Page 40 of Cakes for the Grump
We watch him move across the bar, crossing paths with a few groups of people before finally settling beside a tall woman with dark skin, her afro a beautiful halo contrasting with the sleekness of her lavender dress. It doesn’t take long for Luke to whisper something to get her laughing. His tiny smirk is back. She’s throwing her head back with mirth. What could be so funny in such a short span of time? Luke is not capable of such high-intensity jokes that I’ve seen.
“They look good together,” comments Theo.
“In an obvious way,” I say, drinking another Manhattan Theo must have ordered again for me at some point. Having it in front of me, and considering the mood I’m feeling, I can’t help but drink. Hopefully, it’s not expensive, and is on special somehow.
“Watching two tall beautiful people together isn’t a hardship,” says Theo. He is studying me closely as he says this, as if expecting a reaction. I ignore his attention, unable to look away from Luke and the woman. He’s whispered something, and she is laughing again, her hand now on his arm. He points to her drink. She shakes her head and points to the dance floor instead. Leaving her friends, they head there.
“I wish it wasn’t so easy for him,” I find myself saying after I chug the rest of the Manhattan.
“On the surface level, this might be easy for him,” says Theo, leaning back in his chair. “Other things, not so much. Trust me.”
Well, if the surface level is anything to go by, Luke is aiming for aperfect score. Catching the tail-end of a slow song, their bodies have nestled as if already in bed together, only vertically. Then a faster tune comes on, and Luke does not miss a beat, his hand leading a spin that crushes her against his back, and then a manipulation of the waist happens that has her dipping backward. The woman is rightly delighted. All she has to do is follow. He’s taking care of everything.
Strongly unbidden, a thought enters my head. That there is a correlation between dancing and the bedroom in terms of behavior, and that Luke Abbot is the type who would rule over a person’s body, directing actions like a spoiled king who works you hard, coaxing release after release out of an exhausted but willing spirit. Legs would tremble. Moans couldn’t be held back. He’d use those fingers forever, and then wickedly his mouth, and then hold you in place with his arms taunting as another hard length seeks entrance. Making you make room for him.
Separately, with no connection whatsoever to this train of thought, I decide a cold shower will be refreshing tonight.
“We should stop staring,” I say.
“We should,” agrees Theo.
Neither of us does.
Another round is ordered and drunk. I finally ask Theo why he’s friends with Luke since they are so different.
“He’s got a heart,” he says.
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“Not like his.”
I try digging deeper, but Theo enjoys mystique too much. He tells me I’ll find out.
Then we talk about his work, a topic he welcomes with great fervor. I learn he writes stories under a pseudonym about fantastical sea creatures falling in love with fantastically different anatomies. His latest pairing is the rugged pufferfish and a coquettish sea anemone. He won’t reveal his pen name, but promises to share a few chapters soon.
The song ends. They’ve separated and Luke takes the woman to an empty table, somewhat shrouded by shadows but close enough that from this distance, I can see her dress has a low back, and how thin silvery stretch marks cross the lithe line of her spine like earned petals on a branch.
How cool to present them like the adornments they are. Is that why Luke gravitated toward her? I wonder. It’s reason enough. I would too. Myown body has its varying array of stretch marks on the back of my knees and striped proudly across my hips. I shouldn’t worry about showing them off.
Without permission, my gaze leaves the other woman and wanders through smokey ambiance until his set of eyes finds me. A coil in my belly snaps to attention, pooling heat lower and lower. This is…bad. Too much. He’s caught me staring. I bet there is satisfaction coursing through his body, knowing I can’t stop—not that he’s looking away from me either.
Why not? And what next? Is he going to continue? To leave the bar altogether and ask that gorgeous woman to come along so they can enjoy themselves elsewhere?
I can’t.
The level of force I’ve got to use to tear myself away from those dark gray pools scrapes at my belly. It shouldn’t be this hard. They shouldn’t be hooks into me.
“I’m going to go,” I announce. “Is that okay?”
“Must you?” asks Theo.
“I…think so.”
“I’ll miss you,” says Theo theatrically, “but not enough to keep you if you want to leave.”
“Okay. If you’ll be fine…then good night?”
“Good night.”
