To be sure, this was no anecdote appropriate for the dinner table.
She massaged her temples trying to ease an oncoming headache. The man beside her was sprawled out on his back in a way that would have been very cute had she not just met him. What was she thinking?!
It was the music...that had to be it. And the lights. And the booze. And the way he made her hot with their dancing.
Who was she kidding? It could hardly be called dancing – he was all but filing away at her hips! And she...well, she rode him like her new bike.
The memories made her shudder with want.
There was nothing spectacular about this club. Alcohol, music, and sex driven men and women looking to forget their daily lives. All in the hopes of a few hours of release, in more ways than one.
The fact was that she had no desire to be there at all. A co-worker ran the bar every other weekend and had promised her the hitch in her life she needed, if only she would come down and dance for a while. Have a little Malibu, she said. Just get up and dance. What's the worst that could happen?
She kept asking herself 'why'. If she had no desire to be here, why had she come at all?
Spice.
Her life was dull, crap, nothing. God knows she hadn't had sex in 2 years, and the last time she had a drink was longer. Wrapping oneself up in work really did create a bitch to work with. Said bitch knew it, but was okay with doing her job, walking her dog, and doing it all over again.
Subconsciously she knew this wasn't the case.
In an effort to forget the self pity she drowned two shots of rum, one after the other. Her colleague glared at her behind the bar, not liking the fact she was still sitting there. She glared right back.
"You know, that's a sure way to get your head in the toilet before the hour is up." A masculine voice, a hint of teasing, and leaving no way out of the conversation.
"Perhaps. But the real question is, which toilet?" She smiled for the first time that night at the handsome man leaning against the bar beside her. He was not much taller than her 5 feet 5 inches, and held quite the charming smile. She couldn't tell the color of his eyes in the lack of lighting, but his hair was tossed to have the slight "angry man" look to it. Black jeans, black short sleeved T-shirt. She wondered if he had a goth thing going, but the blond hair balanced it out well. He sported a strange mark at the side of his collar that could have been a tattoo.
He sighed and shook his head. "You look like you need a dance,"
He didn't even give her a chance to give him the lame excuse she had to the handful of others before pulling her onto the dance floor. His arms were wrapped comfortably around her waist, a respectable distance from her ass.
"Well, you're quite pushy aren't you?" she said nervously.
He smirked and kissed her forehead. "Not at all, darling. I happen to really like this song."
