Target on Our Backs
Page 37

"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.
Okay, that's not like Naz, not at all.
He pushes his way over to her, and I follow his path. Melody looks up, spotting us, and squeals, instantly abandoning the guy she was dancing with, thrusting herself at her boyfriend. She wraps her arms around him, jumping, so the only thing keeping her from hitting the ground is his grip.
Shit, she's really drunk.
He almost falls trying to hold onto her, but he doesn't seem to mind it.
They start dancing together, slowly, not at all on beat to the music playing. I turn away from them, shrugging it off, and start dancing, too. I don't know what song's playing but I remember it from The Breakfast Club, so I sing what I know and just go with it all.
Time passes.
I'm pouring sweat.
My feet hurt and my muscles burn, but it doesn't stop me from dancing.
Melody drinks more.
Leo drinks nothing at all.
Another cup of water is forced in my hand, and I'm grateful for it, because I'm parched. I don't know how many songs have passed, how many hours we've been here, but the crowd has thinned just a bit, giving me more room to move. I'm singing the last verse of Tainted Love when I turn around, my footsteps faltering, lyrics stalling on my lips.
Holy shit.
He's here.
I have to blink a few times, because I can't even believe my own eyes.
Naz.
He promised. He did. But I never actually expected him to show up, to walk his ass on inside the club.
He's not at all dressed for the place, but he's toned it down a bit, taking off the jacket and tie, loosening his collar. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, which, once again, is the hottest thing there is.
He's looking around, looking for me.
He's looking at everybody, dressed in their fake eighties clothing.
He looks utterly disturbed by it.
Carefully, I slip to the edge of the dance floor, watching him, waiting for him to approach. When he's within earshot, I raise my voice, so he can hear me over the music. "Come here often, stranger?"
He turns toward me right away, and all at once I can see the tension leave his shoulders as relief replaces it. Wow, I don't think I've ever seen him look so uncomfortable.
Talk about stepping out of the box.
"Can't say I do," he says, looking past me, at the dance floor, before focusing on me again. "Can't say I'll ever come here again, either."
"But you came," I point out as he steps closer, pausing right in front of me.
"I did," he says. "I made a promise."
The song changes again.
"Dance with me," I say, grinning as I grab his hand and try to pull him onto the dance floor. It doesn't work. He doesn't budge at all. He's a hell of a lot stronger than me and he's infinitely more stubborn.
"Nobody said anything about dancing."
I stall, glaring at him as I let go of his hand. "You remember that time you took me to that dinner party-slash-political fundraiser-slash-whatever the fuck that was at the hotel in Manhattan?" I reach into my shirt, pulling out the necklace concealed in it. "It was the same night you gave me this."
"Of course I remember."
"You told me to dance with you that night, and I hesitated, and do you remember what you said to me? You told me to stop being chicken shit."
He laughs, loud and genuine, when I say that. "I'm not sure I used those words, sweetheart."
"Whatever," I say. "I danced with you that night, so now it's your turn to pay me back."
"Fair enough." He motions for me to go out on the dance floor, but I just gape at him. He conceded way too quickly. I was prepared for more of a fight. I was conjuring a whole argument to win that one. I was prepared to bring out the tears. "Go on, then."
Shaking it off, I turn around and slip out onto the dance floor, him right behind me. I start to turn around when we reach an open space, but his hands grasp my hips tightly from behind, pulling me back against him.