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Authors: Karina Sharp

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BOOK: Fighting for Arielle
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’Too Shy,’” I say, as if giving her the answer to a trivia question.

Looking confused, she asks, “What?”

“’Too Shy’ is the name of the song…by Kajagoogoo.”  

I’m a little embarrassed that I know this song, but she seems to appreciate my guilty ple
asure that is 80’s music.

Her mouth opens wide
, and she breathes in an excited breath.  “You know it?  I KNEW I liked you!”  Marta pops up out of her chair in the blink of an eye.  “Let’s go dance!”

She grabs my hand and leads me to the dance floor before I can protest.
 Although, I know I wouldn’t have put up much of a fight- if I put one up at all.  Despite my fears of looking awkward and my inability to keep up with her, the feelings of dancing with and being near her are amazing.  This is unlike any euphoria I could have imagined, and definitely unlike any feeling I’ve ever felt dancing with another woman.

Marta continues to dance with our group, including her friend Macy, but always seems to return to me, which of course I don’t mind.
 Each time she steps away from me, my body aches until she returns.  When she returns, it’s as though my world has been recalibrated and realigned.  

While she dances with her back against my chest, I can’t resist the urge to wrap my hands around her waist.
 When I put my arms around her slim waist, she doesn’t seem to mind.  She brings her body in closer, allowing me to enjoy the contours of her back and ass.  I can feel my pants beginning to bulge, so I attempt to stifle it, hoping she doesn’t notice.  She rolls her hips in ways even a contortionist couldn’t, and it has to be the hottest damn thing I’ve ever seen.  

With her back against me, I can see the tattoo underneath her hair that I spotted when she was on stage.
 I take my index finger and trace down the tattoo.  She must notice that I do because she turns her head to look back at me with desire in her eyes, which doesn’t help what’s going on in my pants.  

“What’s that a tattoo of?” I ask, trying to speak over the booming music.

“Daisies,” she says close to my ear.

That must be her favorite flower or something.
 

“Do they have any special meaning?”

“Nope.  I just like daisies.  That’s my favorite flower, and I love bright colors, so they seemed to go well together.”  She continues to move her body and sway her hips as she talks.

I don’t have any tattoos myself, but I think they look perfect on her.
 For the second time, I imagine kissing all the way down from that trail of daisies to the small of her back.  Her revelation also makes me wonder if she has any other tattoos or secrets she’s hiding in places I can’t see.  

“That’s cool,” is all I manage to reply.

“I wish I had a much cooler story about them, like each one represents a foreign land I’ve traveled to or some sort of significant event in my life, but nope.  I just loves me some daisies.”

I need to ask more questions and quit trying to imagine what else she has under that dress.
 

“How do you know Macy?”

She absently responds, “We work together.”  

She seems to be more interested in the music and the beat than
giving a lengthier answer to my question.  

Just as I am about to ask her where she works, Macy and one of my buddies hands us shot glasses and interrupts.
 

“Time for shots!”

“Woohoo!” Marta throws her hands up into the air.  

She hands me a shot g
lass, and there’s a collective and sloppy “Cheers!” declared from the group.

After we swallow the chilled liquid that is far too fruity for my liking, Marta looks to me with a teasing smile.
 “Wanna dance?”  

She doesn’t wait for an answer.
 

Yet again, before I can even open my mouth, she’s pulling me by my hand to the dance floor.
 I look down at our hands and think that I don’t really want to let it go.  I am determined to stretch this time with her out as long as possible.  Watching her dance on a stage doesn’t hold a candle to being next to her with her grinding her hips and ass against me.  We pause every now and then to cool off or get a drink.  I can’t help but notice that from this point forward, she takes me, as opposed to anyone else, back to the dance floor after each break.

 

 

***
**

 

 

Arielle

 

A
fter many more rounds of shots, some I opted out of, and much more dancing, I know last call is fast approaching. I need some fresh air before I attempt to find Macy and make it to her car without stumbling.  I feel exhausted from dancing, but I also do not want the time with my dance partner to end, so I decide it’s a good idea to take him outside with me.  

I give Mick my best come hither
look, and I lead him off of the dance floor.

When we get to the side of the bar and away from the loudest area of the place, I manage to make some conversation.
 

“Why are you not drinking?” I ask, my voice a little slurred.

Mick holds up his hands as if he’s innocent and looks around.  “I have been all night.”

I huff a drunken and playful breath.
 “You aren’t right now.”

He taps his index finger to his nose and looks so cute doing it.
 “That’s because I have to make sure my group gets home safe.  I’m not looking to pick up a friend from the drunk tank.”

“You are very wise, Mi-C
K,” I say, with emphasis on the
K
.  

I stumble and look over to Macy still going strong on the dance floor with her plethora of more than willing male partners.
 

Realizing my ride is Macy, reality strikes me as does nervous rambling.
  

“I think my ride forgot to make the same considerations.
 Or maybe it is I who didn’t.  I don’t know, really.  But, I’m not gonna lie, Mick.  I am drunk, but not as a skunk because they stink.  Have you ever smelled a skunk?  One Thanksgiving our dog had a run-in with a skunk and lost.  Our house was a funky mixture of turkey, pumpkin pie, tomato juice, and skunk.  It’s hot in here.  And me thinks I need some fresh air...  Walk with me, please, oh please.”

“When you put it that way…”
 

I flutter my eyelashes pretending to be coy for good measure.
 

“How can a gentleman refuse?
 I am nothing if not a perfect gentleman.”

I step back and give him an obvious once-over with my eyes, which was supposed to be facetious, but my eyes linger and burn with i
ntensity more than I planned.  “Perfect gentleman, indeed.  Your mother raised you right,” I wave my index finger up and down.  

His eyes gloss over and drop toward the floor as his jaw grows more rigid.
 “Yes she did.”  

Realizing I unwittingly touched a nerve, and feeling like the master of diversion in my tipsy state, I hook my arm in his as we walk to the patio and say, “Micky boy, I think you’re the tops!”

Mick keeps my arm hooked in his and mirrors my tone with a smile.  “Marta kid, I think you’re swell.”  

We laugh together
, and I think at that moment, I am one great flirt.  I am amazed and enthralled with how comfortable two technical strangers can be with one another.  

How is it that I love everything about someone I know nothing about?

We step out onto the patio of the bar, and I immediately allow my lungs to expand with the night air.  It feels so invigorating, especially after being in a cramped space with spilled drinks and sweaty people.  

“Isn’t Hawaii absolutely breathtaking?”

I look up to Mick and smile.  He continues to look off into the distance, but I see his mouth turn upward.  

“It is beautiful, but I can think of things that more appropriately fall under the category of ‘breathtaking.’”

I don’t know if he’s referring to me or not.  Logically, it makes sense that he would be, but I’m so not accustomed to hearing any genuinely positive words describing me, and I don’t want to be presumptuous.  It would be embarrassing to think that he’s paying me a compliment and it turn out he isn’t, making the joke be on me.  I choose the only course of action I can think of, which is to nod passively and change the subject.

I unknowingly twist my hair around my index finger as I gawk at his face in admiration.
 I shake out of my stupor and move on with changing the subject.  

“What do you do in your spare time, Mick?
 Other than go to burlesque shows and cut a rug on the dance floor, that is...”

Mick runs his hand over his hair and turns up the corner of his
mouth, showing off a dimple.  “Well, ‘cutting a rug’ and stalking gorgeous women does take up a great deal of my time, but should I find a spare moment, I usually read, listen to music, and jog.”  He shrugs.

“Living a life of adventure and mystery, huh?
 Sounds about as exciting as mine.  I just finished reading
Jane Eyre
for the millionth time, but I am sure I will read it again.  It’s one of my favorites.”  

I know I must be drunk because he seems completely
invested in my pitiful attempts to make conversation.  I know I cannot be all that interesting, but I will pretty much do and say anything if that means he will be alone with me longer.

He looks down at me with a warm and appreciative gaze.
 I feel my heart rate increase in speed in response.  He is so stunningly gorgeous, I want to burn the image of his face into my brain.  It seems against the laws of nature for someone so handsome to seem genuinely interested and entertained by my rambling.  

“You like the classics?”

“Only certain classics,” I explain.  “I like ones with strong female characters and, of course, I am all about stories where lovers unite and wind up together, against all odds.  I’m not a
love conquers all
kind of girl because I don’t believe that’s true.  Love and relationships are work and something you continually work and fight for, but I do believe that until you know love, you aren’t truly living life.  Not that anyone really knows what it means to live life, since that is defined differently for everyone, based on certain parameters and details of one’s life, but I do think that once you find a connection or love worth working toward, then you’re living your life the best way you know how.”

I
realize I have been talking non-stop and distracted by the street lights in the distance when I notice that Mick has angled his body toward me and he’s looking at me with an intensity in his eyes that wasn’t there before.  My breathing becomes more ragged and the electricity wildly moving throughout my body causes all of my extremities to tingle.  Picking up on the passion and fire I am exuding, Mick cautiously moves his head closer to mine.  I feel the heat of his sweet breath on my neck, moving in full, deep breaths of desire.  Inside, I am screaming at myself that I have a husband and that this is wrong, but nothing about it feels wrong at all.  Regardless, I know that it is wrong, so when I am able to regain control of my thoughts, I clear my throat, which seems to snap him out of his haze as well.  He clears his throat in response and awkwardly places his hands in his pockets, looking down at his feet.  

I shrug off my near brush with infidelity and, in true Ari fashion, divert attention away from what just happened.
 

“I think they made last call.
 We should probably go make sure that everyone we know here is still alive and in one piece.”

“You’re probably right.”
 

He smiles
, seemingly in gratitude.  He takes my hand and leads me back inside.  I am not at all bothered by the fact that we are walking hand-in-hand.  In fact, I wish we didn’t have to let go at some point.  I am in such bliss that I forget that we are in public or have our respective friends to return to.  We reunite with our party to knowing and some accusing faces.  

I try to ignore them an
d focus my attention to Macy.  “Mace?  You okay to drive?”

Macy looks at me as though I’ve asked the most ridiculous question or I’ve just sprouted an extra head.
 “Girl, please.  Of course I am!  I’ve been filling up on water.  Honestly, some of those shots I took weren’t alcohol because I knew I had to drive us home.”

She pretended to take shots when she wasn’t?
 I find that unbelievable and a little odd, but maybe it’s just my many rounds of shots talking to me. I let go of Mick’s hand and lean into her ear.  “Then why take any at all?”

She smirks at me and winks.
 “To keep up appearances.  And to make sure you got drunk and let loose.”

We bid our hangout buddies goodbye and wish Mick’s friend who is transferring good luck.
 Macy claims that they are all her new best friends.  

I start to head toward the door in step with Macy until I hear her say, “Marta, aren’t you going to bid your friend a proper farewell?”
 

BOOK: Fighting for Arielle
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