She acted drunk that night, more than usual. Her eyes weren't fogged over, but she wasn't in any condition to go anywhere by herself, I suppose that's why I was the designated driver. I don't like clubs in general, or bars – not really my style, but I wanted to make sure that all of my girlfriends got home in one piece. I'm sure I stuck out like a sore thumb among them, especially next to Hunter – her, the gem of the club scene, the kind of smile that lights up her whole face, the kind of body that commands attention, next to me, the bookish lesbian who adamantly refused any sort of drink offered.
She danced like something out of a movie, with the kind of reckless abandon that would make most girls look slutty, but she just looked magical. Her blunt cut bangs and dress that clung to all the right places, gently accentuating the area between her breasts, highlighting her collarbone, standing out against her pale skin. Everyone else just faded, and all night I watched her dance and drink, and sing along to songs that she didn't know the words to. On the several occasions that anyone would try to touch her when she didn't want it, I'd step in with a quick smile and eyes that would melt steel.
The whole evening changed when a slow song came on – I don't remember what it was, I just remember her. She looked at me and curved her lips into a smirk, and began to dance. Her arms above her head, reaching towards the sky and turning to the side, letting me see just a hint of what was under the dress, her breast peeking out to the side just a little. She kept eye contact with me and ran her hands through her hair, letting the chestnut locks curl around her finger. She looked around her and when no one was looking ran her hand up the inside of her thigh, teasing, then letting it go back up her stomach and through her hair – repeating this motion, hand getting higher and higher every time. When I thought I might see everything, the song ended, and she smiled at me and went back to dancing with the crowd.
I could feel myself warming up, the area between my legs starting to ache thinking about her. I couldn't get the image of her hand rising up out of my head, and no matter what other song played that night I just kept seeing it on replay. Gradually, everyone in our group began to grow weary of dancing and drinking, or found someone else to go home with, and we all piled in the car to go back where everyone except for her and I fell asleep. She sat in the middle in the backseat, occasionally looking at me in the rearview. At first I thought it was just absentmindedness, but then she did that same smirk, and her eyes lit up again, and her hand began that same damn journey, up her leg, higher and higher. The pain between my legs where I wanted to feel her grew tenfold, and I needed to get back home to get this out of my head. Surely she couldn't mean it, she was straight. All she talked about was needing a man, there was no way that she would be doing this for me.
