To my father’s credit, he finds that funny. “Yeah, okay, I can see that. So you don’t want to go with him?”
“No, I definitely do not want to go with him. Plus, I doubt my boyfriend would appreciate me going with some guy that my mother wants me to marry.”
There’s a pause. “You’ve got a new boyfriend then?”
“I do,” I say, and even I can hear the happiness in my voice. “His name’s Scott. He’s so great, Dad.”
“You sound happy. When do you think we’ll get to meet this lucky young man?”
“Uh, I don’t know. My graduation ceremony is in a few weeks.” And since I can feel a huge inquisition coming on, I try to steer the conversation back on track. “So, if I don’t go with this Peter guy, will you still let me have the tickets?”
My father hesitates. “Let me talk to your mother, see what I can do.”
Hanging my head, I try not to let him hear the disappointment in my next words. “Okay, thanks for calling Dad.”
“I love you, Ellie,” he says quickly before I can hang up.
“Yeah, I love you too.”
Throwing my phone back down on the bedside table, I groan out an, “Ugh,” as I sit on the edge of the mattress.
Scott comes to sit behind me, bracketing me with his body. “Your parents trying to set you up on a date?”
“Yeah.”
“Good to know I’m not the only one. My grandmother tried to set me up with Señora Trujillo’s granddaughter a few weeks ago.”
“She did?”
“Yep. It’s a universal thing, I think. Now, weren’t you going to show me that dress?”
An hour later, we’re on our way to the club, the same club I almost took that drink in three weeks ago. Apparently, it’s a favorite with his friends. Am I worried? Yes and no . . . but mostly no. With my almost-defeat still so fresh in my mind, I can’t imagine a scenario that would have me considering a repeat. The sting of the experience is still too raw, too new. Even if Scott does something completely out of character, I’ve mentally prepared myself. I feel strong, stronger than I ever have as an adult. Nothing could stop me from taking care of myself at this point. In fact, tonight, when I peeled back the case on my phone to insert my ID and a few bills, I didn’t feel so much as a twinge of trepidation.
Once he’s found a parking spot, we start the two-block walk to the front door.
I hold out my phone to him. “You mind keeping this in your pocket for me?” Though he takes it, he’s not paying much attention to my words. I repress a smirk. “You said you liked the dress, Scott.”
He scoffs. “I love it, but I don’t see how I’m going to keep every guy’s eyes off of you tonight.”
The silver dress is fabulous. Though the top half has me well-covered, it fits like a glove, and while it’s not obscenely short, the bottom half leaves most of my legs on display, especially in the three-inch heels I’m wearing that make us almost the same height.
“Eyes don’t matter,” I tell him. “And yours are the only hands that will even come close. If there’s one thing I know how to handle, it’s handsy assholes.” Flashing him my brightest smile, I hold up our joined hands and duck under his arm to turn a circle. My mood is sky-high at the idea of being on his arm when I walk into a room full of people.
“Let’s hope I don’t end up being charged with some handsy asshole’s murder,” he mutters, heading for the back of the long line snaking down the block.
“Come on,” I say, tugging gently at his hand. “I might be able to get us in.”
Leading him toward the entrance, I love the way the muffled thump of the music urges me to start moving already. The few catcalls I get from the guys and grumbles of annoyance from the girls about the fact that we’re not waiting like everyone else barely register with how much anticipation is flowing through me right now.
Chico is working the door again and sees me coming. He pushes to his feet from his usual spot on his stool. “Well, well, well, mami,” he says, leaning in to receive my quick kiss to his cheek. “This,” he indicates the dress, “makes it much easier to recognize you.”
My smile falters a fraction as I step back, but Chico doesn’t give me a chance to think on it overmuch. “Nice to see you keeping better company these days,” he says, giving Scott a nod. “Scotty.”
“Chico,” Scott replies simply, but there’s something to the tone of his voice that I can’t identify, a wariness maybe.
I give his hand a reassuring squeeze, hoping to move this along even if I’m dying to ask how they know each other.
In Spanish, Chico says, “I’ve got something for you.”
“For me?”
Reaching behind the security podium, he pulls out one of this place’s coveted wrist bands that entitles the bearer to unlimited free drinks. “That’s completely wasted on me, Chico. Give it to someone who’ll use it.”
Chico’s not taking no for an answer though as he holds out his hand for mine. “Humor me. Rene will kill me if he sees you and you’re not wearing it.”
My stomach turns over. “He’s here?”
“Not at the moment, but you never know when he’ll show up.”
Rene, the owner of this and a lot of other nightclubs in the Bay area, is a good friend of Gunnar’s, my ex.
Chico continues, “He just wants a couple of tweets, or whatever it is you do that boosts business.”
Jesus, I shut down all my social media long ago. I cover my wrist just as he’s about to seal it. “Listen. I’m going to pass,” I tell him, still in Spanish, my accent getting thicker with my agitation as I grapple with the possibility of unlimited alcohol and thoughts of having to see either Rene or . . .
What if Gunnar himself is here?
But then, a sudden calm comes over me. So what if he is? My life doesn’t revolve around anyone I don’t want it to. With the calm, returns my confidence. “We just came to dance. If Rene shows up, I’ll explain.”
Chico’s surprise takes a moment to ease. I’m sure not many people turn down a band. “All right, if that’s how you want it.” He jerks his chin at the door. “You two have fun.”
“Thanks,” I say with relief.
Inside the doors, Scott pulls me aside. The music isn’t so loud here that he has to yell, and I can hear the concern in his tone. “I don’t know what that was about, but we don’t have to stay.”
“I . . .” Do I still want to be here? Now that we’re inside, I think I do. “I’m good. What about you?”
His smile in the dim entry way triggers one of my own. “Come dance with me, Opal.”
Taking my hand, he leads me straight out onto the dance floor. Nostalgia tinged with euphoria still hits me, but this time, it has a different feel to it. Now, it’s secondary to Scott’s grounding presence. Instead of reckless, I feel safe. Instead of brittle, I feel whole. And within minutes, everything is forgotten except him and the beat of the music.
Scott may not be the greatest dance partner I’ve ever had, but he knows what he’s doing. We quickly find our rhythm together and we have so much fun. He’s tall enough that we line up perfectly and the strength of his body is obvious as he twirls me. And best of all, I want him close to me; the smell of him, the sight of his laughing face, the feel of him pressed up against me is more than welcome.