I spot her, though. Over in the corner of the main living room, talking to a group of girls. I can’t tell what is being said, but hand gestures make me think she’s being introduced to them by Amelia. Sailor doesn’t have any other friends, so it would make sense. One of the girls is staring at Sailor like she’s an alien, while the other ones seem friendly.
There is always one in the bunch.
If she’s mean to Sailor, I’ll kill her.
I keep my distance, taking up space in the corners and shadows, keeping out of her view but always having eyes on her. She gets drinks multiple times, and with each one, she seems to loosen up just a little more.
I don’t like the idea of her and Amelia being at a party alone, drinking, but there’s not much I can do other than watch and make sure they are safe.
Eventually, they make it onto the dancefloor, which is the living room in the back by the DJ. I keep along the wall, watching them together. They chose not to stay with the other girls, and instead did their own thing. Mingling, drinking, talking. Now they’re dancing together, both looking thoroughly intoxicated.
A guy makes his way over to them, and smiles down at Amelia. The hair on the back of my neck stands up, because if he tries talking to my girl, there’s going to be a problem.
I take the last sip of my beer, toss the can onto the table near me, and stand straighter, watching the interaction. Sailor doesn’t even seem to notice the guy. Which is a relief.
Amelia gravitates toward him though, and they start dancing. Next to Sailor at first, but then they end up moving away.
I shouldn’t do it… but I’m going to anyway.
I push my way through the crowd, making sure I’m at her back. I make my way to her, shoving through the warm bodies with only one thing in sight. She seems so far away until she’s right there, inches from me, moving her body to the beat, dancing all on her own as if she’s the only one here and the music is just for her.
Turns out I don’t need alcohol to do something stupid.
I step to her, and inhale her scent. Before I can stop myself, my arm is around her waist and my body is moving with hers. She pauses for a brief moment, and I stop too. I wait for her to turnaround and look up at me. I wouldn’t care if she did. Not now. I can’t take this anymore. I hate this distance between us. I need her.
If she saw me right now and ran, I’d find her again.
If she turned around and panicked, I’d go after her.
It’s stupid, I know. It’s risky, but it’s worth it. Just for this. Just for a moment of us being us… not Shadow and mine. Well, always mine, but as Sailor. My little dove.
To feel her body against mine, to have my arm around her protectively, where she belongs, it’s perfect. To smell the sweet scent of her hair and know that right now, nothing in the world could hurt her because I am here to protect her, no matter what.
I prepare for whatever is to come when she looks up at me over her shoulder.
But she doesn’t. I’m not sure how long she stands frozen for, and I couldn’t begin to guess.
Then she starts to move again, without a care in the world, swaying her hips to the beat, and her fingers digging into my arm, holding me tighter to her. Like maybe she knows and she’s okay with it.
As we dance, I pretend, for just a few moments, that she does know it’s me. That she wants it. That this is her forgiving me and accepting me back. That from this moment on, it’s us again. Just her and me, together.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sailor
It’s been so long since I’ve seen him so I can’t be sure my memory isn’t playing tricks on me, but I’m pretty sure it isn’t. Though, it could be the alcohol. I’ve had a lot of it. More than I said I would. Which wasn’t hard, considering I said I wasn’t having any. But I lost count of how many cans I’ve gone through. Five maybe? Maybe that’s not a lot, but I never drink, so it’s a lot for me.
There have been too many nights I’ve dreamt of Jaxon. Too many days he’s filled my mind. I refused to look through our text thread, but I haven’t deleted it. I did delete the photos he sent me that I’d saved to my phone, but they’re still hidden in our thread. They’re there if I wanted to look at them. I’ve wanted to, but I won’t. I don’t want to torture myself.
But even after not looking at photos of him, and not seeing him for months, I remember exactly what he looks like. I remember all the curves, the smirks, the muscles, the way he smells… but mostly, I remember the tattoos.
Those are what I noticed first, after all. They’re what I saw first, what I memorized when I didn’t know who he was. I recall his tattoos as if they were my own. A little obsessed maybe.
Again, it could be the alcohol or just my head… but the arms around me on this dance floor look too familiar. Not just the arms, but the tattoos. The skeleton tattoo along the back of his hand and fingers… it’s common, but notthatcommon. What are the odds two men with that tattoo would be interested in me?
There’s a long sleeve over the arm around me, but I see the hint of swirls along his wrist. Basic. Simple. Common.
But what are the odds.
