Disorderly

by Grace, Hazel

  “What we havin’, love?”

  “I’m looking for Paige,” I yell over the music.

  “Who?”

  “Paige,” I repeat.

  He wipes down a bar glass and shrugs. “Doesn’t ring a bell, hun. Too many girls in and out of here.” I give him a wave in silent thanks and turn back toward the crowd. I’m seriously going to be pissed if I spend my whole night looking for this girl, so I pull out my phone.

  Me: Here. Where you at?

  Radio silence.

  Going back home doesn’t sound appealing, and since I went through all the trouble straightening my hair and applying makeup to my face, I sit back down at the bar.

  “Change your mind, love?” Silver Fox asks with a grin.

  “Shot of tequila and a Long Island, please.” He goes and makes my drinks while I glance back down at my phone. Nothing. Taking a deep breath, I tamper down my irritation. She’s probably on the floor dancing and stealing the heart of some man’s soul right now.

  “Please don’t tell me someone stood you up,” a voice spouts behind me. Peering over my shoulder, I’m met with a man with a handsome enough face and brown hair.

  “Nah,” I reply. “Just waiting on a friend.”

  He motions to the seat next to me. “Do you mind if I keep you company until they get here?”

  I shrug. Normally, I’d pull a bullshit lie out of my ass on why he can’t, but it’s Friday night, I’m too tired to fight and answer questions. “Sit away.”

  He extends his hand toward me. “I’m Ethan.”

  “Aurora.” I shake his hand, still not comfortable giving out my real name to men I don’t know.

  “Pretty name. Was she your favorite princess?”

  I smile. “You know of Princess Aurora?”

  Ethan scratches the side of his forehead with his finger. “I’m the youngest of three sisters, so yeah, unfortunately I was used as a real-life Barbie half the time.”

  I chuckle. “Awww, bet that was traumatizing.”

  “Still have nightmares about it,” he jokes. Silver Fox brings over my drinks, placing them on small black napkins and nods at Ethan to go ahead with his order.

  “Throw her drinks on my tap, Tom,” Ethan tells him. “And grab me a beer when you get a chance.”

  “Oh no, you don’t have—”

  “Hey, it’s not every day you get to buy a princess a drink. Let me cross it off my bucket list.”

  “Alright, if it’ll help with the nightmares.”

  Ethan laughs. “Thank you, you’re too kind.” We talk for a few minutes about nothing deep or mind blowing. He seems like a decent guy who just wants to blow a night at an elaborate bar. Can’t say I can blame him, that’s what normal folks do to blow off steam. Me, on the other hand, I watch Netflix and eat chips.

  “Hey girl.” Paige’s hands find my arms and squeeze them lightly. “Who’s your friend?” Leaning against the bar, she bats her eyes at Ethan and extends her hand. I make the introductions while sipping on my Long Island. Paige sends me a nonchalant wink, and Ethan doesn’t miss it.

  Another song starts, and I don’t realize what it is until Paige grabs my hand. “Played it especially for you babe!”

  “You Can Do It” by Ice Cube gets the crowd wild and rowdy as Paige pulls me through the lushed females and makes a space for us. She starts lip syncing the song and swaying her hips. I’m not drunk enough for this, and I haven’t danced since our junior prom.

  “Let’s see those moves,” Paige shouts over the crowd, her hands in rhythm with her hips. She sees my hesitation, God bless her, and comes closer to me. “No one knows you here, even if you look like an idiot, it won’t matter.”

  Turning around, she swivels her ass against me, which has me moving from side to side, trying to get into the pace of the song. Turning on her heel, she motions me with both hands that it’s my turn. Taking a deep breath, I start slowly twirling my hips to the rhythm. The chorus sounds and I follow the instructions, churning my back toward Paige and dropping to the ground, bringing my ass back up against her legs.

  I notice a few guys crowding around us, but Paige spins me around to face her, dancing and laughing. It’s like old times. Times that were simpler and purer, moments that I’d never forget or took for granted. Things could change in a split second and, in this moment, I was going to live freer, happier, and less fearful. Jerry was going to come if he wanted, I just needed to be ready for a larger fight this time.

  Paige grabs my hand in fits of giggles as she spins us around in a circle because she’s already out of breath and so am I. We’re not even four minutes in the song and we’re sweating like pigs.

  When the song ended, Paige takes us back to the bar, where Ethan is still waiting by my drink. “Have fun?” he asks.

  “Always with this one,” I reply, throwing my thumb at Paige.

  “I was going to order you another shot but wanted you to see the bartender pour it.”

  “Smart man,” Paige chimes in, taking my seat at the bar. After a few shots of tequila and lack of food intake, I’m feeling amazing, lightheaded, but relaxed. Paige and Ethan are laughing at some poor fool who has been trying to hit on this blonde for the last five minutes at the bar, lip syncing what he could possibly be saying to her.

  “In Da Club” by 50 Cent blares through the speakers, and Ethan hops off his bar stool. “Dance with me?” I take his extended hand, it’s un-American to not to dance to this song when it comes on, especially at a club. Finding us a small spot on the floor, Ethan entwines his fingers with one of my hands, raising it over my head to spin me around.

  The beat isn’t hard to find, as I instantly sway my body and start singing. Ethan’s chest finds my back, and he dances in sync with me, still holding my hand in the process. I don’t feel uncomfortable, which is surprising, tequila always gave me the courage I was lacking when sober. He hasn’t grazed his hand over my hip or grinds his dick into my ass, just keeps a safe distance, enjoying himself as I am, just dancing.

  The song changes again, slower and sexy. It’s “Despacito,” which makes me laugh because it’s the only damn word I know in the entire song. Ethan whirls me around, fake singing the words, making them up as he goes along, which makes me laugh harder. We do some stupid salsa moves that we’re pulling out of our ass to try and look authentic to the song. When the song gets to the chorus, we both yell “Despacito” with a bunch of made up words, which hurts my sides from laughing so hard. Ethan twirls me away from him, and I twirl back into his body, our feet making up moves as we go.

  “I haven’t moved this much in a week,” Ethan says in my ear.

  “Same,” I chortle with a smile. Ethan twirls me again, but this time, I hit another body. Turning around to apologize, the words choke in my throat. Wyatt is glaring down at me in all his hard core, hot glory like he just caught me cheating. He’s wearing a plaid red shirt, that shows off every tattoo on his arms and hides every muscle from my view, ripped jeans at the knees, and his hair is pulled back in a man bun.

  “Sorry man,” Ethan chimes in at my side. “My fault.” Wyatt’s eyes don’t leave me, as they wonder down my body aimlessly.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask him, but I’m not sure he heard me. Or he’s ignoring me. I’m leaning more toward option two because he’s an asshole and thinks he can do whatever he wants when he wants to do it.

  Entitled fuck.

  I bet all the women fall at his feet and say ‘Yes, Daddy’ and ‘Whatever you say, sir’. He more than likely gets off on that shit, the power and obedience. But news flash, this isn’t a scene from Fifty Shades of Gray, so he can kiss my whole ass.

  “Nice dress,” he finally says, landing on my open thigh and Ethan’s hand on my hip. I don’t notice it until his gaze falls there. “Where’s Noah?”

  I bit the inside of my lip. “Not here.”

  “Who’s Noah?” Ethan whispers in my ear, which tightens Wyatt’s eyes.

  “Some dude I’m seeing,”
I reply, not breaking the staring contest with Wyatt. He doesn’t scare me, but he should. Everything he does and says is complete utter bullshit. Bullshit is scary. Bullshit is annoying. Bullshit is drama.

  “It’s her boyfriend,” Wyatt chimes, a small smirk gracing his face.

  There it is—the bullshit.

  Ethan’s hand leaves my hips, and Wyatt thinks he’s won.

  Think again.

  “Ex,” I articulate, turning my head toward Ethan. “This is awkward. Wyatt, here, is an ex-boyfriend who thinks it’s fun to hunt me down at the bars or clubs I go to on the weekends. I felt bad, but it’s been six months, and now it’s getting to the point where a restraining order is going to be coming into play.” I look back at Wyatt. “You need to go.”

  “Seriously?” Ethan murmurs behind me.

  “God, I wish it wasn’t true,” I continue. “He got all tattooed up to look intimidating, trust me, he wore polos and khaki pants. Grew his hair out, now he thinks he is a badass.” Wyatt covers his mouth and stifles a laugh.

  “Dude,” Ethan asserts. “You need to get a life.”

  “Yeah, man,” Wyatt says, rubbing his beard. “She’s an obsession. One I can’t even fuck out of my system with other women. Even the one that looked like her last night.” I can’t tell if he’s lying or being a dickhead, but I’d be lying if I said the comment didn’t make my stomach turn a little. Which is crazy because I, by no means, have any ties to this man. So, I throw my defenses up and force a laugh.

  “That’s fucking weird and borderline fixated,” Ethan tolls, his hand finding my waist again. Wyatt notices but doesn’t show any sign of annoyance. Instead, he takes a step toward me.

  “Wanna give it one last go, Rora?” Wyatt asks me. “One last fuck?” My eyes widen at the boldness in his words. Right in front of a dude I barely know, which doesn’t really matter to me at this point thanks to the tequila, but the impression of fucking him sends me in a harebrained status.

  “Get the hell out of here,” Ethan shouts, but there is no menacing tone in his voice. And even if it did, I had a feeling it wouldn’t sway Wyatt or make him doublethink his next move. His next move being to inch closer to me.

  I can feel the pull, the magnetic force between us. My skin is already heated, seeping through my forehead from dancing, but the way Wyatt’s eyes bore down on me right now—I’m searing right now.

  “Five minutes,” Wyatt presses. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

  You can survive five minutes.

  Wait. No. This isn’t real. He’s just trying to mess up my time here with Evan. I mean, Ethan. And his muddling is working because I can imagine the two of us pressed up together, tasting each other’s—

  “You need to go,” I voice, tugging every ounce of confidence I have within me.

  Get your full life together, Nova. And do it quickly.

  “Only if you walk me out.”

  “No.”

  Wyatt crosses his arms. “Then we’ll just continue to stand here like assholes in the middle of the dance floor.”

  “C’mon, Princess,” Ethan urges by tugging on my arm. Wyatt challenges me with a raised brow.

  I’m at a crossroads, either stay and hang out with a guy that won’t be anything by the end of the night, because I won’t give him my phone number and he won’t be taking me home or to his place. Or go with Wyatt. Problem with option two is that I can’t seem to get rid of Wyatt like I can the man who is currently holding a death grip on my forearm.

  But the setback with me is that I can’t let Wyatt win. It takes a hold on too much of my pride. He’s not king of our town by no means nor does he act like it, but his confidence radiates more than a status or a title to live up to. The conundrum is that he doesn’t have to live up to anything, which could lead to so many backfires for me. And the urge to learn those backfires inhales confidence to withstand it.

  Peering over my shoulder, I bring my mouth close to Ethan’s ear. “I want him to go. And he will stand here like a jackass and follow us around the bar if I don’t walk him out. You have to give him something to make him think he is winning.”

  Ethan shakes his head violently. “He’s crazy. I don’t want you—”

  “He’s harmless, trust me. He’ll probably cry for four of those five minutes and yell for the other one.”

  “How long have you both known each other?” Wyatt presses, circling his finger in the air at us.

  “We met tonight,” Ethan reputes.

  Wyatt bows his head, rubbing his beard. “You sure you’re not slightly obsessed over her, mate?” I know that Ethan is going to open his mouth, make another comment, and we’re going to still be standing here in the middle of the dance floor getting glared at for being in the way.

  I step out of Ethan’s embrace. “Let’s go, hurry up. I’ll walk you out.”

  “Five minutes,” Ethan voices sternly.

  Sure.

  Wyatt doesn’t flash a victorious smile, he’s passed being petty right now apparently, and extends his arm to let me take the lead out of the crowd. Brushing through couples, I can feel Wyatt’s proximity. His formidable vibe and how he falls right into step with me, not letting me have any space. It feels like a hunt and a boost in Wyatt’s ego, both nauseating and exasperating all merged into one.

  When we break out of the cluster, I peer around the club for the exit. Which is, now, on the other side of the damn dance floor. Wyatt grabs my arm, from possibly escaping or getting a word in, and guides me past another bar full of people. A group of women turn their heads and gawk over their martini glasses as they smirk. A tall, lanky man with them gives Wyatt a full body check before giving me a thumbs-up.

  I shake my head but can’t hide the tug at my lips. Wyatt is a walking poster of Instagram Thirsty Tuesdays and a hard-on for every gay man who loves a beard and tattoos apparently. Wyatt halts mid step, and I bump into his hard back. Peering around him, a blonde stands within our threshold.

  “Hi,” she greets, her fingers combing through her long hair. She’s absolutely stunning, the perfect Barbie doll, with a skin-tight hot pink dress and white manicured nails. Wyatt stands silent, his hand grazing down my forearm to lace his fingers with mine. “I’m Mandy.”

  I raise a brow. “Hi Mandy.”

  She glances over at me but returns her attention back to Wyatt. “I was wondering if you’d like to dance.”

  “No,” Wyatt deadpans.

  “He can’t dance,” I assert. Wyatt gives me a warning squeeze of my hand.

  Mandy shifts her weight to her other heel. Heels that had to be at least six inches high. Poor Mandy is trying too hard.

  “That’s too bad,” Mandy replies, letting her hand drift down the front of her dress and past the side of her fake tits. “But I can dance for the both of us.”

  “Oh, that’d be fun to see,” I express with the biggest smile I can manage. I nudge Wyatt’s arm. “C’mon Wy, dance with the poor girl.”

  He gazes over his shoulder, his eyes darting into me. “I have other plans in mind.”

  Oh, so do I.

  I cock my head, motioning for Mandy to come closer. “Pop That” by French Montana is blaring through the club’s speakers, and I’ve danced to this song a million times in my apartment, giving me the assurance that I know every drop of this song to throw Mandy back into her place. I shouldn’t have anything against Mandy, I don’t really have anything rational to be irritated with her, except the fact that she thinks she can just grab Wyatt’s attention from me.

  Wrong bitch with the wrong amount of tequila.

  I take a step away from Wyatt, surprised that he doesn’t jerk me back to his side. Mandy takes my previous gesture and saunters seductively to Wyatt, twirling slowly around to give him a full view of her body in her painted dress. I’m going to throw a guess out that all she knows how to do is wiggle her ass against a dick and calls it a day.

  Mandy gives Wyatt her back, still leaving inches between them, and grazes her
frame with her hands like she’s about to strip on a pole. Wyatt being that pole, of course. Crossing my arms, I study the show, if you’d call it that, waiting and hoping she is going to surprise me. Anything to give me something to compete against because it’s no fun when it’s too easy. School dances, teen clubs, Paige and I would purposely out dance the rich girls to toss them back in their place. I haven’t done this in years, but it’s like riding a bike, right?

  Mandy backs up, letting her body touch Wyatt’s broad chest, which sends a deep, bored exhale from him. His eyes retrieve mine, not amused in the slightest, but I currently am as I send a grin toward him. Poor Mandy just sways around, grinding her ass on Wyatt’s stomach because she’s too tall with her heels on. Her hands find his sides as she uses his body to not fall on her ass as she picks up the pace. It’s like her body is on repeat and it’s the only dance move she knows.

  The chorus of the song picks back up, giving me the perfect opportunity to jump in. Striding to Mandy, not Wyatt of course, I pick up the side of my dress, the slit giving me limited access to the movement of my legs. It’s going to leave more to the imagination with the amount of skin I’m about to show. Pulling at the fabric, I drop my ass slowly to the floor, close to Mandy’s body but making sure Wyatt has a perfect view. I can’t see his reaction yet, but I’ll turn around in a few seconds once the guy that has been sending glances my way walks over.

  And sure shit, once I drop my body to the ground and stay there to show my endurance in my legs, which trust me it’s a struggle, my admirer walks over. I don’t study him too much, he’s a prop at this point, and I could give two shits right now. A point needs to me made.

  I’m not Wyatt’s.

  He’s not mine.

  We’re just two attracted souls that need to chill the hell out.

  My admirer holds a hand out for me to take, to pull me from my lowered position, but I grab his thigh instead. Leisurely, I coast up his body with mine, not bothering to make eye contact or see the color of his hair. My aim is directed at Wyatt’s pleasure and torment. When I’m standing, I whip around to face him. Mandy is copying the same move, down on her haunches, and holding on to Wyatt’s legs.