Chiron

I release a relieved gust of air, my anxiety finally ebbing. My lungs burn from holding my breath throughout Bebe’s performance. Doesn’t matter how amazing I know it will be, there’s always a doubting niggle something might go wrong.

I turn back to the bar to get that drink Aaron offered earlier. Before I have the chance, the music changes to one of my favourite guilty pleasure songs and I’m yanked off the barstool. I scramble to get my footing before I fall backwards on my ass. Bebe has my elbow and is dragging me onto the dance floor. 

She leans close to my ear, shouting, “I asked the DJ to play this one for us to get down to! Let’s go wild!” and starts twerking like a maniac.

Wide eyed and mouth agape, it takes a moment of staring before my brain catches up to the spectacle in front of me. I throw my head back and laugh until I’m wiping tears from my eyes at my friend’s absolute insanity.

“Come on! Dance with me, you moody bitch!” She throws her hands up in exasperation. I’m still giggling, but I comply, trying my very best to imitate Bebe’s twerking. For fun, I throw in body rolls like the Kpop boys Jade listens to. Fuck, I even drop it down low once or twice. All the while laughing with my very best friend. 

I try to forget about being a self-conscious, anxious mess and instead grant myself the freedom to enjoy dancing with my friend. When did I start denying myself that? Like a shovel to the face, it hits me. My Ex, of course. She always made me feel bad for dancing or having fun when we were out.

Disappointing dates flash through my memory. She only wanted to sit with her drink and talk to her friends. Which was fine, if they had included me in conversations. But she and her friends didn’t talk to me, and if I tried finding someone else to talk with, she would accuse me of looking for a hookup.

She got jealous when I danced or talked to anyone else, while still insisting no one would want me anyway. We fought so much already. I didn’t want to fight about that too. Giving in was just easier. So, I stopped socialising when we went out. Tucked away in a corner instead, bored and unhappy.

I shake my head to push aside those thoughts and the music sweep me away. Bebe and I exhaust ourselves dancing to song after song, joining the legion in their boisterous pursuits. We laugh and sing along, shouting out lyrics when we know them. It’s the most fun I've had in two and a half years. Why bother with toxic exes and lousy dates when you have amazing friends?

Eventually, we stumble back to the bar to get a much needed drink and to rest our tired bodies. We’re both out of breath, flushed, and sweaty. I fan my face to cool down and push the damp curls away from my forehead. Bebe waves to get Aaron or Tess’s attention.

“Damn it, they’re not paying attention. I’m gonna get drinks, be right back Sweetness.” Bebe pushes back into the crowd, weaving her way to where both bartenders are serving customers.

She almost immediately gets stopped by fans. I roll my eyes and turn back towards the bar. That’s her gone then. It’s unlikely she’ll be back soon. I may as well get comfortable. Maybe I can get the bartender’s attention myself. 

After a few minutes of waiting and trying to get someone behind the bar to notice me, I decide it’s impossible. They’re just too busy. I give up and turn around, leaning my elbows on the bar. While scanning the crowd, I contemplate heading home.

My eyes catch on a brick wall of a man across the room. He’s leaning on a high table, drink in hand, with his eyes laser focused on me. I’m used to this. If people notice I’m friends with Bebe, they try to get close to me to score an introduction. So, I’m not surprised when the man straightens up, knocks back the end of his beer, and makes his way towards me.

With his rugged looks, he could easily be mistaken for a modern-day lumberjack. Tallish and broad, he has a barrel chest and arms that have most definitely seen a hard day’s work. His long honey-brown hair is in a loose bun at the back of his head and there’s a sexy five o’clock shadow dusted across his square jawline.

His biceps and pecs strain against his tight black t-shirt as he navigates through the crowd. A brown and black flannel jacket tied low around his hips, black skinny jeans hugging thick thighs, and tan Caterpillar work boots complete his casual look. I’d hole up in a secluded forest cabin with him any day.

He holds eye contact with me, making my eager heart jump in my chest. I take a deep breath to steady myself. I've learned from experience to keep my expectations in check. He’s coming to meet Bebe, not me, they always are. But it’s still nerve-racking when a hot guy approaches you, even if he’s not interested. My fingers tap against the edge of the bar and I remind myself not to drool or do anything else to embarrass my friend.

He carefully makes his way through the press of people until he’s standing directly in front of me, a hair’s breadth away. I have to tilt my head up to keep our eye contact. The intensity of his gaze sends delightful shivers down my body as I admire his dark brown eyes. They're beautiful, even if fatigued and reddened in testament to a long day. A strand of hair has escaped his bun, falling over his eyebrow. My fingers twitch, wanting to tuck it safely behind his ear. 

He leans closer so I can hear him, placing his hand on the bar behind me, effectively pinning me in. My lips part and my breathing picks up its pace. My heartbeat is at a gallop now, ready to leap out of my chest. Unintentionally, I take a deep breath of him while he’s close. His cologne is unusual. Cedar wood with a citrus undertone and it makes my head spin in pleasure. I blurt the first thought that comes, accidentally speaking over him as we talk at the same time.

“Bebe will be back soon. I’m sure you want to meet her.” As he says, 

“Did it hurt when ya fell from heaven?” My eyes widen, and my jaw drops as a confused expression ripples across his features. 

Again, we say simultaneously, “What did you say?” And “Huh? Who’s Bebe?”

A giggle escapes at the ridiculousness of this conversation. I slap my hand over my mouth to stifle it and hide my smile as a blush creeps up my cheeks. I wave my other hand at him, gesturing to try again. His lush lips break into a broad grin. He may have the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen. 

“I asked if it hurt when ya fell from Heaven, cause you gotta be an Angel. Now, I see how stunnin’ you are up close and hear that cute laugh? There’s no doubt. You’re definitely an Angel. What’s your name? Please let me buy ya a drink?” I’m rendered speechless as I blink up at him.

Eventually, I manage to say, “You- you d-d-don’t want to meet Bebe? You came all the way over here to talk to…me?” My voice barely above a whisper by the end of my sentence. My eyes are open wide, hands clutching the edge of the bar to help my weak knees to stay upright. He trails his eyes down my body, drinking me in, then settles back on my face. We lock eyes again, electricity crackling between us. He licks his lips, as if just served dessert, and slowly nods. 

It takes a moment, since his gaze is making my brain melt, but eventually I process what the hottie in front of me actually said. A bolt of indignant irritation strikes me and a scowl takes over my face. I straighten up to my meagre full height, cross one arm over my chest, and slap my other hand onto his sternum, pushing him out of my space.

I glare at him and snap, “Hold up a sec, does that tired pick up line ever work for you? I’m not some idiot that’s going to jump on your dick just because you’re hot as fuck.” His body is warm under my palm, his heartbeat slow and strong. If possible, his grin gets even wider. 

“Angel, you’re the cutest thing I ever saw, course I came over to chat you up. Promise, I never used that pickup line in my life, but I had to try. Cause it’s the truth, you’re heavenly. Specially in that outfit. I can’t possibly be the first person who’s tried to buy ya a drink tonight.”

His words are so sincere, his southern boy accent disarming. His heartbeat is thumping steadily under my hand. I can’t help it. My irritation melts away, the scowl slips, and I relax back against the bar.

Sensing my change in attitude, he leans into me again. Warm puffs of air ghost softly over my ear, making goosebumps erupt up and down my neck and arms. I release a shaky breath and turn my head just enough to see him from the corner of my eye. Our lips are mere centimetres apart. I could blink and we could be kissing.

“I’m glad you think I’m hot as fuck. I don’t expect ya to jump on my dick, but if you ever want to, I’ll treat you so good. You’ll cum so hard you’ll see stars.” 

He moves away, my hand sliding down his chest and back to my side. Immediately, I want him to come back. I want those huge hands wrapped around my waist and pulling my body to his. I want to kiss him. I want to see stars.

My cheeks are on fire, my pulse racing, my fingers digging into my bicep in a futile effort not to shatter into a million pieces. Who is this beautiful, cocky son of a bitch, and what the fuck is he doing to me? I try to swallow, my mouth dry as a bone. I clear my throat and tuck a lock of hair behind my ear with a shaky hand.

“I think I definitely need that drink.”