Page 68 of Giovanna

We laugh, clinging to each other and to our own stomachs. “Gotta laugh or I’ll cry,” I wheeze.

After much protesting, I allow Massi to drag me over to where Giovanna and her friends are hanging out. I scan the women trying to assess if any might be Gio’s type, but the truth is, I don’t know what her type is. The women I saw her with when I was younger were pretty femme if I recall, but that was a long time ago.

I’m unimpressed to see that the most feminine woman in the group is standing next to Giovanna with her hand on her shoulder. She’s just wearing jeans, but has a face of makeup and long straightened hair.

I hate her immediately.

The feeling takes me back to when I was young watching Giovanna make out with her friends beside the pool. I turned into quite the green-eyed monster and it looks like I still have the potential to do that as an adult.

I’m suddenly self-conscious of my high-waisted tight leather miniskirt and tucked-in sequined camisole. I’m one of the few women in high heels and I look like a tourist. Or a fag hag. A straight woman dropping into a gay bar to gawk.

The establishment is full of glaring symbols of gayness. Cues worn to signal belonging to the group. Blue hair, facial piercings, undercuts, and pieces of rainbow clothing. None of them are my style, but maybe I should have made an effort to not look quite so fucking straight.

We are only a few metres away when Giovanna spots us. She raises her eyebrows and beckons us over. “Fancy seeing you two here,” she teases dryly.

I look up through my eyelashes at her and give her my best seductive smile. She holds my gaze for a second longer than she should and the muscles on the sides of my tummy contract.

“This isn’t your usual scene, is it Francesca?” she remarks.What a loaded question.

“I’m sure you know what they say about assumptions, Giovanna,” I take my bottom lip between my teeth and half smile. She swallows hard and the muscles in her neck and jaw flicker in a way that has me dreaming about kissing those spots.

Massimo leaves us leering at each other and sidles off to speak with Bluey. He is subtle, but I wonder if he would’ve done so if he hadn’t just learned that I’m in lust, and love, with his sister.

Giovanna introduces me to a few of her friends and it brings me great satisfaction to see her shrug off the hand that had remained determinedly on her shoulder. The woman the hand belongs to, Bex, looks put out. She flicks her sheet of shiny straight hair over her shoulder and glares at me as if she senses immediately that I’m competition.

I inch a little closer to Giovanna, taking advantage of the crowded room and the bustle of bodies until our arms can’t help but brush each other every time we move.

“You having fun, Ches?” she ducks down and places her mouth next to my ear. An involuntary shiver runs up my spine and she must feel it because she chuckles softly and places a hand on the small of my back.

I feel like I’m dying and I’m not sure if I’m heading to heaven or hell. The lightest of her touches has my heart racing. A second of eye contact catches the breath in my chest.

“I’ll have fun if you dance with me,” I reply in a wild stab at being bold, hoping and wishing she will ignore all the reasons she should say no.

For a moment we stand chest to chest, our bodies touching ever so slightly when our exhales synchronise. She looks down her nose at me, thinking and serious and I swallow the urge to reach up and run a finger over the scar in her eyebrow. I can’t imagine her face without it. The imperfection makes her infinitely sexier.

After a beat, she sighs as if defeated. She finishes her beer in one smooth gulp, drops the empty bottle on a nearby bar leaner, and takes my hand, leading me to the dancefloor.

Fuck. I didn’t think about what to do if she actually agreed to dance with me. My hands begin to tremble and Giovanna squeezes the one she holds in her own gently. She casts a sexy grin over her shoulder and I swear my brain shortcircuits.

At first, we kinda just dance next to each other, bumping occasionally. I know I can dance well enough that I don’t look awkward. I’m somewhat of an expert in dirty dancing, thanks to Giovanna’s little brother.

Massimo, not Elio. And not that he ever let me dance with anyone else.

I push down a small wave of anger at the realisation that Massimo was preventing me from dancing with any other men under orders.

An expert at dirty dancing with my gay best friend who was paid to babysit me. Pathetic.

After a few songs I begin to relax and no longer feel like my heart is threatening to go into cardiac arrest. She is loosening up too. She is more of a contained dancer than I am. The classic butch two-step with minimal upper body movement. But, we are moving in sync with each other now. My fluid sensuality meeting her strong sexual energy.

Madonna. Whitney. Mariah. Beyonce. This DJ loves his pop queens.

As we jump around to Lady Gaga’sAlejandro,singing along with everyone else, Giovanna smiles so widely at me that it feels like my heart swells and is too big for my chest. Her whole face changes when she smiles and because she so infrequently bestows them on anyone, it feels like a gift.

The music changes andGAY 4 MEby G Flip and Lauren Sanderson comes on and all the women in the room squeal and holler. The dance floor is suddenly full of more women than men.

I bite the side of my bottom lip, thinking about how relatable the lyrics are and Giovanna laughs, cupping my face with both hands. “You’re fuckin’ adorable,” she shouts above the music, and my heart stutters and then soars.

I turn to face away from her but move closer, my bum pressing back into the front of her jeans. Closing my eyes I swivel my hips and gyrate. I’m not giving her a lap dance, but I am telling her that I would if she asked.

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