From outside the door came a very haughty stage cough followed by some heavy-duty throat clearing.

“Fuck,” Will snapped and dropped his forehead to my collarbone. “Fuck, Leo. Shit.” I could feel the warmth of his skin. He was sweating at his hairline and his back rose and fell with rapid breaths. He stayed like that for a long moment, clutching my hips, each finger palpable even through the pants, before he cleared his throat and told me he’d meet me outside.

And, hell. The idea of Will imprinting himself on the fabric was almost enough to make me want to buy the ridiculous things.

FOR THE next week, I went to sleep with Will’s taste on my tongue and woke up to visions of him. I dreamt about him. By Friday night, though, Milton was sick to death of my play-by-play analysis of our dressing room encounter and of watching me (apparently) sigh all through meals in the dining hall, so he said that instead of movie night we were going to go dancing. He spent two hours forcing me to try on clothes from his closet because he said I didn’t own anything decent, but I was thinking of Will and our kiss the whole time.

Charles wouldn’t come with us—he said dancing was a ludicrous mating ritual, and when Milton said it wasn’t about mating, he just looked puzzled and said, “Well, if it isn’t at least that, then what possible appeal could it have?”

Thomas came with us, though, as did Gretchen. I hardly recognized Thomas without his Psych notebook, but he seemed bouncy and ready to go. Gretchen shocked me by turning up in a bright green dress and proclaiming her love of dancing. But when we got to the club—some place in Bushwick that Milton said didn’t card—I saw that she danced the way she did everything else: with a quiet joy that was just her own. She wasn’t there for anyone or anything except dancing. And I kind of got the feeling I could learn something from her on that front.

I sat at the bar with Milton, watching as this mess of people attempted to make connections. Everyone was checking out everyone else. Or they were with their friends and oblivious to anyone else. Or they were with their friends or dates and still looking for someone better or more interesting or flashier to come along. It made me incredibly sad. Like this club was a microcosm of the real world. Except, I guess it actually was the real world. And then I was imagining infinitely more bars just like this one, all with people inside them acting the same way.

What blew my mind about physics was how it could account for this whole random set of people. We were all subject to the same forces of the universe. For every action there was an equal and opposite reaction. Like, no matter how illogical an action seemed there was still a sense of predictability in the way the world absorbed it and responded. Maybe that shouldn’t have comforted me, but it did. Because it was partly the predictability of those reactions that kept things running smoothly—I mean, that was socialization, right? Take that away and everything was chaotic and terrifying.

The things that could happen. Not super dramatic things like getting mugged or killed, even. But, the guy over there in khakis and a polo shirt? He could go and pee in the middle of the dance floor while singing Queen if he chose to. Nothing was stopping him except that he could predict what our reaction would be.

I didn’t know why I was thinking about these things when we were there to dance. I think maybe even the two drinks I’d limited myself to had made me pretty tipsy.

Milton delighted me when he drank because he got super loose and brutally honest. And maybe a little bit mean, but in this way that was totally justified because he was such a nice person at base. And because people were idiots. Like, this sleazy guy came up to him and was trying to flirt but kept saying super racist shit in the guise of compliments, and Milton was just like, “Goodness, I am so sorry, but I don’t speak English. No, seriously, I have no idea what you’re saying to me right now—it all just sounds like nonsense.” At which point, Milton slid another drink over to me, and I took it, even though I’d learned at orientation that I was a total lightweight, because I knew he was exasperated and wanted to commiserate.

But then I was definitely tipsy, which meant of course that I fished out my phone and called Will. He didn’t answer, and before I could leave a message, Gretchen pulled me off the bar stool to dance. Which was probably for the best, because I didn’t know what I would have said to him. Something about forces in the universe and the way he makes me see stars and his mouth and, shit, it was a good thing I didn’t leave a message. Well, good for me, not necessarily for the rest of the bar, which had to see me try to dance.

Tags: Roan Parrish Middle of Somewhere Erotic
Source: readsnovelonline.net