“I’m dancing.” Greer sounds confused. As well she should be. I’m making a scene. But I can’t seem to help myself.
“No. That wasn’t dancing. That was … That was foreplay.”
Greer laughs. “Don’t be ridiculous. We were just having fun. Did you notice the song? We were re-enactingDirty Dancing. It was a joke.” She turns and stomps off the dance floor towards a table full of people I don’t recognise, who are so far unaware of what’s going on. The guy from the dance floor trails after her.
“Come on. I’m taking you home. Get your bag.” I wish I could say I’m watching out for my best friend’s little sister. But that would be a lie. There’s no rational thought. My reaction is pure emotion.
“I beg your pardon?” Greer turns on me, hands on hips.
“You heard me. Home. Now.” I scoop up the only bag that’s unattended. Hopefully it’s hers. By now, all eyes at the table are on us.
“Hey, wait a minute …” Dance Guy starts. It takes one look from me to have him screeching to a halt.
“It’s okay, Tony. He’s a friend of my brothers.” She snatches the bag from my hands before giving him a quick hug. “Thanks for the dance. I’ll see you Monday.”
My patience is all out. I don’t know who this guy is, or why she’ll be seeing him Monday, and right now I don’t have the critical thinking skills to reason it out. I take her by the elbow to steer her around the dance floor and out of the club.
Greer pulls away with a swift jerk.
“Don’t you dare touch me,” she growls.
No sooner have we hit the damp night air on the street than she rounds on me.
“What on earth was that about?”
“What was what about? What were you about? Don’t you know what happens to women who flirt like that with men in bars?” Even I can hear how douche-y I sound. I fling my arm out when I see an approaching taxi.
“Yes. Actually. I do. They get asked on dates,” she shoots back.
I feel like my head might explode. “Just get in.” I throw open the taxi door. By now I’m snarling, having noticed her take-me-home-and-fuck-me shoes.
Without another word, she climbs in. I follow and give the driver the address. I don’t trust myself to speak, and we sit in fuming silence. The ride is just long enough for my temper to start to settle and for me to realise how badly I fucked up. I’ve never seen her look so angry. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look so angry. And I can’t blame her. The way I behaved was inexcusable. I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never felt such a wave of anger and … jealousy. Jesus, I was jealous.
The taxi has barely come to a stop when Greer throws off the seatbelt and climbs out.
“Thank you ever so much for the lift.” Her tone drips sarcasm before she turns on her heel and heads into her building.
Panicked, I jab my credit card at the reader, leap out after her, stop the security door with my foot before it closes behind her, and bolt up the stairs, catching up with her on the landing as she fishes in her bag for her key.
“Hold on a minute. I want to talk to you.”
“Well, you’re out of luck. I have no desire to talk to you.” She lifts her head, and I see her face in the harsh light from the landing, cheeks flushed, eyes chips of fury. “You embarrassed me in front of my new work colleagues. Over nothing. What the hell is wrong with you?” She pushes open the door and turns to slam it in my face, but I’m faster and stronger. I catch it and hold it open.
The glitter of her eyes and the tightness in those full pink lips tell me she’s not only angry but also distraught. I’m an arsehole.
Her new work colleagues. Fuck. I have to apologise. I want to apologise. I don’t want to see the look of accusation and anger on her face. Directed at me.
“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I embarrassed you. I’m sorry …”
“You’re sorry? What—is that supposed to make it all better?” Her voice is cold and a little shrill.
“I don’t know. I saw you rubbing yourself all over that guy and I …” I choke on the words threatening to come out of my mouth. I didn’t like it. I wanted it to be me. Despite everything I’ve said, I still wish it was me.
“You saw me dancing, Josh. Dancing. With a work colleague. And even if it wasn’t a work colleague. And even if I was rubbing all up against him, what business is it of yours?”
I try to hold the words in. I try so hard. But they shoot out of me like the cum that shoots out of me every time I think of her in the shower. Every damn morning.
“Because I wanted it to be me.”
