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  • Writer's picturejodi

Part Three of Seven

Continued...


Leaning against the bar, I am not sure if my stance is more for comfort or support. I smile as I watch the girls on the dance floor, it is a birthday celebration after all. Despite all of the people and all of the noise surrounding me, I cannot help but be distracted by thoughts of him. I still feel the heat in my core from the scent of him, the warmth and strength of his arms on my skin. The way he looked at me. Did he always look at me that way? God it felt so good, I could feel that in his eyes I look so beautiful. It makes me feel beautiful. My mind digs trying to recall memories of him, our past talks and encounters. We have never been anything more than friends. I have never looked at him in any other way. Did he want more from me back then? Was I blind to him? This is crazy, why am I even thinking of him? What is the point… I am married. Ugh, what the hell is wrong with me? ‘Raegan, just stop this crazy shit’ my inner voice screams! Draining the last sip from my glass, I chug it down like a sailor, coaching myself with a toast, to smarten the hell up! I turn to the bar with a little side step to the right, hesitate, then order another. Why the hell not I say to myself, as Charlie said my old man never lets me out.

I feel his presence before I hear his voice, I smile to myself, “I’ll have what she’s having”. I close my eyes for a moment, how did I know he was here? My heart races, I am certain my pupils dilate, dry mouthed I lick my lips. His right hand ever so slightly grazes my back as he steps up to the bar on my left, a touch that would not be noticed by anyone in the room but has the power to send electricity right through me, goose bumps all over my skin.

“Are you cold?” indicating his awareness of my skin, sending more shocks of electricity down my spine.

“Are you stalking me now?” I say with a coy little smile. He grins in response to my wit, the flush in his cheeks matches my own. My eyes glance to a dimple I have never paid attention to before. I watch him put the glass to his lips, overwhelmed with the want to touch them. His left hand bares no ring, no tan line where a ring may have lived and I find this acknowledgement very pleasing. I look back to his eyes, they have never looked so blue, their colour enhanced by his tan. Mesmerizing. We are frozen, eyes locked, the room becomes silent, lost in our own little bubble. Just like that, I am lost in the comfort and innocence, of the memory of a thirteen-year-old girl and a sixteen-year-old boy.

***


To be continued...



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