She walked in with a group of friends. Rowdy, half drunk, high on their own beauty, power, and grace. I'd been sitting just outside the door, the night beginning to chill, the sounds of the city all around me, the bass from within Club Liquid pounding in my chest, despite being outside its big steel doors. Liquid is in a bad part of town, but they keep coming. Old, decrepit, empty warehouses lining the Mississippi surround the club, but no one seems to mind. It just means there are plenty of places to park. And, as in my case, to hide.
Another group of girls were walking up to the doors not half a minute after the last, one of them a pretty, tall brunette, who smiled in my direction. But my sights had already been set. I nodded, uninterested, and flicked the butt of my half smoked cigarette down the river embankment. It left an arc of amber light in its descent, hissing as it hit the murky, swirling water.
I turned and went in. The music hits you as you walk in the door. It's a tangible thing, something you can feel, like a blast of air or a punch to the gut. It's solid. Relentless. Alive. Bodies sway in unison on the concrete dance floor, alone or in pairs, almost completely filling the wide open space. The fire marshal would have a field day with this place, but they never come this far out of the city unless they are called.
I singled her out pretty quickly. Her platinum blond hair picked up the myriad of lights gleaming from the rafters. As she moved right or left, the color would shift red to blue, purple to green. Strobes bounced and reflected from her silver sequined top, allowing me to spot her from just about any point within the club. Me and everyone else, more than likely. I saw Katelin on the second floor, she was definitely watching. As her eyes met mine during a scan of the crowd, I mouthed 'Mine.' She made a shrug of her shoulder and a sneer of her perfectly made up lips, then turned back to the bar.
I began to move through the writhing mass of bodies, never taking my eyes off the brilliant sparkle of the blond girl. The DJ switched to a slower tempo beat, and a good number of people left the floor, to drink, or smoke, or wait in the big, overstuffed booths for a faster song.
My girl was undeterred, and continued to sway on her patent leather heels. I finally got close, leaning up against her back and sliding a hand smoothly around the front of her waist. We bounced and swayed in time, following the beat. Only once did she make note of my presence, slipping a hand up and behind her head, running her long fingers through my dark hair and down the front of my shirt.
