Page 60 of Indigo

Normally, the two of us can get through a few hours of mindless small talk, discussing things like football, work, his crazy ex-wife, the usual, but tonight both of our minds were elsewhere, especially once we received selfies of the girls in the middle of the makeshift dance floor.

This place looks exactly as you’d picture a country drinking hole. An old school jukebox that you’d think had never been touched by the amount of dust lining the damn thing sits in the corner, and there is so much fucking wood in this room it makes you look twice when taking it all in. From the darkly stained bar, to the rickety-looking tables and stools surrounding them, it’s all you see. Even the fucking floor is lined with floating floorboards that look about seventy years old, even though I know for a fact Josh only laid them recently.

Somehow, though, the place is always packed, and a couple years back, when the younger generations started moving into town, or branching out from their family homes and moving into their own places, Josh decided to push all the furniture aside, hire a DJ, and turn his little pub into a nightclub on Friday nights.

I thought the idea was ridiculous at the time, but now, he makes an absolute fucking killing once a week, so I’m glad he didn’t listen to me when I told him so.

“Beer or bourbon?” Josh asks as he moves past me to get behind the bar.

“Bourbon.”

I tighten the bun at the base of my neck, push up the sleeves my of white, long sleeve Henley, and pull out a stool. The moment I sit down, I turn my attention to the dance floor. It takes me all of two seconds to spot my girl.

Goddamn…

Smacking his hand down on the wooden surface between us, trying to get my attention as I take in Indie’s appearance, he asks, “Beam or Turkey?”

I don’t reply, ‘cos I don’t care. I focus on the curve of my girl’s ass as she sways her hips to the music, completely unaware of the fact that I’m watching her every move.

Every woman here, including Paisley, is either in the usual denim cut-offs and a singlet, making sure their tits are out and easily visible, or tiny little tight dresses that really have no place in a joint like this.

My girl, though? Nah. She’s rocking the shit out of a strapless forest green dress that flows around her hips, ending mid-thigh, complete with white embroidered flowers around the hem, and an elastic top that holds her tits up just right, allowing me to watch them move as she does.

The sexiest part of her outfit is knowing that she hasn’t dressed to impress anyone. She put on what she felt good in, and I can tell from the look on her face that she’s damn happy with herself right now.

As she slowly drags her hands up her neck and into her hair, pulling it from her nape, her eyes close. She looks so incredibly carefree as she moves to the beat of the music and lets her body react without thought or care.

I don’t miss the eyes on her from around the room, or the way my hands involuntarily clench from the jealousy that courses through me.

I know what they’re thinking, because I’m thinking it too.

The difference, though, between her admirers and me, and the reason I don’t let my anger control my next move, is that she’s leaving here with me.

She is mine. Not theirs.

Mine.

Josh places my drink on the bar and I look away only for a moment to grab it, the ice in the glass cooling my palm as I take a sip.

Wild Turkey.Good choice.

Josh leans over, and when I spot the stupid grin on his face, I turn my head toward his, and raise an eyebrow in question, not feeling like having to yell over the blaring music.

“Whipped looks good on you, mate,” he says, tilting his head closer to mine so he doesn’t have to raise his voice as much as before. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

I don’t even bother to argue the fact. I’m more than happy to hold the title.

He shakes his head as I shrug, and raises the glass he’s holding to mine, clinking them together in silent cheers.

“Going to get mine, and I suggest you do the same before one of these blokes decides to do it for you, mate,” Josh teases before finishing his drink and slamming it down on the bar.

Before I can tell him to piss off, he’s rounding the counter, adjusting the fit of his black baseball cap, and heading straight for Paisley.

I turn my attention back to Indie as the song changes to “Redbone” by Childish Gambino. She sways to the music, letting the beat lead her hips into a new rhythm, and then, as if she can sense that I’m here, her eyes snap open and lock right on mine.

I expected her to freeze, or blush like she normally does when she catches me watching her, which is one of my favourite past-times, but nope, not this time. Instead, she smirks. Fucking smirks at me.

She turns back around, quickly glancing over at Paisley, who Josh is now wrapped around, and continues to dance, to tease me, knowing I’m there, watching, and putting on a fucking show.

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