Sweet Talk by Cara Bastone
Chapter Ten
Jessie
This club has two floors and as soon as I get inside and get a beer I practically run to the second-floor balcony where I can watch the front door. I need to know the second he gets here. I wasn’t lying, this club is packed with people, but if he was really looking for someone he recognized, he would probably spot me. I’ll have to keep an eye on him so that he can’t get an eye on me.
This club is the only one within walking distance of our neighborhood and because of that, anyone who wants to dance always kind of finds their way here. It has a reputation for decent music and healthy pours at the bar so everyone from fratty trust-fund babies to people who grew up in the neighborhood come here.
I don’t necessarily stand out. But Eliot? I swallow my beer the wrong way as I spot him coming in the front door. He definitely stands out. He’s in an expensive-looking sweatshirt and limited edition sneakers. His blondish hair reflects the blue and green lights from the dance floor. He looks like he’s wearing a crown of sapphires.
I cover the bottom half of my face with my palm. My smile burns against my skin. His eyes trace around the room, and I shrink back behind my new best friend, pillar. But then something interesting happens. Halfway through looking around the room, he freezes and drops his eyes to the floor. He scratches the back of his neck and makes his way over to the bar with his eyes cast down.
He’s . . . intentionally not looking for me. Because he said he wouldn’t.
My stupid inner-crush chokes on her popcorn. I have to duct-tape her hands behind her back before she starts doing the YMCA to get his attention.
Out of the corner of my eye I see a man approaching me. I turn. He’s got two beers in his hands and a cocky smile. The blue-green lights reflect off his eyebrow ring and two lip piercings. His head is shaved and there are words spelled out on his knuckles. He eyes me up and down and looks like he’s hit the jackpot. He probably thinks we’re soulmates.
He opens his mouth to speak and holds the beer out to me.
“No,” I say. “Thanks.”
He frowns and opens his mouth again, once more holding the beer out.
“Hard no,” I say.
His frown cements into place, and he opens his mouth one more time.
“Zero wiggle room,” I tell him. “None.”
He turns on his heel and disappears back into the crowd. By the time I’m peeking out from behind the pillar again, I’ve lost track of Eliot.
Panic closes a hand around my throat. Immediately, I’m scanning the second floor of the bar, looking for that golden head of hair, certain I’m about to see him staring at me from two feet away, his mouth dropped open as he realizes who I am, his bubble gum plopped on the floor.
It’s fifteen terrifying seconds before I spot him on the edge of the dance floor down below, drink in one hand and his cell phone in the other. His face is screwed up tight as he scrolls through it. He looks like he’s struggling to see it. Maybe his eyesight is bad?
Then his expression eases and his face lights up in triumph as he presses something on the screen and then holds the phone to his ear.
My pocket buzzes and embarrassingly enough, I actually squawk in surprise. He’s calling me. I press a hand over my pocket and just watch him for a second. This is what he looks like when he’s calling me. He gets that specific expression on his face. He bounces on his toes. He pulls his lips into his mouth.
Is he nervous?
Not once in all the hours we’ve spent talking did it occur to me that I might make him nervous at all. I really assumed that that was a one-way street.
I slip my phone out of my pocket and I’m about to answer it when a woman pulls apart from the crowd and approaches Eliot.
She’s short, with pretty black hair and a big smile. He leans forward and looks intently at her face for a moment.
I know in that moment, instantly, completely, that he’s trying to figure out if she’s me. I’m gripping my beer so tight my fingers ache. I realize I’m leaning out from behind the pillar way too far.
Eliot leans back and says something to the woman. He shakes his head politely and gestures to his cell phone. But she’s got the sleeve of his sweatshirt pinched between her fingers and she’s yanking him onto the dance floor.
He looks adorably flustered, stumbling after her and trying not to spill his drink. He glances around the room before he quickly drops his eyes again. I smile behind my hand. Even right now he’s trying to keep his promise to me.
The woman is a good dancer and is doing her best to get Eliot involved. Suddenly her ass is jammed against his crotch and his eyes get very big. He’s lifting his drink high, trying not to spill it on her hair. She’s shouting to a friend, and then, yup, magically there’s a tallish brunette pressed against Eliot’s back. Eliot sandwich. I shout with laughter at his expression. He tips his head back toward the woman behind him, and as the light catches on his face, I make an attempt to read his lips.
I’m Eliot, I’m pretty sure he just said to her.
I’m laughing hard behind my hand. He just introduced himself on the dance floor to the woman trying to freak him into next Tuesday.
He’s too cute. This is terrible.
This is wonderful.
Everything in my life has become so much harder since he voice-messaged me the other night.
I finish my beer and then pass my phone from one hand to the other. Should I call him? Oh, who am I kidding, I pressed the call button ten seconds ago. The phone is already jammed tight to my ear.
He’s still got his phone clutched in one hand, and down below on the dance floor he stops for a second while he squints at the screen. His face lights up, and he answers it.
“JD!”
“Well, you certainly didn’t waste any time.”
“You can see me?”
“Yup. And your dance partners.”
“About that. I kinda didn’t have a choice?”
“I saw.”
“No chance of a rescue mission for me, huh?”
“None. I’m having too much fun.”
“That makes one of us.”
“Eliot, you might be too flustered to realize this, but you’re dancing, too.”
“Well, it’s kind of hard not to when . . . look, I’m not exactly the one in charge of my hips right now. Stop laughing!”
“I can’t! This is too good.”
“I’m glad I amuse you.”
“What? Oh, sorry. No, thanks. Yeah. No, seriously. Yeah, I’m here with someone. Seriously, man, I’m not going to drink that. You might as well take it with you. Eliot? You still there? Sorry about that.”
“What was that?”
“Just some guy.”
“Making the moves on ya?”
“I guess.”
“Hey, JD?”
“Yeah?”
“Am I the person you’re here with?”
“Huh?”
“You told him that you were here with someone. Am I crashing a date you’re on right now? Or am I the person you’re here with?”
“No comment.”
“That means it’s me, right? Cool, cool. Got it.”
“Uh-oh. Sorry. Looks like you lost your dance partners.”
“Yeah. I think disinterestedly dancing while on the phone with someone else wasn’t doing it for them.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. Hey, JD, I have an idea.”
“What’s that?”
“Wanna dance with me?”
“Oh, my God, Eliot, how many times do I have to—”
“No, I mean, you don’t have to show me who you are. Just maybe we could dance at the same time? You can be anywhere on the dance floor. I don’t care. But, like, let’s dance?”
“You’re kind of a manic pixie dream girl, you know that?”
“Can I take that as a compliment?”
“I’m not the boss of you. You can take it however you want.”
“Good. Are you on the dance floor yet?”
“Maybe.”
“Can you see me?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool. I might be Old Man River, but I’ve still got some moves, right?”
“You are . . . definitely cutting a rug.”
“You were wrong about me being a manic pixie dream girl. If I were, I’d be dancing like this.”
“Oh, my God! Stop that!”
“Yeah, wow. That’s hazardous. I’m getting dirty looks.”
“Probably because you’re the weirdo flailing on the dance floor while he talks on his cell phone.”
“And you’re not?”
“I don’t flail.”
“Yeah, you’re too cool to flail.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because of the way you sound. It’s pretty clear that you’re cool.”
“I do all right.”
“That’s what someone cool would say.”
And so we do this. For almost an hour. He’s staying on his side of the dance floor like a good little boy. And I stay on mine like a terrified little girl. I keep my back to him because I’m continually petrified that he’s going to glance up and recognize me. And if he sees me, I won’t be able to play it off. I’ll have the phone to my ear and the look on my face to prove it.
Weirdly, it might be the most fun I’ve had on a dance floor in years. I’m alone but not alone and it . . . feels good. Eliot is in my ear and across the dance floor and it’s just the two of us surrounded by extras in our movie. It’s like we hired all these sweaty, horny, fun-loving people to hit on the downbeat. If I happen to glance at him during a random time, his dance moves are cute and kind of conservative. But if he’s saying something to me and he thinks I might be watching, suddenly he becomes your dad at a cousin’s wedding. He’s trying to make me laugh, and it’s working.
Because I have these things called boobs and I’m on a dance floor, it’s inevitable that I have to deal with some suitors. Most of them back away quickly after making eye contact with me. I’m pretty sure my face says Ruin this moment for me, and you’re getting an elbow to the throat. But a few of them are a little more persistent, and I have to work my way through the crowd to get rid of them.
A few times I’m suddenly too close to Eliot. I have to dog-collar my crush to keep her a safe distance away from him.
On my way out, I pass just two feet behind his back, close enough to see the way the sweat has curled the hair behind his ears. I’m playing with fire and I almost don’t care. I’m torn between sprinting from the club and trying to suck that sweatshirt off him with a straw.
I’m five blocks away when Eliot realizes that something is different.
“Hey! Wait! I can’t hear the bass on your end of the phone call. Did you leave?”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“Well, why didn’t you tell me?”
“You seemed like you were having a good time.”
“JD, you were the main ingredient to that good time. I do not need to stay in that loud, stinky club without you.”
“Are you headed home now, too?”
“Yup. Ahh, fresh air. Well. That was an experience.”
“Hey, can I ask you something?”
“Sure. Anything. I love this game. Ask me a million questions.”
“Wow. Are you drunk off that one mixed drink?”
“I’m riding the high off my first club experience in half a decade. I feel like I could bench-press a car. I might never sleep again.”
“God, you’re like a kid after recess. I bet fifty bucks that you pass out the minute your head hits the bed tonight.”
“Is that why you do this? Go to the club? You sleep well afterward?”
“Hey, I was the one who was asking questions, remember?”
“Right. Sorry. I got sidetracked. What was your question? Ask away.”
“Do you have bad vision?”
“Huh? Oh, no. Twenty-twenty the last time I got an eye exam. Why?”
“Well, when I saw you looking at your phone earlier, you were squinting really hard, and I just wondered.”
“Oh. Right. That.”
“Sorry, is it something I shouldn’t ask about?”
“No, no, that’s fine. My vision is good but . . . I have trouble reading. So, sometimes doing stuff on my phone can be kind of a nightmare for me.”
“Oh. Like dyslexia?”
“Bingo. And some other learning disorder-related stuff.”
“Is that why you voice-message instead of text?”
“Yup. And I’ve found a lot of other strategies to manage it. But sometimes, when you’re in a dark club with flashy lights and you can’t voice-activate your phone, you just have to squint like an old man and try to decipher your contact list.”
“Ah. I understand.”
“It’s funny.”
“What is?”
“Well, I’m not ashamed of it anymore. I used to be terrified of someone finding out about it and I went to all these lengths to hide it, but over the years I’ve really come to terms with who I am. But, yeah, right now I’m learning that apparently I can still be a little embarrassed when I’m telling a pretty girl about it. It’s surprising, is all.”
“We’ve all got our stuff, Eliot.”
“You too?”
“Oh, I definitely have my stuff. I’d tell you that you have nothing to be embarrassed about, but it sounds like you already know that.”
“Yeah. Sometimes you just have to let embarrassment run its course, I think. That’s the only way to get rid of it.”
“True. Hey. Why’d you assume I’m pretty?”
“Oh. You had to turn down a few people at the club. I just figured you’re probably cute.”
“Ha. Wow. Cute is . . . not it. And honestly? I could be wearing a Charlie Brown pillowcase over my head and still get hit on at the club.”
“Ah. I get it. So, you must be stacked, then.”
“I—”
“Oh, my God, can we please go back in time and space to a dimension where I didn’t say that? Jesus, Eliot. NO! Go back!”
“You sound like you’re attempting to perform a magic spell right now.”
“I’m waving my hands through the air like a wizard. People are crossing the street to get away from me.”
“There goes your inner manic pixie dream girl again.”
“Seriously though, I wish I hadn’t said that. Did it offend you?”
“Eliot, do I sound like it offended me?”
“No. You sound . . . hey, JD?”
“Yeah?”
“Now can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“You know how you aren’t telling me who you are?”
“I’m familiar, yes.”
“Well, is it a game to you? Because it’s fun? Or . . . is there a real reason?”
“. . .”
“I only ask because, well, for one, I really wanna know. But also because hiding who you are really doesn’t seem like your style. Admittedly we don’t know one another very well yet. But your vibe is somebody who is really confident in who you are. It just doesn’t really fit this whole hiding thing.”
“. . . Hey, I just got back to my place. I’m gonna try to get some shuteye.”
“Oh. Sure. Yeah. Of course.”
“Talk to you later, Eliot.”
“You too, JD. Hey! Wait!”
“Yeah?”
“I had fun tonight.”
“Me too.”