“This is horrible and embarrassing. I can't believe you did this.”
“It's a good song.” He kissed me on the cheek. His arms were around my chest and my butt was in his crotch.
“This is the worst.” I dropped my butt so that I was basically pre-twerking.
“Admit it,” he taunted. “You love me.”
“Obviously... I wouldn't be out here dancing to a song by Shaggy if I wasn’t madly in love with my darling angel!”
He tickled me and forced me to have a good time. We danced and I tried to forget that we were dancing to such a stupid song. Yes, it was nostalgic and this song was all over the radio when I was in high school. That didn’t mean the stupid song could be injected into my life story! It was such an annoying song (and one that Mark also played at our wedding party, to my complete horror... but don’t worry, I got him back for that one).
The deejay put on another oldies song. And by oldies, I mean mid-90s. (Why am I getting old?)
The place was more packed than usual for a weekday because of our party. The ladies had a great time. Amber once again commented on the fact that she wanted to come to this club instead of the ones they used to go to before she had kids. Melanie also liked the atmosphere... although Suhail didn't leave her side, not even to go to the bathroom.
“Relax, Suhail,” I said at one point. “Nobody's going to do anything to you. And if they do, come to me and I'll take care of ‘em.” I flexed for the guys.
“Tough guy,” Mark said while rubbing my sides.
I cackled.
“It's you I'm worried about,” Suhail replied. Then he walked away and took Mel with him.
“What's gotten into him?”
“Not you, obviously.”
I groaned and flattened my body against Mark. How could he have said something so stupid? I had a stupid-ass smile on my face.
“Actually, you’re stupid,” I said, drunkenly.
Mark wore it like a badge of honor.
Travis took to the stage at the end of Mark’s second song. “Okay here's another song to the best man I know,” he said, pointing to me. “Chris looks like he's in a dancing mood so let's get this one over with. Remember from senior year of college?” He laughed into the microphone. “Here we go...”
The opening bars of ‘Don't Matter’ by Akon pumped into the club. It was another pseudo-slow jam, but what these gays didn't understand was that Travis, Ashleigh and I had our own dance from senior year.
It has always been unclear to me who came up with the idea to make a dance for our graduation, but that's exactly what our group of friends did. This was the group from freshman year that I had tried so hard to hold on to and that Travis had been a major part of. In hindsight, this was after YouTube exploded and people loved silly amateur dance videos, so maybe someone had designs on us being internet stars. All I know is I was forced to dance anytime my college friends gathered somewhere public.
Our freshman group had regular meet-up dinners throughout our four years, even after we moved to different living arrangements spread around campus. The only time I went out during college was with my freshman-year friends.
So when they made a dance to a popular song, I went along with it. It was simple and memorable and easy to pick up. The dance moves were based on a thirty-two bar repeat, kind of like the Macarena except with much more leg movement and much less hand movement.
That night in The Ugly Rhino, Travis, myself and Ashleigh formed a line and we started slow dancing. We called back and forth at the appropriate times in the song. We sunk our butts to the floor (which I always thought looked like we were taking dumps), jumped up and spun around. At one point we acted like our fingers were antlers.
Amber was the first new person to join the dance... and she did so almost immediately. Ryan followed not far behind with the goofiest grin on his face. I knew he was laughing at me, but my critical brain had been cast aside for a few hours and I was dancing my heart out.
It probably helped that my brain had been pickled by vodka.
Then the rest of my friends celebrating the ‘adult prom’ caught on and the dance spread through to the rest of the people who were watching. The one person who didn't join in with unbridled glee was the one person that should have been at my side immediately.
Mark.
He was pissed. In fact, he was pissy throughout the entire dance. Mark would look at me and purposefully bounce in the wrong direction like he didn’t understand what we were doing and it was ‘uncool’. Then he would glare at Travis when Travis was facing away from us.
I was not amused. But he was Mark, and Mark was forever being territorial with me. Also, he couldn’t stand being out-cooled by Travis.
I steadied Mark's buzzing body and helped him move with the beat. “Like this,” I said. It was a role reversal from our lessons all those months ago when he was always showing me how to dance.
Mark was a good dancer—he just didn't want to do it for that particular song (although it also got played at our wedding and he then danced to it like a buffoon).
“I don't like this,” he said in my ear. “I like R. Kelly’s version better.... And I don't like that you hang out with him so much.”
“Somebody's jealous,” I said with drunken glee.
“I'm not jealous,” he said, like a jilted lover.
I ground my butt into his crotch, then flipped around and placed my index fingers on his temples like they were brain-sucking hypno-rays from one of my erotic stories. “I'm sucking out all your brains,” I taunted. “Now you have to act like you're enjoying it.”
“Very funny,” he said. “I'm not amused.”
“Somebody’s grumpy. Here's my Grumpy Bear.” I stopped dancing and rubbed my hands against his chest even as all my friends were still grooving to the song. Any of them could have seen me being intimate, but I didn’t care.
It was kissing time.
I launched myself upwards and grabbed around his neck. I climbed up his body like a monkey. Mark’s hands were holding my ass and I squeezed my legs against his hips as I settled in place. We had never kissed like that before. My head was over his. His face was pointed upwards and I was completely dependent upon him for balance. We made out like that until the end of the song.
“Wasn't that great,” I commented, still floating a foot higher than normal.
“That was something,” he agreed, kissing me as I slowly slipped down his body.
“Yeah it was amazing.”
“You're drunk,” he accused.
“I am,” I said happily. “I'm afraid to sit down or I won't be able to get back up. My legs feel like jelly.”
“Do I have to carry you upstairs?”
“I’ll take the elevator!” Shit, as if I’m walking up nine flights like this!
“I meant here at the club.”
“Like... why am I? Like... why even go back up there?” I had turned into a sassy drunk. “We're dancing for the rest of the night. Where's Suhail? He needs to get in on this.” I glanced around, trying to find Suhail by his telltale curls.
“You need to chill with Suhail. He doesn't like being around you when you're drunk.”
“I'm not that bad,” I said with some attitude in my voice. I’m perfect!
Mark pulled me into his body and we kissed again. “I could certainly get used to this,” he said. “I’ve missed it.”
The rest of the night passed with much dancing and revelry. I—who was not a good dancer and did not like to have the spotlight on me—enjoyed the evening. All our friends were there in support of me and Mark. It kind of felt like a wedding reception—or as close to a wedding reception as we were ever going to get.
I was pretty tipsy, but my memories from that night in the club are crystal clear... everyone (including myself) danced perfectly in step like what you would see in a music video. In my memories from that night, every dance move was perfectly choreographed and there was absolutely no vomit.
None.
LATER THAT
NIGHT, AFTER the fun, there was a cloud of sadness that followed me into the bedroom—which always happened after I drank. This perpetual gloominess was why I refrained from getting as drunk as I did that night.
Mark and I talked about the two people who weren’t there—Stacy and Tim. How long is it going to take to get Tim and Stacy back in the fold?
“What did Tim have to say when you asked them to come?” I pondered, still inebriated. It would be a disaster to call her while I was drunk. But it’s not like she ever picked up. I’ll call her. “Stacy’s never going to forgive you... but she’s going to forgive me. She has to. We’re like, we just get each other. I really admire her.”
Mark tried to lighten the mood by using a silly tone. “Is she going to be your fifth woman?”
“We did sleep together for three weeks, so maybe.”
That wiped Mark’s grin off his face. “Let’s not joke about that.”
“Hey! I slept with Tim, too! He’s my fourth! Haha.”
“Let’s not talk about it.”
“Oh my God, babe. You should have been there. Tim is so conservative and I was in bed in the middle of them. He was nervous and uncomfortable, but I...” My happy drunkenness popped and I started bawling uncontrollably. “I needed them so...”
“Shhh... let’s not think about it. Think happy thoughts.”
“This is why I don’t drink!” My sobbing would not stop. “I’m never happy.”
“Shhh... I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere. I will always, always, always, be here for you. You will never go to sleep wondering if I’m going to cut and run. Never. It’ll never happen.”
I kept sobbing. “I needed her and I needed him, and they let me in their bed...” I sobbed. “And Tim...” my voice squeaked.
“Shh... they’ll come around. They love you, babe. Everybody loves you.”
“I love them so much.” I finally gasped for a breath. “I don’t know how to fix it.” My face was buried in Mark’s chest. “I don’t know how to fix it.”
“It’ll come together,” Mark said soothingly. “Don’t think bad thoughts. Let’s lift off and think about how much fun we had tonight. All the dancing. And the laughter. Remember that?”
“Yes,” I said quietly. “I don’t like making such a big fuss... but it was fun.”
“Just wait till your thirtieth birthday,” he promised. “It’s going to be a blowout. I’m taking you to Coachella as a birthday present.”
“I’m turning twenty-nine in a few weeks, not thirty.”
“I know, babe. I’m going to be here when you’re thirty and forty and fifty.”
“Just wait till you turn fifty,” I promised. “I’m going to make it a blowout.” Mark’s chest was wet from where I had rubbed my tears. My voice was even again. “I already know what I’m going to get you.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. A big fuckin’ full-length mirror, and I’m going to put it on the front door... so you can see all the wrinkles on your face every time you leave.”
“You fucking piece of shit! You literally are a smiling pile of poo.” He gave me a nuggy.
“I don’t get that reference,” I said.
“It means I love you,” he said with a kiss.
“Somehow, I don’t think that’s what it means.”
But I was smiling through the melancholy. And I really did try to remember all the good times from the party. In my mind, when we danced to Akon, we were all perfect automatons with me and Mark making out in the center.
At least, that’s how I chose to remember that moment. In reality we were all sloppy buffoons trying hard not to fall on our asses despite how simple the dance patterns were.
Mark gently helped me out of bed and into the main room.
“I want to go to bed,” I complained, but my body wasn’t feeling that way.
He put on a Faith Hill song... probably my favorite of all her hits: It Matters To Me. It was a live acoustic version he had stripped from a YouTube upload. We slow-danced together, half-naked... and I bawled my eyes out. It might not have been my absolute favorite song before that moment, but it has been ever since. That was our wedding song. That plus Natalie Merchant’s Kind and Generous.
I love Faith Hill. I would like to see her in concert again... before I die, if at all possible.
Austen
OVER THE NEXT WEEK, Mark and I settled into what would become our usual routine.
First, I dedicated myself to my work project so as to prove to Nick that he wasn’t going to be abandoned. We spent the weekend on our own, just Mark and me. We played tennis with Suhail in the park near us, but neither Ryan nor Tim showed up, which wasn’t surprising. Despite making an appearance at my ‘adult prom’, Ryan was still in the process of drifting towards Tim and Stacy.
The Tuesday dinner with my parents went better than I could have anticipated. My dad and Mark got along fine, like they were old, chummy buddies. My mother was just as excited to meet Mark the second time. Actually, she might have been more excited because she got to show off her house and all the furniture my dad had built for her over the years.
“What a beautiful kitchen you have,” Mark said before we even took off our shoes. He always was a suck up.
“Oh! Thank you. My husband upgraded it last year. Only took him ten years to get started, but here we are.”
“Don't pressure me, woman,” my father teased.
Mark winked at me. “I bet you keep your spices in that cabinet along with your olive oil.”
I was not amused in the slightest. Mark has never let me live down the fact that the first time I touched his cock we had to use olive oil as lube. How embarrassing.
My parents didn't get the reference, thankfully.
We settled into dinner and had a great time. Mom wanted to play a game since she knew how much I loved strategy games. Mark and I asked for a rain check.
“Maybe we can play something at my apartment on Thursday,” I suggested.
Mark quickly added, “Why don't we all come to my place instead?”
“I don't think they're ready for that yet, babe.” Shit, I can’t ‘babe’ him in front of my parents! What have I become! I meant for it to be sarcastic!
“What do you mean?” my mother asked, intrigued.
“Let's just act like normal people for a few weeks,” I suggested. “If you see Mark's apartment, you’re really gonna die.”
“I live on the Lake,” Mark clarified.
“Wow,” my mom said. “That modeling must really pay well.” She tapped my father's chest like maybe that had been a discussion between the two of them.
“To each their own,” my dad said with a shrug. “I still can't believe you got drafted into the minors and gave up on baseball.”
“He did whatever would make him the most famous,” I said. “I don't think he's ever going to give up modeling completely. He loves getting his picture taken too much and he loves strangers on the internet telling him he's beautiful.”
“I am beautiful,” Mark said stubbornly. “I make you tell me every night.”
Oh my God, eye roll, eye roll, eye roll. Super eye roll. “I only indulge you ‘cause you let yourself get fat.” And you’re super touchy on the subject.
“I’m not fat! I’m just not super skinny anymore.” Mark turned to my mother. “I used to hate doing all the cardio it takes to stay sample size. Now I’m at a comfortable weight.” Mark winked at me again. “Plus, your son loves having something to hold onto.”
Oh God! Kill me now! Kill me now! Kill me now. Smite me and send me to an early grave!
We turned on the Cubs and watched the game for about an hour. It felt great to sit there as a family. My dad didn’t make a single mean comment and, if anything, he appeared exhilarated to finally have a sports guy to bullshit. Mark had officially charmed them both (not that I had been worried, he could charm just about anyone).
So that week was rounding into perfect shape. We knew that the next day, however, wa
s going to be a significant test because we needed to prepare for Mark’s four-day photo shoot in the Caribbean. Therefore, we left my parents’ house before the end of the sixth inning.
He had mentioned numerous times that I could go with him, but each time he received the same muted response—I couldn't abandon my team. How was I supposed to work from the Gulf of Mexico? I couldn't call my potential sponsors and expect them to pay the international fare. No way.
The Cubs were losing by the time we made it to our apartment, as usual. That was alright because Mark had other things on his mind. “You know I'm going away tomorrow,” he said, as if it hadn’t been looming in my mind for days.
“I know. I'll be fine.”
“You won't be fine and neither will I. I’m going to worry about you all week... I know how worked up you get.”
“I'll be fine, don't worry about me.”
“Well, I thought we could start a new tradition. Every time I leave, I'll buy us both the same book and we can spend an hour or so on Skype reading it to each other before we go to bed.”
“Where did this come from?” This is such a shockingly perfect idea. Why didn’t I think of this?
“I know you love to read,” he said.
“I do.”
“And I know you haven't read Jane Austen yet.”
“I heard she's the best, so I'm saving her for a rough day when I need a pick-me-up.”
“You can't save her forever. Share her with me. I bought us Pride and Prejudice.”
“I never would have guessed you were an Austen fan.”
“I never would have guessed a romance author could write in the genre without having read these books.”
“I’m not a romance writer.” Not anymore. Way to change the mood!
Our banter had been playful, but once he brought up my writing, I understood the totality of his argument. He wanted to spark my interest in telling stories again by engaging with a Jane Austen novel.
Too bad. I was burnt out on that stuff.
“You know I have other commitments now. I'm working to make this health app a reality. It's important to me.”
“I know. But I also know this was important to you, too. Reading a book doesn't have to mean anything else... let's just read and share our time together.”
The Fiancé (It's Just Us Here Book 6) Page 21
