“What is it?” I laugh. I find her embarrassment adorable.
“I just keep thinking about some of the things I’ve texted to you and I’m mortified,” she mumbles through her hands.
I laugh and stand up, walk around the table to her.
“This doesn’t have to be weird, right? We’re friends. We’ve known each other forever. Let’s go out. Let’s do something. I didn’t come all the way here so we could drink flat diet soda in your kitchen, right?”
“I guess not.” Her face breaks into a grin. “Okay, let me change. You find something for us to do.”
I choose a little bar for us to go to on the Upper East Side. She looks stunning in a short black dress that shows off her amazing legs, a thick black jacket that falls to mid-thigh, and low silver heels. I’m trying not to stare at her, but I can’t help it—and every now and then she catches me.
“This place is nice,” she admits. It’s more of a piano bar than anything else, and the atmosphere is laid-back and relaxed while still remaining classy. A man plays the piano, and waiters in tuxedos walk around serving drinks. I flag one down and order us a bottle of champagne.
“I thought you might like it. It’s a little quieter than most places around here. You can actually hear yourself in here.”
“It makes me want to get up and dance.” She giggles.
“So do it,” I say, raising an eyebrow.
She laughs. “Maybe after a drink or two.”
“Or two? What’s happened to the Lucy I know?” I say in mock horror.
“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you thought you did,” she says, her voice light. Maybe she’s right. One thing is for sure, no matter how well I do know her, it’s never enough. I want more.
Our champagne comes, and the waiter pops the cork and expertly pours it into the two glasses. I hand one to Lucy and take the other.
“To you,” I say, grinning.
“Me? Why me?”
She blushes.
“Because you’re doing something with your life. And because after a few of these you’re going to be rocking it out on that dance floor and I can’t promise you that I won’t be recording it on my phone.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” she says, and giggles. I grin as she downs her glass and motions for me to refill.
“I’ll get up and dance, but only if you do something too.”
“Yeah?” I say, filling her glass. “Like what?”
“There’s no fun if I tell you. Either you agree or you don’t.”
“Fine. Deal.” I narrow my eyes as she laughs gleefully, downing the second glass of champagne. “Slow down or I’ll be dragging you out of here.” I chuckle.
Raising her eyebrows at me, she stands up and walks over to the man playing the piano. She says something to him and he nods. I sit back, my arms crossed over my chest and watch her. She’s so confident when she’s tipsy. The sounds of Chris Isaak’s “Wicked Game” begin to fill the room, and I laugh. Of all the songs, she chose this.
She moves flawlessly across the floor, leaping into the air, her long dark hair flying behind her. My heart races as I watch, and it’s not just me. She’s captured the attention of everyone in the room. She has this way of making you forget everything but her. I could watch her dance forever. Hell, I could watch her do anything forever.
She gracefully falls to the floor to end her routine as the room erupts into cheers and applause. Getting to her feet, she blushes and waves, before rushing back over to our table.
“That was beautiful,” I murmur, my voice husky. God, I’m actually choked up. That is the effect this girl has on me. “They love you.”
“I can’t believe I just did that.” She laughs. “And now it’s your turn,” she adds, her eyes twinkling.
“What, you want me to dance too?” I chuckle.
“Oh no,” she smiles, pressing her lips together. “I have something so much more entertaining in mind.”