said the bouncer, barely looking at the license as he slid it into the nifty little machine that scanned it for legality. “You still over at the Lamb?”
Jack took back his license and slipped it into the plain black wallet he’d pulled from a back pocket. “Yeah. Part-time.”
“Yeah?” The bouncer took my card without even looking at me. He slid it through the scanner perfunctorily. I guess I didn’t look underage. “What else you doing?”
Jack didn’t even give me a glance. “Going to school.”
“No shit?” The bouncer goggled. “What for?”
“Graphic design.” Jack shrugged a little. He neatly nipped the conversation short with a grin and one of those specifically male gestures that probably originated as caveman sign language. Kind of a trigger-finger, club-swinging motion.
I let him lead the way inside. Jack was good at picking up my cues, but he wasn’t quite good enough to make it seamless. He got an A for effort, though, when he asked me what I wanted to drink and got it for me, along with a beer for himself.
Downstairs, an odd mix of current hip-hop and old-school rock blared from the speakers as people mingled in front of the small stage where the night’s band would perform. It was cooler and less crowded here than it would be upstairs, and for the moment I was content to sip my beer and watch the crowd.
“So,” I said by way of conversation. “Graphic design? That’s interesting.”
He grinned around his beer and gave the same sort of shrug he’d given the bouncer. “Yeah. I guess so.”
“You must think so,” I said. “Or else you wouldn’t be studying it.”
Jack nodded after a second. “Yeah. It is. I think I’ll be good at it. I like it, anyway. And it beats bartending.”
It might beat fucking for money, too, but I didn’t say that. “You’re a bartender?”
“Yeah. At the Slaughtered Lamb. Just down the street.”
“I haven’t been there.”
“You should come by,” he said, but couldn’t make me believe he meant it.
Two girls dressed in too-tight tops and too-short skirts sidled by, eyeing him. “Hey, Jack,” said the taller one.
Jack nodded. “Hey.”
The girls eyed me next. I smiled and lifted my bottle, waiting for a challenge. The shorter girl tugged the taller’s elbow, pulling her away before there could be one.
“Sorry.” Jack looked pained.
“Old girlfriend?”
He shrugged, nodded, shrugged again. “She thought so.”
“Ah.” I drank more beer, wanting to finish before it got warm. “She the one who called you Jackass?”
God, that fucking smile again. The real one. Brilliance. It totally slayed me and erased each unsmooth moment of this date so far.
“Probably,” Jack said.
This wasn’t the best date I’d ever been on, but it wasn’t the worst, either. Jack seemed new to this, which was forgivable. I wasn’t as demanding a client as I knew some women to be. Sometimes the gentlemen, though they weren’t supposed to, spoke out of school.
“Jack, do me a favor, would you?”
“Yeah?”
I leaned closer to him. Tonight I wore stack-heeled boots that allowed me to reach his ear with my mouth without stretching. “Take off your hat.”
He did at once, hooking it with one finger and shaking his hair when it came off. Guh. So. Fucking. Pretty.
I don’t believe in love at first sight, but I do know firsthand the way my body can be triggered into full-on lust mode at the sight of something simple. Jack’s black hair streamed like silk over one eye. Short in the back, longer in front, it invited my fingers to run through it. He pushed it off his face, fingers stuttering just slightly as if he wasn’t sure what to do with his hand.
“Very nice,” I said.
He was nervous, I realized suddenly. More nervous than I was. I felt tender. Also very turned on.
I finished my drink and put the bottle on the bar. I leaned in again. He turned his head when I did, so his breath sifted over my face. I smelled beer and cologne and still no smoke. Heat filled the minute space between our faces.
I took his hand. “C’mon. Let’s go dance.”
I pulled him upstairs, his hand in mine, and led him to the middle of the dance floor where strobe lights threatened to give the dancers seizures and the music was so loud the bass thumped like a drum in my stomach. There was no question of talking here, so neither of us had to feel like we had to speak. We only had to move.
I love to dance. Always have. I’ve never had lessons, not even the ballet/tap/jazz classes so many little girls take. I wasn’t a performer. I just liked to move, to sweat. To work my body. Good dancing is like good sex. Fucking with clothes on.
Lots of the guys up there stood back and watched the girls writhing. A few shuffled back and forth, or did some grinding. Some, fueled by fifty-cent drafts, jerked around like fish on a line.
Jack had moves. Nothing fancy, just an innate sense of rhythm that kept him moving in time to the beat. He looked good, and I caught more than one group of girls checking him out. He kept his eyes on me, the hat now tucked into his back pocket and his hair still falling like silk. He kept brushing it back, like it annoyed him.
We danced hard, and he kept up with me. When a slower song came on, the floor filled at once with couples doing some sort of grinding, rubbing thing. Jack looked at me. I looked at him and waited for him to take me in his arms.
When he didn’t, I gave an inward sigh and crooked my finger. That grin again, the one that made my thighs twitch, lit up his face. He molded himself to my body without another hesitation. If I’d thought he was a decent dancer before, I discovered he was frigging brilliant, now.
He’d been waiting for permission, and once he had it, he didn’t stop. We danced fast, we danced slow. It was constant full-body contact after that, his hands on my hips and ass and keeping us connected in all the important places. And every now and again he’d give me that grin. He was having fun. So was I.
The best part of all of it was knowing that no matter what happened on the dance floor, it would go no further if I didn’t want it to. Of course, it would go no further if he didn’t want it to, also. Legally, I was paying Jack for his time and company, not for sex. Any monkeyshines we got up to later would be between two consenting adults, only. I’d never had a date turn me down, though, and I didn’t expect Jack to.
If I wanted him, I’d have him, but even though he was lovely and a good dancer, I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to take him to bed. Sam’s face still lingered on the edges of my mind, and though I figured Jack wouldn’t give a damn if I fucked him while
