Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 111768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Ugh.
"One drink."
"None."
"Just a sip."
"No."
Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.
Compromise sucks.
"Fine," I mutter. "I promise."
He kisses me then. This time I don't turn my head. It's soft, and sweet, and way too brief.
"What about me?" Melody chimes in.
"You can do whatever you want," Naz says, turning toward her. "As long as you don't get my wife caught up in it, that is."
Melody playfully salutes him. "Got it, boss."
Naz walks out. I can hear his footsteps on the stairs, and then he's just gone. I'm not sure where he's off to, what sort of the things he has planned tonight, but I'm hoping he's safe, wherever he is, and not doing anything that can get him hurt.
"I swear, the two of you…" Melody says, shaking her head. "I still can't get over it. You're both just so cool about everything, like, whatever about it all."
I know what she means. It's hard to explain, but I guess when you jump over a hurdle like the murder of your parents, everything else sort of just pales in comparison. It's been a while since we've fought about anything, since I've been genuinely angry with him. He's frustrating, sure, but I understand him.
And I like to think, after everything, he understands me.
"Are you ready?" I ask, looking at Melody. It's well after dark, and we've still got to make the trek to Manhattan.
"Ugh, just like, five more minutes," she says, swinging around to jet out of the bedroom. "I'm almost done."
Five minutes turn to ten, which turn to twenty. Half an hour later, she's finally done. We take the subway back into the city, and Melody seems to enjoy the attention she gets on it, wearing her ridiculous outfit. The eighties are back, yeah, but I guess most of New York hasn't gotten the memo yet. She stands in front of me, clutching the bar, while I slink down on a bench beside two seat-hogging businessmen.
The line outside of Timbers is long when we arrive, but it only takes us a few minutes to make it inside. I hand my driver's license to the guy working the door, a beefy guy that looks like he's carrying a pack of hot dogs on the back of his neck, and scowl when he draws a big black ‘x' in permanent marker on the back of my hand.
Melody, as usual, gets her lime green wristband complimentary of the fake ID she carries. Pretty soon, she won't need it. She'll be twenty-one in just a few weeks. The bouncer glowers at it, though, bending it and studying it, like he knows the thing isn't real.
"You remember that other guy that used to work the door here?" she asks once we're inside. "You know, the hot guy… Kevin or something?"
It was Kelvin.
I remember.
He worked with Naz.
"What about him?"
"I heard he died," she says. "Some of the girls in my class were talking about it a few weeks ago. He got shot or something. Nobody knows who did it."
"That's… wow."
"Right? He seemed like such a nice guy."
I don't have a response for that, but her words nag at me.
Kelvin. Shot.
I don't think that's something Naz would've done.
I don't have a chance to dwell on it, though, as Melody grabs my hand and drags me through the club. Madonna blasts from the speakers, vibrating the floor as energy hums in the air. It's muggy, crowded out on the dance floor, but Melody doesn't hesitate to pull me deep in the crowd, wedging us into a small space in the center. It's some techno remix of Like a Prayer, the bass thumping through my body as I start to move, like it's almost instinct. Melody and I are jumping around, singing at the top of our lungs, screaming the lyrics like our lives depend on it.
Madonna turns to New Kids on the Block, which turns to Michael Jackson somewhere in there, before Madonna comes right back around again. Over and over, a continuous pouring of old songs. It all blurs together in a mix of bass thumping and eighties loving hysteria. Melody disappears to get herself a drink but by then I'm to the point I just don't care.
Bad idea? Pfft, fuck that.
It's been a while since I've had some carefree fun.
I'm dancing on my own, voguing, laughing as I sing along.
Sweat drips down my face.
Jesus Christ, it's hot in here.
Melody's there and back and then there again, guzzling drinks and giggling as she shakes her ass on anybody who comes near her. At one point, she appears, shoving a clear plastic cup at me. "Here."
I take it, stalling as I look at the thing. It's filled halfway with something. Bringing it to my nose, I sniff the liquid, earning a laugh from her as she dances against some gangly boy that probably looks nice with her beer goggles.
"It's just water," she says. "I promise."
Shrugging, I guzzle it down, my throat dry.
It tastes like water to me.
She's busy grinding on the guy, so I slip away, squeezing through the crowd to the nearest trashcan, tossing the empty cup in. I turn around, still signing at the top of my lungs—Paula Abdul now—when I run right into someone standing there, almost knocking them over. "Shit! Sorry!"
Hands grab my arms as whoever it is steadies himself and laughs. I glance up at his face, about to apologize again, when somebody I know greets me.
Well, sort of.
I recognize him.
Leo.
Conflicted feelings run through me. I smile kindly in acknowledgment, because holy shit, Melody's going to be happy, but another part of me bristles at his presence. Because no matter what Naz said, I still can't just shake the weird feeling, especially with him being here.
"Hey!" I say, motioning over to the dance floor. "Melody's over there."
He glances back that way the same time I look. We've got a perfect viewpoint of his girlfriend… backing it right up on the weird dude. Ugh. Not good.
I expect some sort of angry reaction from him, an intense surge of jealousy, but instead he just laughs and shakes his head.