Page 75 of Panty Dropper

People watching had always been one of my favorite pastimes, and the spot I was in gave me ample opportunity to do just that. My foot tapped to the lively music as I sipped the delicious drink.

An odd feeling settled over me and it took me a moment to figure out what it was. For the first time I could remember I was actually relaxing. For all of my teen and adult years, my schedule was always penciled in months in advance.

Since coming to Firefly, the stark lifestyle change had highlighted the fact that I’d been living a hamster wheel existence.

Blaine had never had a problem filling his downtime by unplugging and relaxing. I, on the other hand, had never mastered that ability. I used any “free time” I had to listen to educational or inspirational books or podcasts. In Manhattan, the rat race was the norm. Down here in Firefly, the pace was much slower and I was finding it easier and easier to slip into that mode.

Mindless. That was how I felt as I watched everyone dancing, laughing, and talking on the pier as I sipped my delicious moonshine sweet tea. And, as was the case whenever I found myself not actively concentrating on something, my thoughts wandered to Billy.

My relationship, if one could even call it that, with him was another glaring example of how much I’d changed since moving here. In the past, I’d always treated my private life the same way I’d treated my professional life. I had goals, and plans, and was working toward something.

Even before Blaine, I’d never had any casual relationships. I’d decided senior year that I didn’t want to go to college a virgin, so I dated Craig Timmons for six months with the sole purpose of deflowerment. In college, I’d dated Owen Naffari for a year in a quest to understand the male mind. It was basically a twelve-month research project. And finally, I’d dated and gotten engaged to Blaine because he checked all the boxes for what I wanted in a mate according to my long-term life plan.

I’d never had a relationship that was based on emotional connection or physical desire. I’d grown up with my mother choosing men for those reasons and I’d sworn that would never be me. But with Billy, that was all that there was.

I was so lost in doing nothing, that when a sweaty, smiling Nadia plopped down beside me, I jumped.

“Look who I found!”

She pointed beside her and it took a second before Cheyenne’s fuzzy face came into focus, “Hi!” I said, louder than I’d meant to speak. When I lifted my arm to wave, I realized that it felt heavier than normal.

“Holy shit!” Nadia lifted up the glasses that were on the bench between us. “Did you drink both of these?”

I stared at the mason jars and blinked. Had I? I’d been sipping my drink as I sat and people watched. I thought that I’d only finished one, but the evidence told a different story.

“I guess I did. I’m sorry.” I hiccupped and started to stand. “I’ll get you another one.”

“No!” Nadia grabbed my arm holding me in place. “I think you better just stay here.”

“Would any of you ladies like to dance?” I looked over and saw one of the men I’d met the first night I’d gone to Southern Comfort. His name was either Mark or Jerry, I couldn’t remember which one.

“We’re good Mark, but thanks,” Nadia answered.

Mark!That was it.

“I would love to dance, Mark!” I heard myself say.

The next thing I knew I was on the dance floor. Music playing, lights were flashing as I spun around. Or maybe I was still and the world was spinning. I didn’t know. All I knew for sure was I wished that the arms that were holding me were Billy’s and not Mark’s.

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