I push to my feet, grinning as I back out the door. “Night, old man.”
“Watch your mouth,” he calls after me, but he’s still smiling when the door shuts behind me.
I weave back out of the kitchen, past Benny’s staff, and head toward our table. Zaza’s halfway through my salad, fork dangling from her mouth.
She sees me and smirks. “Mm-hmm. So? What did Benny want this time?”
I drop into my chair and steal a chip off her plate. “Business.”
Zaza rolls her eyes, giggling. “Yeah, right.”
“Come off it.” I wave her off, already reaching for the new pint the waiter dropped off in my absence. “It wasn’t anything serious. Just Benny being Benny.”
She squints at me like she can read the truth written across my forehead. “You’re lying.”
I take a long sip, keeping eye contact. “And you’re nosy.”
She throws a chip at me, which I dodge easily.
“Fine,” she teases. “You’re gonna tell me when he pisses you off anyway.”
Can’t argue with that.
We finish our food, and the waiter brings over another round of drinks. Soon enough, the music swells, and that steady bass vibrates through the floor. Zaza’s already bouncing in her seat like she’s just been waiting for things to pick up.
“Come on,” she says, grabbing my hand.
I let her drag me onto the floor. The DJ spins afrobeats into hip-hop, into some dancehall, and we move with the mix until we’re sweating.
Shots appear out of nowhere, courtesy of Benny or one of the bartenders who knows us. We toss them back, choke on the burn of Wray & Nephew, then scream-sing along to whatever Dexta Daps track is blasting. My throat’s raw, my stomach’s on fire, and my head’s floating just enough to make the room spin in the best way.
Zaza disappears into the crowd, already pulling strangers into her little orbit. I’m half-dancing, half-laughing at her antics when a heavy hand lands on my waist.
“Saved me my dance?”
Benny. Of course.
I roll my eyes, but let him tug me close. The music’s too loud for conversation, so I just move with him, his hands steady at my hips, my arms looped lazily around his neck. We’ve done this dance a hundred times before, and it’s never been romantic.
Not once.
“If music be the food of love, play on!”
Zaza hollers something across the floor, before she twirls herself right back into a group of theatre uni boys.
“Is she alright?” Benny asks.
“Yeah, quoting Shakespeare is fine. As long as it’s not Wicked.”
I melt into him.
Trying and trying to feel something that’s just… not there. Instead I imagine I’m somewhere else.
With someone else.
Fitter.
Has hair.
