On an Edge of Glass

waves them down.  They squeal happily and do some sort of wonky group hug thing.  When the thumping white lights switch to purple, all three of them hit the dancing crowd on “boy patrol.”  This is Ainsley’s terminology, not mine. 
    A cute guy with deep set eyes and a heavy five o’clock shadow saunters over to us.  He stands next to me and taps his finger on the bar like he’s going to order a drink.  Then, almost like it’s an afterthought, he casually leans his hip in and tilts his upper body toward Payton’s shoulder.  Suggestively lifting one eyebrow, he asks her to dance.  We’ve been at the bar for all of ten minutes. 
    I watch in fascination as she grins slyly and takes his offered hand.  The two of them stalk off, disappearing into the mess of thumping bodies. 
    Ben is flipping a quarter between his fingers.  He gives me a sideways glance.  “Happen often?”
    I do the eye roll thing but I’m smiling indulgently.  “She is a force to be reckoned with.”
    “You all are,” he says, slipping the quarter into his back pocket and taking a small sip of his beer. 
    We sit there, side by side for three obnoxious songs.  This place is all club music and greased back hair and hot, sweaty dancing.  It’s not really my scene and I’m getting the sense that Ben feels as out of place as I do. 
    To fill in the lack of conversation , I drink faster than normal.  When the beat of the music hits a higher notch, I signal to the bartender for another drink.  He obliges, bringing over a fresh vodka and cranberry garnished with a slice of lime.  Ben slides over money before I can even reach into my purse. 
    I should say thank you or something like that , but it surprises me so much that I do nothing but blink and nod my head like a moron. 
    After another minute , Ben stands.  He seems like a fake person then—leaning toward me, his hands folded into his pockets.  He’s got this quasi-apprehensive look on his face that I don’t understand.  Like me, he’s wearing jeans and a long-sleeved blue shirt.  He even has his brown hair secured in a ponytail at the nape of his neck just like mine. 
    I laugh . 
    “What?”  He asks loudly so that I can hear him over the music.  His forehead rumples.  I think that he’s uncertain and maybe a little embarrassed.
    “ Nothing.  It’s just that we match.”  I point and smile harder.  God.  I’m smiling so hard, the muscles in my cheeks start to hurt. 
    Ben looks at me, and then down at himself.  His parted mouth transforms into a grin.  That one ridiculous dimple appears out of nowhere. 
    “T o twins,” he chants, and he lifts his glass up off the bar and holds it in the air expectantly.  I raise my glass and we clink. 
    “Twins,” I echo .
    Ben sets down his drink and tucks the brown hair that has come loose from his ponytail behind his ears.  He clears his throat once, then twice, before bringing the flat of his hand to my back. 
    He lowers his face so that it’s almost level with mine.  The feel of his shallow breath against my neck and collarbone sends a delicious shiver through my body. 
    “Dance with me?” He asks in a deep and husky voice.
    My heart dips and sputters like an engine that’s catching.  I nod slowly and take two long sips from my drink for courage before abandoning it on the bar top.
    B ehind his back, Ben’s dangling an open hand, but I don’t take it.  I trail one step away and fill in the spaces he creates as people part and come back together to let us in.  I have this crazy thought that it’s like being swallowed up by human bodies and that I’m being digested by the loud and hectic music.  I feel it move through me, pulling me—sucking me from the outside in. 
    The house lights dim further.  Now we’re swimming in a new kind of darkness.  One that’s a surreal dreamlike canvas, dotted with soft greens and blues.  Ben’s hand snakes out for me.  He finds purchase at my waist.  With fingers inching toward my spine, he draws me to him until our bodies are aligned and I can feel the hard edges of his torso through the thin fabric of our blue shirts. 
    My heart hammers against my breastbone and stirs up a torrent of sensations inside of me.  I wonder if he senses it—if he feels even half of what I’m feeling right now.   
    Ben lifts his hands and gently touches my cheek.  Giving in to the turbulent vibrations rattling and heating the air between us, I close my eyes.