“You look about bowled over. Don’t reckon I blend into good old Virgin-i-ay?”
Despite her nerves, she laughed at his atrocious faux southern drawl. “Hmm. Stick with the Brit thing.”
“You don’t need to tell me, love. The girls fancy it.” Another wink and a shrug before slapping his hand on the bar, close to where hers lay, and pushing off in the direction of other customers more in need of booze than Uma.
But I sure could use the company, she thought as the anxiety trickled back in.
He’s not here, she worked to convince herself. And to prove it, she swiveled and did a slow turn to scope out the rest of the bar, secretly hoping she’d see Ivan. He would obliterate this fear of Joey. He’d take it and bash it to bits.
This was quite a hookup place, bodies bumping and humping in time to music that was as out of place as the barman—some kind of clubby dance music, electronic and hip-hop. Nothing she’d recognize.
The tiny dance floor was crowded with people—girls in a group, a few guys apparently trying to push their way in, unsuccessfully, and some couples going at it. Around the dancers were arranged a scattering of two-tops, with a few booths against the fogged-up front window. Every table was occupied.
All these people crowded into a relatively small space made it sweltering inside. Sticky. Uma had the weirdest awareness of breathing in their air. Hot, moist, full of booze and maybe sex. Most people had stripped down to tank tops and T-shirts, and she stood out for her overdressed state and the skittishness she couldn’t quite hide.
She looked around again, in search of something she could be a part of, andboom: she felt a wave of jealousy at the sight of a tall man dancing with a woman.He’s mine, her brain spat unreasonably. A split second later, she saw it wasn’t Ivan. Not even close. Jesus. When had she become completely obsessed with her next-door neighbor?
To clear those ridiculous thoughts, Uma did another quick scan of the dance floor. Her gaze kept going back to that same couple, whose torrid moves made her insides a little heavy. She was like an intruder who couldn’t look away.
What would Ivan dance like? No matter how she tried, she couldn’t quite picture it.
She came to with a start when her sweaty glass was plucked from her hand, to be instantly replaced by a fresh one.
“Watch out. This one packs apunch.”
“Mmm!” she said with a thumbs-up to Rory. “What is it?”
“Regent’sPunch. Get it?” She groaned and went back to watching her couple.
Rory’s voice was suddenly close to her ear. “Like to watch, do you, Uma?”
She turned to find him leaning across the bar, a knowing little smile on his face.
“What?” she asked, then followed his eyes as he nodded toward the couple. “Oh. I’m, uh… I’m a photographer.”
He looked interested. “That so? Well then, I reckon youarea voyeur.”
Although she blushed, Uma bit back the denial. She’d decided to stop lying, at least to herself.
“A professional voyeur, no less. Getting paid for your fetish.Lucky girl.” He pushed off and left her to think about that. Uma watched him go. Straight back, wide shoulders, thin hips…rangy. And yet, she couldn’t have been less interested. A burst of cool air whooshed in to suck away some of the room’s stifling heat, and Uma glanced toward the door, unconsciously hopeful she’d see her handsome neighbor.
No luck, but the extra jolt of excitement remained, mixing with the booze in her veins. Lord, was she in trouble.
A little off-kilter from the booze, she spotted him.Joey. Blood rushed to her face, and she almost fell off her stool in fear when he turned and—
Not him. Thank God. Not him.Her heart continued to pound a rough beat in her chest. Too big, too much.
A few seconds later, there he was again, in the mirror behind the bar. For a long, suspended moment, she could see her pulse pumping darkly behind her eyes, could hear itsthwumpdeep in her head.
In another heartbeat, the man shifted, morphed into someone completely different. Not him. And neither was the woman near the door, whose short hair was the only possible resemblance. Shaking so hard it must have been obvious to the people around her, she pushed her tunnel vision back and forced herself to focus.
Enough was enough. Fueled by Pimm’s and British punch, with a good dose of anger thrown into the mix, Uma made a decision. Joey didn’t get to show up in her life anymore. He didn’t get to be a ghost in her mind or smother her skin. This had to stop. Now. She got up, made a dash through a break in the crowd toward the restroom, locked herself inside with relief, and stared in the dingy mirror.
This is it.She grabbed hold of one sleeve. Her breath picked up, tight in a chest that had suddenly grown too small to contain it. Inch by inch, her right hand revealed a decorated left arm. And all the while, her eyes remained fixed on her face, defying her. She pulled the green fabric to bunch at the elbow and waited for her gaze to catch up.
A knock on the door broke up her internal duel, and she released the sleeve, relieved in a cowardly way, but also weighed down by so much disappointment.
That fantasy of the dancers? Of Ivan touching her, just wanting to touch her? How could any of that be possible if she couldn’t even look at herself?
