“Jason!” Mara exclaims when she finally notices me on the bottom step. “Look! I made shorts! I mean they aren’t perfect, a little short, but good enough to sleep in.”
It’s then I notice the sewing machine we showed her two months ago is out and an old sheet has been cut into scraps.Not too shabby.But I still don’t like the jealous green monster that rouses in my chest.
I make a point of scanning her up and down.
“Sorry, is the music too loud?”No shit.“I’ll turn it down.”
“Don’t you dare,” Dylan points at her from across the room. He looks fucking ridiculous with that flower crown on. Where did he even find those flowers? I guess our mom had more craft supplies here than I remembered.
“Come dance with us,” Mara pulls where her hand meets my bicep.
No fucking way.
I notice two empty bottles of wine on the counter.Of course.I should have known these lushes would get into the wine for their little celebration.
The clock on the stove says 11:50. Hopefully their festivities die down after midnight. After all, once midnight strikes, it’s just another day. Nothing special about it.
I resist Mara’s sloppy attempt at pulling me into their drunk orbit. She pouts puffy lips that only make me think of how they looked around my dick.
Damn,it seems like I can’t get my mind off sex around this girl.
Dylan is still dancing in his own oblivious little world.
Sidling up to me so our chests meet, Mara lowers her voice so only I can hear.
“Ya know, I don’t know what happened in your past. I don’t know why you don’t speak. I don’t know why you’re always so angry. But that’s a choice. I know better than most you can’t just wish away your feelings and your demons. But you canchooseto make a better future. You don’t have to live an unhappy life.”
Unhappy?What about my life makes her think I’m unhappy? I have a house most would dream of. I work for myself on my own terms. I don’t have to answer to anyone, not even my brother.
And as my dream just reminded me, I’m free ofhim.
I am happy.
I’m happy!
And maybe if I say it enough I’ll convince myself.
Mara remains planted in front of me a second longer before accepting defeat with a wounded puppy look on her face and stalks away. The song changes to some fifties song (quite a sporadic playlist) with a mild tempo. Fast enough to dance to but not too fast, either.
Fine. I’m not choosing happiness. I’m choosing to extend an olive branch.
My arm shoots out without a second thought, I’m not even sure I consciously made the decision. It’s like my body rejected the idea of dampening Mara’s spirits on its own. Leaving my brain a split second to catch up, I spin Mara back to me and keep our hands clamped while the other hand moves to the small of her back. I muster everything my mom taught me and start twirling her around the living room with a lack of precision. I’m not the most graceful person, but I can keep up with the beat.
The shock on Mara’s face morphs into pure joy as we jive to the music. Fifties jazz really isn’t my style, but it’ll have to do. And I have to admit, I like the smile that stretches from ear to ear on her face. She lights up when she smiles. And fuck if that doesn’t make me want to break my bitter facade to mirror the action. To fuel her glow.
Cause for the first time since she’s been here, Mara looks like she’s glowing.She looks truly happy.
Maybe it’s just the alcohol, but I swear she looks brighter.
“My turn,” Dylan cuts in. I think he’s going to grab Mara but instead he takes her place and the fucker tries to dance with me. I give him a little slap upside the head and step away before he winks at me and grabs Mara to spin her around the living room again.
I’ve done more dancing in the last week with these two than I have in the last decade.
It’s ridiculous.
Dylan certainly shows more talent for dancing than I do, and he’s far more skilled than I am. Although Mara is giggling with the music, I swear she was brighter when I was her dance partner instead.
“You’re insane,” she tells Dylan teasingly.
