wearing leather pants, chains and boots that gave a new definition to the word stomp ?
After a few more songs, I said, “Come on, Maya, let’s get a drink.”
“Hey, where are you ladies going?”
“Maybe we’ll see you later,” Maya said, and she grabbed my hand to try to move our way off the dance floor.
The guys weren’t usually pushy here so we got away without protest. Unlike some of the other clubs on the North Shore or Boston where you’d be hit on repeatedly by drunk townies or college jocks, here you didn’t have to worry about that.
We squeezed through dancers to make our way to the darkly lit bar guarded by more stone gargoyles on each end. Just as we made it to the other side of the dance floor, I felt someone watching me.
It was him.
Oh my God. He was here.
In all the times I’d come here, dressed in all kinds of tight, miniscule outfits, never had I felt so exposed. I wished I wasn’t wearing a laced-up black leather dress that exposed a lot of cleavage and was tight enough to show a pimple on my ass.
He was sitting on one of the dark-red leather stools, facing the crowd. I looked up at him twice and caught his eye quickly both times before I looked away. Those ice-blue eyes were so penetrating. Each time I’d caught his eye at the rock climbing gym, I’d have the same reaction—I’d look away quickly.
Why didn’t I have the guts to say hi? He was just another guy. So why did he have that effect upon me? There were tons of hot guys with jacked bodies at the gym. This one— only this one —made me react this way, like a zombie unable to speak.
My palms were beginning to heat up and I was painfully aware of the sound of my heartbeat despite the reverberation of the pounding bass around us.
“I know you from the gym, don’t I?”
Oh God. He was speaking to me. Whenever I heard that sultry voice and the French accent, I trembled slightly inside. Was there anything sexier than a French accent? During my brief semester in the south of France my junior year of college, I was in a constant state of sexual arousal with sounds of the French language all around me. Especially when purred by hot French men.
I opened my mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Maya elbowed me.
“Ye-yes,” I stammered, trying to sound nonchalant. “I go to Rock Hard Climbing.” That’s where he worked. “I’ve, uh, seen you there.”
Maya said, “I’ll catch up with you later.”
He nodded at her before she moved down to an empty spot at the other end of the red-and-black-marbled bar.
Damn it. How could she leave me alone with him? She must have figured out he was the guy I often drooled about, when she saw me clam up like an idiot.
I stared at Maya as she scanned the crowd on the dance floor, shooting invisible daggers at her back. I’m going to kill her later.
In all those months fantasizing about this guy, never did I think it would start as awkward as this. Perhaps he’d smile at me first or nod hello at the gym. Then one day he’d ask if I needed a hand with something. Maybe compliment me somehow. I would appear a bit aloof. Each time I went to the gym after that, things would progress nice and slow. We’d gradually talk a bit more until he finally asked me out.
He snapped me out of my thoughts when he said, “I thought I recognized you. You look,” he paused, “different.”
Never, NEVER, did I think our first conversation would be in some underground club with my breasts pushed up against a leather laced-up bodice, accentuated by a brooch with a silhouetted skull.
“Um, yeah.” I peered up at him. He was wearing a tight black T-shirt that enhanced rather than hid all those hours he put in rock climbing. His black jeans were tight and I didn’t dare look to see if they enhanced certain areas as well. “You look different too, out of gym clothes.”
He chuckled. Did I say something funny? I didn’t think so.
“I only wear my gym clothes while I’m working. But I guess
After a few more songs, I said, “Come on, Maya, let’s get a drink.”
“Hey, where are you ladies going?”
“Maybe we’ll see you later,” Maya said, and she grabbed my hand to try to move our way off the dance floor.
The guys weren’t usually pushy here so we got away without protest. Unlike some of the other clubs on the North Shore or Boston where you’d be hit on repeatedly by drunk townies or college jocks, here you didn’t have to worry about that.
We squeezed through dancers to make our way to the darkly lit bar guarded by more stone gargoyles on each end. Just as we made it to the other side of the dance floor, I felt someone watching me.
It was him.
Oh my God. He was here.
In all the times I’d come here, dressed in all kinds of tight, miniscule outfits, never had I felt so exposed. I wished I wasn’t wearing a laced-up black leather dress that exposed a lot of cleavage and was tight enough to show a pimple on my ass.
He was sitting on one of the dark-red leather stools, facing the crowd. I looked up at him twice and caught his eye quickly both times before I looked away. Those ice-blue eyes were so penetrating. Each time I’d caught his eye at the rock climbing gym, I’d have the same reaction—I’d look away quickly.
Why didn’t I have the guts to say hi? He was just another guy. So why did he have that effect upon me? There were tons of hot guys with jacked bodies at the gym. This one— only this one —made me react this way, like a zombie unable to speak.
My palms were beginning to heat up and I was painfully aware of the sound of my heartbeat despite the reverberation of the pounding bass around us.
“I know you from the gym, don’t I?”
Oh God. He was speaking to me. Whenever I heard that sultry voice and the French accent, I trembled slightly inside. Was there anything sexier than a French accent? During my brief semester in the south of France my junior year of college, I was in a constant state of sexual arousal with sounds of the French language all around me. Especially when purred by hot French men.
I opened my mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Maya elbowed me.
“Ye-yes,” I stammered, trying to sound nonchalant. “I go to Rock Hard Climbing.” That’s where he worked. “I’ve, uh, seen you there.”
Maya said, “I’ll catch up with you later.”
He nodded at her before she moved down to an empty spot at the other end of the red-and-black-marbled bar.
Damn it. How could she leave me alone with him? She must have figured out he was the guy I often drooled about, when she saw me clam up like an idiot.
I stared at Maya as she scanned the crowd on the dance floor, shooting invisible daggers at her back. I’m going to kill her later.
In all those months fantasizing about this guy, never did I think it would start as awkward as this. Perhaps he’d smile at me first or nod hello at the gym. Then one day he’d ask if I needed a hand with something. Maybe compliment me somehow. I would appear a bit aloof. Each time I went to the gym after that, things would progress nice and slow. We’d gradually talk a bit more until he finally asked me out.
He snapped me out of my thoughts when he said, “I thought I recognized you. You look,” he paused, “different.”
Never, NEVER, did I think our first conversation would be in some underground club with my breasts pushed up against a leather laced-up bodice, accentuated by a brooch with a silhouetted skull.
“Um, yeah.” I peered up at him. He was wearing a tight black T-shirt that enhanced rather than hid all those hours he put in rock climbing. His black jeans were tight and I didn’t dare look to see if they enhanced certain areas as well. “You look different too, out of gym clothes.”
He chuckled. Did I say something funny? I didn’t think so.
“I only wear my gym clothes while I’m working. But I guess
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