Page 82 of The Cabin

“Oh, we know, sweetheart. Grayson called to fill us in.” My eyes narrow. Excuse me?

“Right, yeah. I’ve just been dealing with so much,” I stammer, trying to stay present in the conversation. He didwhat?

They keep blabbering, “He’s so nice! We’re so glad you made a friend up there. God knows you need one…”

“Oh, sorry, about to lose service again, talk to you soon!” CLICK. I wish phones still clicked when you hung up. Or snapped shut or something. I can’t even slam it back down on the receiver. It is so unsatisfying to go to angrily end a phone call and nothing happens.

I scream my frustration out into a pillow.

What do youmeanGrayson called them? How did he even get their number?

I don’t know if I should be pissed or impressed or flattered. I think I’m all three.

I wanna scream. I wanna yell. I wanna pitch a fit. I wanna start a fight. I wanna give all of these freaking emotions some place to go that isn’t bouncing around my body, bubbling up inside me. And I especially want them to direct their attention anywhere other than me.

I’m going to get drunk. No. I’m not. It’s too early.

I’m going to go buy a super hot outfit andthenget drunk. Yes. This sounds like a great, healthy coping mechanism. The best. Go big or go home. Because if I get drunk and flirt with random bar people that’ll show Brian that I’ve moved on with my life. The logic is so sound.

Maybe I should spend my life savings and order an Uber home. Or find a kickboxing class. Or just kick box someone in the street. That’s edgy and cool.

Decisions, decisions.

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Surprise! I’m drunk at a bar in a really hot outfit. Please don’t ask me how I went from insecure all day to dancing my ass off at this bar, totally feeling myself. They’re two different concepts. Meaningless dancing fueled by alcohol? Easy. Catching feelings and having to deal with the inevitable heartbreak? NO THANKS.

Man do I love to dance. Why don’t I ever dance? I’m going to dance every night for the rest of my life. My calf muscles are gonna be hard as rocks. Hell yeah, go rocks!

I take another sip of my drink as I do my thing on the dance floor. I’ve spent half the night movin’ and groovin’ free as a bird, and the other half dancing with the other people boogieing out here. It’s been magical and I am having a blast.

Sorry, did you say something? What? I have emotions to deal with? Sorry! Can’t hear you over the music. *Gestures towards speakers with thumb*.

I think I’m going to finally get a tattoo. Wow. That’s brilliant. I’m going to get a tattoo to remember this feeling forever.

Just then, one of the guys I’ve been dancing with on and off sidles over to me. He’s been a lot of fun. He hasn’t gotten weird and tried to like, stick his hands down my pants or anything. He’s just happy to dance and enjoy the evening.

He grabs my hips and pulls me close, my arms automatically wrap around his neck. This is the first time he’s initiated actual contact. Before, we were just dancing in the same space, scream singing in unison every once in a while.

When he spins us around, I set my cup on a random table, not trusting myself not to spill it all over him. The pop music playing keeps things light and we sing the best parts every once in a while. Eventually, a song comes on where we need to switch positions a bit. To match the energy. The vibe, ya know? I totally understand vibes. I am not a twenty-eight-year-old divorcee that had her head up her ass until three weeks ago, I am young and hip and alluring. I am the epitome of chill. I am zen and happy. Have I said cool yet?

I turn in his arms, sliding my ass back and forth against him. It’s easy. No emotions involved. No attachments. Just a man and a woman enjoying each other’s company temporarily.

There’s another song change and this time I’m twirled into someone else’s arms. I slam into their chest with a quiet, “Oof.” I look up to find out whose hands are sliding down dangerously close to my backside and my breath catches in my throat.

“What are you doing here?” I snap once I recover, but he just yanks me closer by my ass cheeks, forcing me to put my hands on his chest to steady myself. “Grayson, I’m serious what do you think you’re –”

He uses his hands to wrap my arms around his neck before letting his travel back down to their original position. “I told you that the next time you were dancing at a bar, it was going to be in my arms.”God, even when I’m drunk and pissed and ashamed and annoyed hestilldrives me absolutely wild. Even with just his words. Sometimes with just one look.

“I’m not dancing with you, you freaking called my parents and –”

He leans in close, sending shock waves down my spine when he says, “Enough, Sol. Just dance with me.” UGH. Me and my body are NOT on speaking terms. Betraying me like this. Turning into Jell-O under his gaze. I can hardly breathe as he moves me exactly the way he wants me. Spinning me and pulling me close, just to turn me back out again. His hands areeverywhere. They grip my waist, they graze my ass, they tease under my breasts, and his lips are no better! Kissing my exposed shoulder, my back, my neck, my jaw. PLEASE. Can he just fucking kiss me? Really kiss me? On the lips? Just this once?

But he doesn’t. He never does.

One song turns into two, then three, then five. I don’t know if I’m more drunk off tequila or him. Every goddamn thing about him.

He stops and his hand touches my lower back, guiding me, “Let’s go.”

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