space between us. “Wanna try that forward and back step again?” His smile signals relief and I sigh inwardly.
I don’t even know this guy’s name and I’m already taking the lead here. What else is new?
One of the things I’d decided during my self-imposed, man-ban was that I wouldn’t compromise anymore on the things that mattered. My dating history taught me that you got either great conversations or great sex, but never both. I craved someone who could turn on my mind as well as my body. Who could match my energy. Who exuded power, ambition. Assertiveness. Someone who didn’t mind wearing pants in the relationship once in a while instead of leaving it all up to me.
Maybe it was my confidence they were attracted to, or maybe it was my ass, but either way, every guy I’d dated turned to me to call the shots. If I had to hear, “I don’t care what we do as long as I’m with you,” one more time, I’d gag. Somehow I ended up in charge of what we did, where we ate, even positions in bed. And that shit gets old after a while, you know?
If they didn't have enough backbone to say they hated seafood when I said I wanted to get sushi, what were they going to do when push came to shove for the real issues in life?
I’d had to be strong on my own for years, and it was exhausting, trying to juggle all the balls in my life. Terrified of what would happen if I dropped even one. My carefree smile is just a mask. I’m not the only party girl who hides her cracks with makeup.
What would happen if I couldn’t be the strong one anymore? WhenIneeded someone to lean on?
Just about the time I think I’m getting the hang of a couple of the turns, our instructors tell us that the lessons have concluded, and complimentary shots of tequila are waiting at the bar. Who am I to say no to free tequila?
This one’s for you, Claire, I think to myself as I slip out of Matt’s grasp and head over to select a glass. Tipping the shot back, I grimace. It’s 1800, but I’ll take that over Jose Cuervo any day; no matter what the magazines advertise.
I also need to start getting my drink on if I’m gonna have my quota of shots since I’m solo. Get in, get lit, then sober up with water the rest of the night. I’ve done this enough times to know exactly what my limits are and never break that rule. Like Julia Roberts said, “I’m a safety girl.” In more than one way.
The smell of body odor and faded cologne assaults my nose and I turn to find Matt standing just a little too close just as I clink my glass down. “I was going to…” He keeps talking but hisvoice fades into the background as the hairs on my neck stand up.
