The jingle of the alarm on my phone, a stupid upbeat chime
that’s supposed to wake me without annoying me, yanks me from my sleep. It’s
sooo flipping annoying.
After I stop the noise, I
lay motionless. I realize I’m at that point where, if I don’t open my eyes now,
I’ll fall back to sleep and wake up in two hours. Throwing the duvet off of me,
I drag myself out of bed and head for the bathroom.
Last night I spent quite
some time thinking about what to wear. Yesterday was a little over the top,
wrapped up in those baggy clothes, but I’m still not going to flash my flesh or
body shape with Dane. I did notice him still checking me out, so I’m not
completely safe from his roaming eyes. Mine appreciatively roamed as well, so I
can’t exactly complain.
When required, I have used
my body to the max. What female doesn’t when they want to bag a man they have
their eye on? But with Dane that’s not what I’m going to do, not at this stage.
Today I’m wearing a pink jumper and faded, loose-fitting jeans. The finishing
touches are a ponytail, some strokes of black mascara, and a thin layer of lip
gloss. Warm jacket on, and I’m out the door.
The cold, foggy air ensures
that I’m definitely wide awake. By the time I get to the Purple Cafe I feel
human, hopefully that means I look human. I arrive a few minutes early and
linger outside, strolling back and forth by the side of the building.
Oh, the nerves are kicking
in. They started with a slight acceleration of my heartbeat, now I’m fidgeting
and I’m slightly hot, even though it’s a chilly morning. I’m not sure I like
the effect Dane has on me. I don’t even usually blush; I stopped doing that
after I got with my first boyfriend when I was fifteen. Blushing at
twenty-eight, for a guy who’s probably around the same age as me, is silly.
Annoying as well – you can hardly play it cool when you’re blushing.
On my second turn to walk
back in the direction of the door, I see Dane crossing the street. His hands
are tucked into his jacket pockets. With the zip open, I can see the fitted
black sweater underneath and dark gray jeans with the same fit as the ones he
wore yesterday – narrow but loose enough to allow the waistband to sit low on
his hips and that sexy sag at the crotch. He wears those denims so well.
I’m curious about his
tattoos, what they look like and how many he has. The piercing in his nose and
the natural edge to his appearance seem fitting for a man who’s indulged in
body art to a high degree. There’s more to him than meets the eye. There is for
everybody, but he’s the only person I want to discover more about at the
moment. Just because he doesn’t go for commitment, it doesn’t necessarily mean
he isn’t a decent person.
Based on
my
opinion
of him, he seems like a nice guy, but we’ve only spent three hours together.
Time will tell.
One thing I’m glad for is
that he comes across upfront. I feel like I’d always know where I stand with
him, regardless of where that is.
My defenses will remain up,
they need to, but I won’t be quite so defensive with him today. I’ll treat him
the way I would have if I’d never been told a single thing about him. That goes
against what I decided yesterday afternoon, but a change of mind is allowed.
Dane approaches and we greet
each other. I smile easier at him. He holds the door open, and I enter the
Purple Cafe.
Sitting at the same table as
yesterday, I shrug out of my jacket and so does Dane.
I love his physique, the way
he appears so masculine and present, but without being overbearing or
intimidating. He smells lovely and fresh. Unfortunately, that makes me aware
that he’s recently showered. Knowing that puts an image of him in my head; his
tattooed naked body soaking wet as the hot spray cascades down over him,
streaks of soapy water caressing hard ripples of muscle. Oh, it’s such a clear
vision. I bet he’s got a fabulous cock.
Squeezing my thighs
together, I seek some sort of relief from the mounting wanton tension between
them. Lust is bad, bad, bad. I’ve never found myself fancying a man too much.
I absolutely do fancy Dane
too much.
Taking a deep breath, I’m
hit with another dose of Dane; freshness, soap, and spicy-sweet cologne. I can
pick up his combination of scents even with the surrounding aroma of eggs and
bacon. His bed sheets will smell of him, won’t they?
Brain out of
your knickers, Brooklyn
.
We’re served by Lexi again.
I choose to ignore the fact that this is starting to feel like our table and
seats, our Lexi, and our Purple Cafe. It’s only day two, for heaven’s sake.
We’re hardly heading for years and years of
together
where one day we’ll
look back on this time fondly, so feelings like that have no place. Granted, I
like routine and familiarity, but what is wrong with me?
I order a hot chocolate with
no frills; I need something warm and sweet. Dane’s choice is a coffee.
As the waitress turns and
walks away, Dane leans forward with his forearms resting on the table. “I wanna
ask you something.”
“Okay.”
“What do you think about
when you’re dancing?”
I frown, taken aback. I’m
not even sure I know how to answer him. “Um … that’s a strange question.”
His brows rise. “Really?”
“You’re the first person
who’s asked me that.” I pause in consideration. “I’ve never acknowledged the
thinking aspect, not in order to explain it to someone. I mean, obviously if
I’m following choreography I’m aware of the techniques, their sequence and
timing, so I’m thinking about that, but it’s the
feel
I get caught up
in, and that’s quite impossible to describe. The words, the beat of the music,
the techniques, and me, all become one. I’ve performed to songs that have so
much meaning, with powerful choreography that expressed them so well I’ve …
cried, they were that overwhelming. Some have been more about fun, some have
been rhythms without words, and they affect me differently, but it always runs
so deep, like in an entirely consuming way.
“Dance is a perfect and
wonderful way to escape the world around you when you don’t like it very much
…” Any further words get stuck in my throat. Dane’s looking at me as though
he’s absorbing all that I’m saying.
For a very long, very
intense moment, his gaze holds mine.
If the world outside this
cafe was coming to an end right now, I wouldn’t even notice.
Our drinks arrive, breaking
the moment, and I silently thank God for the perfect timing.
Whilst I start to stir,
looking down at my swirling cocoa, I try to figure out why I feel so drawn to
Dane.
I checked Brooklyn out on that TV talent show she was
on, there’s a bunch of stuff on YouTube. Watching her perform takes me to a
place I didn’t even know existed, everything from the way her body moves with
the music to all the emotion her face and eyes convey. She even got me feeling
fucking entranced just watching her talk about what she feels when she’s
dancing.
“Did you always want to be a
dancer?”
“Yeah, but until I was nine
I wanted to be a dentist as well. My dentist was so lovely, she always gave
kids rewards after their checkups, and I wanted to be just like her. When I was
ten, I changed my mind. It really was all about the dance for me. I don’t even
know how old you are,” she says, raising her mug to sip her cocoa.
“Thirty-three. You?”
“Twenty-eight. How long have
you had your shop?”
“Almost nine years.”
“You were twenty-four when
you started your own business. That’s quite an achievement. Hard work, I
imagine.”
“Yeah, but worth it. It
helps working with someone who shares the same goals and ideas as me. That’s
why I did it with Eric, instead of on my own.”
“So you could’ve done it on
your own if you wanted to?”
“Yeah and I would have if I didn’t know
Eric. He worked where I did my apprenticeship, so I knew what he was about way
before I decided to open the shop. When my parents were alive they were quite
successful, and for years I didn’t know what to do with all the money they left
behind. I was scared to touch it, mostly because I didn’t want to waste it.
When I realized Eric and I were still coming from the same place and shared the
same visions, the shop just made sense.”
“I don’t know a single thing
about motorcycles or the shops, but your place looks fantastic. I’d say it was
definitely worthwhile.”
“Thank you. So you know
about my family and where I’m from, what about you?”
“Have you been to the UK?”
“No.”
“Well, I’m from a place
called Angel, in north London. I’ve lived in that area all my life with my mum,
dad, and brother, Tommy. He’s three years younger than me, but because he’s
taller he considers himself my big brother.”
“Where are your parents
actually from?” I’m intrigued to know what influences her skin tone.
“Both born in the UK, but
Dad’s parents are Irish, though you wouldn’t think so with the surname Scott.
Mum’s parents are Turkish.”
“Right. So you’re all
close?”
“Yeah, we are. I’ve always
gotten on with Tommy, but we became closer after my injury. I think it
frightened him that I got hurt so far away from home. He wasn’t keen on my
decision to come back. Dad wasn’t, either.”
“But you still came.”
She nods, frowning. “I
really wanted to, and Mum thought it would be good for me. Mums know best.”
That last little statement’s got her looking uncomfortable.
“It’s all good, right?
Embrace your mom. What’s the deal with your dad? Yesterday you didn’t say
anything about him coming with your mom and brother for the show.”
“Impressive attention to
detail,” she says, teasingly.
“I’m not pretending to
listen when you talk.”
She laughs lightly. “I
didn’t think you were. His career is very demanding and the show dates clash
with his commitments.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s a cardiac surgeon. He
also lectures at a university and participates in other seminars – it’s a
seminar that’s getting in the way of him coming. He’ll see
Release
when
we bring it to L.A. in September, anyway.”
“Okay. So what does your mom
do when your dad’s saving lives?”
“She saves peoples
wardrobes,” Brooklyn says and she starts to giggle. “That was a terrible joke.”
She’s still laughing and now I am, but my humor is for that fact that she’s
laughing at herself. She clears her throat. “By wardrobe I meant closet, by the
way. Mum owns a line of party dresses with her best friend. She’s fashion and
accessories mad, so it’s a perfect career for her. She used to make mine and
Leona’s costumes. That’s absolutely useless info for you, but I thought I’d put
it out there anyway.”
I don’t know why, but
Brooklyn Scott fascinates the shit out of me. I feel like I could spend all
damn day sitting here asking her questions about herself. I don’t even mind the
“useless info”.
“Why is the show called
Release?
”
I ask. I kind of wish I’d paid more attention to the whole production now, but
Brooklyn’s performances were the only ones that got my full interest.
For a moment, she stares at
me like she knows I didn’t concentrate enough, but she can’t possibly be aware
of that. “Couldn’t you tell?”
“I think I know the answer,
but I wanted you to confirm it. Every dance seemed to relate to love in some
way. During your bedroom dance, I figured you and your partner were a couple
who were breaking up, but then you made up, so I guess it was just a fight. In
another you seemed to be falling for the guy, but I didn’t get the very first
performance by the redhead who danced alone. That’s why I’m not so sure.”
“She was in love with
someone she couldn’t have. The letter she ripped up at the end of the song was
to the man she wanted, and doing that was her way of releasing his hold over
her. The show does revolve around love; releasing yourself from a love that’s
bad for you, or releasing yourself to be free and welcome love into a heart
that’s resistant to it.
“The main story is based
around Liz, the redhead, who, after the first dance, starts a search for true
love. You may have noticed the influence of other nationalities in the
performances, they represented her searching the world, and those other dances
were little stories like falling for someone and letting it happen, or fighting
to save a relationship.
“I think it’s a
beautiful production with the perfect happily ever after. A real-life
fairytale.”
How fucking ironic?
The look in Brooklyn’s eyes right
now tells me she’s the total opposite of the man sitting across from her –
she’s all for the love thing. I’m all for two people who are in love being
together, and when necessary fighting to make it work, but it’s not for
me
.
Brooklyn and I are coming
from different places, we’re headed in different directions, and this right
here is the ideal time for me to make that clear.
As I already knew, and as
she told me, she’s not the type of woman who just fucks.
I’m not the type of man who
can offer a woman more than that.
What I know today, that I
didn’t yesterday, is that it’s pretty much a guarantee that if Brooklyn and I
continue with whatever this is she’ll wind up getting hurt by me.
I don’t want that.
Something about the way
she’s looking at me stops the words that were about to leave my lips; words
that’ll make things clear from my side. I don’t understand why, but I can’t say
them to her.
I glance at my watch. If I
wanted, I could stay here talking to Brooklyn for at least another hour. But
what’s the point?
“Shit,” I mutter, and I
can’t believe I’m about to deal with things this way. Like a fucking pussy.
“I’ve gotta get to work, we’re expecting an early delivery of some parts.”
“Okay.” The softest
upturning pulls at the corners of her mouth.
She sounded so damn sweet.
I almost wish I could be the
kind of guy she deserves.
It doesn’t help that she’s
been so relaxed with me today.
After I get the check, we
head for the door. I pull it open and wait for Brooklyn to step outside. She
turns to me and I tell her, “I’m gonna call you later.”
“Sure. See you.” Turning
away, she starts walking up the street.
I cross the intersection
quicker than I usually would, before Brooklyn Scott realizes one major detail
in our exchange just then.