In the Air (11 page)

"That's right. You've got that gynecologist appointment in the morning," I jabbed.

"Don't worry. I'll be back in time to see you parading around in class."

I hung up with Wren, amused. I thought about all of the things I'd learned about Natalia that day. The way she described the hospital visits and the waiting she endured while her father was being treated made me want to hold her in my arms. I wanted nothing more than to be the shoulder that she could cry on. I barely knew her, but my gut instinct was to keep all the bad things from her. Going to that cafe was probably the best decision I'd made in a long time.

When I hopped out of my cab and stood in front of Mercury Lounge, I realized why Wren asked if I was wearing a tie. Most of the people who stood outside wore band T-shirts and tight fitted jeans. I wore tights on a daily basis: there's no way I'd shove my nuts into something that constricting when I didn't have to. Showing the doorman my fake ID, he studied me and allowed me to pass through.
$400 well spent.

The place was tiny. Bumping a few shoulders on my way in, I headed to the bar. I needed a drink before braving the crowd again to find Natalia. After what felt like an hour, I finally reached the bar and ordered a whiskey. The lights above me looked as if they could fall on my head at any moment, so I stepped a few inches to my left, just in case. I turned my head and noticed the venue in the back, but I wasn't able to see anything past the massive beards. This place was where flannel shirts went to die. It smelled like death and sawdust. I was surrounded by people who were completely different from me. The typical crowd I hung out with preferred high-end clubs, their favorites being Lavo and Simyone. Up to this point, I had lived my life in excess. All I wanted now was to live my life normally. I was tired of classifying someone by what kind of car they drove or which neighborhood they lived in. When I was given a new BMW for my sixteenth birthday, my cool points doubled. It was exhausting having to constantly prove myself, when all I cared about now was being one of the best at Juilliard.

Draining my drink, I slammed it down on the bar just as the band finished their set. The crowd cheered and began clearing away from the stage. I looked to the front and spotted Natalia. Her beauty lit up the entire room. She looked at me, smiled, and I felt my heart beat like a kick drum. Her sun-kissed blonde hair, which was typically in a ponytail, fell past her shoulders, framing her petite features. Her legs were bare, perfectly pale. As I walked toward Natalia, Kingsley came into view and all of my happiness evaporated.

I was definitely going to be cock-blocked all night.

"
Happy you could make it. I'm sure this isn't your usual crowd." Looking at Samson, it was obvious. He was wearing a tie, for God's sake! And were his jeans creased? As out of place as Samson seemed, I thought he looked great. The guys I had dated typically wore T-shirts and a flannel button-up.
I wonder what Samson wears to bed? Does he keep it casual or is he more of a luxury fabric kind of guy?
As fast as the thought, I banned it from my mind. Samson and I both agreed to be friends, nothing more. I chuckled quietly. My head had been in disarray all week and I didn't anticipate it clearing up anytime soon.

"What's so funny?" He gave me a wary look.

"Nice outfit." Kingsley appeared at my side, observing Samson's outfit.

They glared at each other in silence. I was about to ask if they were playing the blinking contest when Kingsley spoke.

"Let me guess, your interview for a yacht salesman didn't go so well, so you're here drowning your sorrows?"

I didn't understand how Kingsley could criticize anyone's appearance. In the short time Samson and Kingsley had been in the same room together, I could almost feel the negativity oozing from their bodies. I needed to figure out a way to keep them from ripping each other's throats out. Maybe alcohol would do the trick.

"You two don't even know one another, so quit with the glaring and let's grab some drinks," I demanded.

Kingsley turned her gaze to me. "I know his type. They're all the same. Pretty, rich boys who think they can snap their fingers and get whatever they want." She turned to Samson and flicked him off before stomping away to the bar. I was almost positive we wouldn't be seeing her for the rest of the night. Maybe I wouldn't have to control
two
hot-tempered personalities after all.

"I'm sorry about her," I gave Samson a tight lipped smile. "She flicks me off all of the time, too." I shrugged my shoulders and beamed up at Samson, hoping to ease the tension. "This will be fun," I declared, trying to convince us both.

"We'll see." His unconvinced tone came across loud and clear.

As we made our way to the bar, Samson stopped to take his phone from his pocket. "I need to take this, but I'll meet you over there." He held up his index finger and gave a restrained smile.
I wonder who that could be.

I reached the bar to find Kingsley hanging on the arm of a new guy covered in piercings and tattoos. She must go for a certain type. She was laughing wildly, ignoring the glares thrown her way from the other patrons.

"Hi!" I chimed, bumping Kingsley's shoulder to get her attention. She gave me a wide-eyed stare and then motioned her head toward Tattoo Guy. Picking up on her less than subtle hints, I rolled my eyes and turned away.

I wasn't sure what Samson liked to drink, but I ordered two beers, hoping he would be okay with that. I walked back toward the stage, staying at the back of the crowd, so that Samson could easily find me whenever he returned.

Just as the band began, I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see Samson. Something was bugging him.

"Is everything okay?" I asked nonchalantly.

"Yes." He looked down at my hands, and smiled. "Everything is good, now." Taking the beer from my left hand, he lifted it in the air to cheers. "To new friends." His eyes went dark as we tapped our bottles together.

Friends.
Each time Samson said that word, it deflated me. The crooked smile returned on his face as he took a drink. Every time the dimple on his right cheek appeared, my stomach dipped, like I had just jumped out of an airplane. The ironic thing about it was that I had no idea how either situation would work out. The fall could either end in joy or destruction.

The crowd began cheering as the lead singer belted out the first note. It felt incredible being in New York at a club I'd always wanted to go to, though I would never have pictured being here with Samson. Twenty-four hours ago I would have objected to it, but after allowing myself to be vulnerable with him at the cafe and him not freaking out from my outburst, I realized that he was a good guy.

When his arm brushed against mine, I looked up at Samson, who was already staring down at me. My heart was racing like I'd just downed twenty Red Bulls. In the darkness of the room, his eyes still shined a brilliant blue. There was something so honest about his eyes, I had promised myself earlier that there wouldn't be a second kiss, but now I wanted nothing more than to reach up on the very tips of my toes and kiss him.

Roadkill Ghost Choir started playing the first note of their song, "Drifter," and I broke my gaze with Samson to look at the stage. I felt like I was on cloud nine. Music had always been important to me. One of my favorite parts of choreographing a routine was picking out the song. My mom always hated the music I picked. She thought that dancers should only perform to classical music.

I peeked up at Samson, bobbing his head along to the music. He seemed like he was genuinely enjoying himself. I was curious to know who his favorite bands were. Was he a fan of The Beatles? What if he liked Phil Collins? I didn't know if I could ever date anyone that owned a Phil Collins album. We only touched on the basics earlier, and I wanted to learn more about Samson.

I yelled over the music, "Do you like the band so far?"

He bent his head to my ear. "They're great, I really like this song."

I didn't hear his answer because all I could focus on was his breath hitting my earlobe. I closed my eyes. How could my feelings for Samson go from such disdain to absolute desire?

"You said you found these guys on BriteRevolution?"

I didn't register Samson's question. His lips inched closer to my ear. "W-what?" I stuttered as my voice came out breathy.

His laugh brought me back to reality. "You found these guys on BriteRevolution?"

"Oh. Yeah, I did. Sorry, I couldn't hear you over the music." The lie came easily.

The band continued their set. Samson's body was close to mine and I noticed it wasn't due to him being cramped for space. I smiled knowing that Samson preferred standing close to me.

"I don't fit in very well here," Samson shouted.

"I noticed," I said, laughing. I was used to venues like this. The people here dressed a lot like me. Samson stuck out like a sore thumb. The fact that he came showed me that he wasn't the pretentious asshole I had assumed him to be. I'd never been so happy to be wrong. Of course, I would never admit that to anyone.

"So that's why you were laughing when I first got here? I thought we were friends, Natalia!"

"Haven't you ever heard the saying, 'If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it at all?'" I laughed and Samson bumped my shoulder. The simple contact could have just as easily been a kiss for the way it made me feel.

"Are you saying I don't look good?"

If Samson was looking for a compliment, I wasn't going to give it to him that easily. "If you really want me to spell it out for you, then fine. Loosen up the tie," I reached to undo the knot in his tie. "And ditch the cardigan."

"Want me to ditch any other part of my clothing?" he asked, a seductive smile showing on his lips.

I looked at him pointedly, refusing to answer his question.

"I'll invite you over the next time I get dressed," he said sarcastically.

I stared down at the ground, trying to banish the image of him wearing only a towel from my mind. Instead, I began thinking of my uncle's ingrown toenail that he teased me with as a child.
There, that did the trick.

"I'll bring the matches. We'll need those when we burn the prep out of you." We both laughed. It was bizarre that I wasn't paying more attention to the band, considering they were one of my favorites. With Samson standing next to me, it was easy to forget where I was.

When Roadkill Ghost Choir began playing "Bird in My Window," I closed my eyes and focused on the beauty of the song. The lyrics, "There's a girl in my bedroom, she don't love me anymore," were sung into the microphone and each word soaked into my soul, making me feel like my insides were swaying in an ocean full of melodic serenity. I was so lost in the moment that without thinking, my fingers trailed the inside of Samson's palm. The closeness of his body gave me the impression that maybe he felt a magnetic pull, too. Being friends was a complete joke.

Samson's head snapped toward me the second he realized what was happening. We were holding hands and he didn't push me away. I had no intentions of pushing him away either. If I could, I would super glue our hands together and we'd stay that way. When the song was nearing an end, he gave me a perplexed look and glanced down at our linked fingers.

"Nat–" he began, his eyes freezing onto mine.

I cut him off, stood on the very tips of my toes and kissed him as if the world were ending.