With Marissa gone and Aspen swaying to the music like she’s at a Bob Dylan concert not a rave in San Francisco, I close my eyes and get back to the music. It doesn’t take long for someone to think I’m here by myself. Mystery hands wrap around my midsection from behind coming to rest above my belly button. I instinctively slow my dancing so I line up in speed and rhythm of whoever’s behind me.
The mystery hands tighten, tugging me back closer to a solid body. He doesn’t do any more than that so I allow it. Once my mystery dancer starts trying to rub his dick into me or any other shady moves, I’ll put a stop to it and tell him off. But a bit of dancing with a stranger won’t be so bad tonight.
It takes longer than expected for him to cross the line, but Marissa still isn’t back so either the wait at the bar is outrageous or my perception of time is wonky. Without thinking I lean my head to the side, exposing my neck. It’s possible he took it as an invitation to put his dirty stranger lips on it, but it’s still not cool. No one kisses me without my permission.
I whip around ready to push him away and give him a piece of my mind with a lecture about consent but stop when our eyes make contact. My heart beats crazy in my chest. It must be off because of how loud and thumpy the music is. I’m sure I saw something similar on TV last month.Law and Orderis considered educational, right?
He smiles, his lopsided grin causing his small dimple to pop out. He runs a hand over the prickly stubble on his chin and my stomach flip-flops. Dressed in dark wash jeans and a short sleeve baby blue polo, there’s nothing for me to do but laugh. Somehow Grant found a way into the club without the all-white attire. Even in the middle of a rave he’s East Coast prep.
“What are you doing here?” I yell pointing to the floor.
“I can’t hear you.” His face pinches together in concentration. “Do… we’re… a rave?”
Most of his words lost in the music, I only understand those heard in between beats. I throw my hands up in a defeated fashion and point a thumb toward Aspen. Grant nods his head in understanding.
Marissa dances up behind Grant holding out the clear cup. A few drops splash on my white tank top as she’s bumped from behind while passing it over. She scowls at Grant and shakes her head in annoyance. Tonight is girl’s night out while the boys had a Friday night meeting at Cosmo’s. Read – a night of comics and other nerdy boy activities.
Grant doesn’t seem offended by her annoyance. “Jake ratted you out.”
I warned them it wasn’t a good idea for Finn’s personal driver to drop us off outside an abandoned warehouse on a Friday night. No clue why either of them thought it would work. With my drink out of her hand, Marissa rolls her eyes at Grant and goes back to dancing. If she’s smart, she’s trying to steal every moment before her significant other busts up the party. This is not a place I foresee her protective husband letting her spend a night.
Grant’s body moves to the music, our fronts facing one another, and I decide to go with it. Even though Marissa pretends to be upset, she’ll enjoy having Ryland here when he shows up later… probably sooner than later. The feeling catches me off guard, but I’m glad Grant is here rather than on another continent. A rave-warehouse isn’t where you’d expect to find him. Unless Grant is hiding a secret party guy persona underneath all that L.L.Bean, I have to assume he’s here for me.
Strictly in a friend way of course.
I take a sip from the cup and spit the clear liquid all over the floor and Grant’s shoes. Marissa laughs and shrugs at my confusion. He looks down on his leather sandals that probably cost more than a month’s rent but doesn’t yell. Instead he shakes his head and points to my glass. I hand it over and wait for him to sip the straight vodka. He doesn’t spit it on the floor, but his lips pinch together in confusion and he hands the plastic cup back.
The music goes on and time passes. At some point Grant moved behind me and we resumed our dirty dancing, but he doesn’t go over the line again. We’ve passed the cup of clear liquid back and forth between us as the night’s gone on. I haven’t had a drink since the last time with Grant, and everyone knows how that night ended. I’ve kept my sips small and I’m just now starting to feel the alcohol. Three or four songs ago, Finn and Ryland descended on the place. Rather than whisk the girls off the dance floor, they stuck around picking up the beat and dancing with us.
Sweat beads on my forehead and runs down the back of my neck. Marissa stops dancing and takes a step away from Ryland, signaling with an outstretched finger she’s taking a bathroom break. I couldn’t be more excited. The cup is empty and I need a break with a little room to breathe myself. Grant being so close, his body rubbing against mine over and over, has shot my nerves.
Marissa charges her way through the crowd leaving a small opening for me to follow. When we reach it, the line stretches past the doors labeled for women and we take a place in the back.
“It’s hot in here,” Marissa says pulling her damp white tank top away from her chest.
The time on my watch displays 11 p.m. — normally the time I call it a night and head to bed. but after two hours of steady dancing I’m not tired.
“You seem okay with the fact Grant is here,” she says still fanning herself with the top of her tank top.
I shrug. “He’s okay.”
Marissa lets the comment pass as she leans against the back wall. “Are you giving him a chance?”
“A chance at what?” I don’t want to talk about Grant right now. Who knows what my answers will be.
“I think you should.” My nose crinkles up at her suggestion. “Look, I’m not saying have sex with him again, but you’re with friends. You don’t have to act like he’s diseased.”
“I don’t act like Grant’s diseased.” I’ve danced with him all night long.
Marissa rolls her eyes at me. “You should see you two on the dance floor. There are at least two inches between you and every time Grant steps too closely, he backs off like he’s worried you’re wired with explosives.”
The bathroom door opens and Marissa walks in for her turn. Is that how it looks? It felt to me we’d been grinding on each other all night. I’m hyperaware of his every movement.
She didn’t say the words, but it’s not hard to figure out I’m the uptight one of the group. I’ve spent years deciphering ulterior motives of people. I know disappointment when I hear it. The peer pressure coming from this group is a guidance counselor’s worst nightmare.
The door opens, two girls linking arms and giggling as they walk out. I walk into the bathroom and find the line continues on this side.
“Don’t get me wrong.” Marissa picks up where we stopped. “Grant is a moron, but once you get to know him he’s a sweet and genuine moron.”
