Page 33 of Any Girl But You
Her multiple silver bangles clank together as she waves me away. “Absolutely not. I’ve used your kitchen for weeks and have not paid you anything. This is just what we do around here.”
Morgan and Frankie return with our cocktails, and we all lift our glasses in cheers. As Zoey peppers Frankie with questions about her job at the magazine, and how much she loves the newwinter product line, I sink back in the chair. Yes, I’m engaging, laughing, sprinkling in a story about how peaceful it is when Frankie is gone in New York for business because Morgan is much nicer than her. Frankie scowls but laughs and tosses a balled-up napkin at me.
But really, I’m observing everything about Zoey. The way she grins, that beautiful, beautiful mouth curving up, popping up the smallest laugh lines that reach her eyes behind her glasses. The way her cheeks suck in when she sips through the straw and highlights those sweet apple cheekbones. The way she smiles at everyone, and scoots her chair left and right like a pinball machine so people can walk around her as they weave through the crowd.
God, she’s just so…perfect.Oof. This is terrible.
Yes, yes, I want to sleep with Zoey. Anyone could look at her and want the same thing. Zoey isstunning. But it’s not just that. Images of me cuddling and hugging her, rubbing her sore feet, staying in bed watching movies, making her breakfast, all flash in my mind. And this is a problem. A big, big problem because I know my track record, I know what I want, what I’ve always wanted, and this is not it.
The band takes the stage and within three heavy drumbeats, Zoey leaps from her chair and grabs my hand. “Is this a nineties tribute band? Oh my gosh, I freaking love this song! Come on!”
There is no one on the dance floor.No one. I’m not one to be self-conscious about things like this, but getting my sober butt onto a dance floor in front of a room full of strangers is a little much even for me.
But there’s no way I’ll tell Zoey no. Her eyes are dancing, her body is jumping, and her energy is infectious.
Thankfully, the crowd quickly fills in around us as the band pumps out Nirvana, Smashing Pumpkins, and Pearl Jam, although Zoey had to tell me each of the groups as the musicplayed. As the space around us gets tighter, and we get closer, the energy shifts, becomes alive.
Soon, drumbeats match my heartbeats, and Zoey and I are practically hugging each other. Her long hair sways along with her body, grazing my arm. Her scent reaches me, makes me hazy, does something tingly to my insides. I’m a goner. God, she’s incredible.
When I peek at Frankie and Morgan, to make sure they didn’t feel like I ditched them, it becomes very, very obvious that tonight was never about them. They’re smiling, but I should’ve known. Frankie rarely drinks and Morgan is a wine and fine dining kind of person. These two are not the type who visit bars to listen to a live band.
I really love my sister and her girlfriend.
“I freaking love this song!” Zoey yells next to me, for no less than the fifth time in a row. She is laughing, dancing, encouraging me to loosen up, and it works. Soon, I’m jumping along with her. Her shirt lifts from her belly as she raises her arms, and I hold back from drooling at that pierced belly button. I try not to let the rosy cheeks and the warm air and how good she smells affect me, but it does.
She’s touching me a lot. Likea lot, a lot, and I love it so goddamn much. But I’m definitely thinking more things than she’s thinking. She’s acting like any friend would act to another friend… Grabbing a hand, bouncing into me at every single new song that comes up, hugging me. I’m seeing a new side to her—fun, free-spirited, open. It’s like she’s let all her guards down, released whatever baggage she’s been holding, and is opening up. It’s wonderful and also terrible, and confusing. I simultaneously want more and less.
We never even sit down. For the rest of the night, we dance. Frankie and Morgan bring us water then swiftly return to the seats. We scream when they do a grunge rearrangement of “…Baby One More Time.” And Zoey grabs my hand, reels me out, and brings me back in for a quick, giggling spin.
Zoey’s skin glows in the lights. Her forehead glistens with a soft coat of sweat, and hair mats against her face. Seeing this sweet, pure person morph into someone who’s almost head banging at a song, makes me feel like she let me read her diary. Like I’m part of the inner circle, accepted, and I absolutely love it. Zoey trusts me enough to see beyond the baker persona, the woman who thinks “darn” is a swear word, the innocent, and shows me the other parts of her.
I’m wincing that she might hurt her foot again, but the smiles and laughs show me she doesn’t care. She’s letting go. Her hair swings along with her hips. She whips off her top, down to her white tank, fully embracing tonight like she’s at a rave.
I can’t help it. The moisture sticking to her chest, the dancing, the pink flushed skin. I’m sucked into the Zoey world, and I don’t want to leave.
When midnight rolls around, Frankie bounces out to the dance floor. “You ready to go? Morgan needs to get up early, and no one likes a cranky Morgan.”
Zoey wraps her hair up into a bun and fans her face. “Sure. I should get to bed, too. I don’t even remember the last time I stayed up this late.”
As we weave our way through the crowd, Zoey lazily links her arm in mine, and I’m trying so, so, so hard not to read into the movement. She was clear with me. Not only is she looking for a commitment, she’s not over her ex. And that’s okay. She didn’t lie, she didn’t shove it under the rug. She doesn’t know I’m having all these feelings, and having her arm linked in mine is giving me damn near diabolical thoughts.
Oh shit. Yep. It’s so clear to me. I have feelings. Actual, full, reach-into-my-gut feelings for Zoey. Feelings that say maybe, this could be something. Feelings that say I think what Iwanted before might have shifted. Maybe I could have a special someone, settle down, allow myself to love and be loved.Oh Christ. Did I mention this is bad?
The car ride home is more eventful than the car ride there. Zoey’s animated and chatty. We had exactly one drink each, and she’s jabbering like she threw back shots of tequila. “Okay, for real, anyone else here just dying when they played ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’? Like, come on. I was definitely born in the wrong era.”
Frankie glances at us. “Was it better than ‘Tonight, Tonight’ from the Smashing Pumpkins? All they needed was to drop in Amy Winehouse and I’d be done for it.”
Morgan and I toss a smile to each other. These two can chat about their musical tastes. Me, I just want to soak up everything about tonight. The way Zoey looks. The way she makes me feel. The way she makes me think about possibilities that I never thought were possible before.
As Frankie rolls to a stop, Zoey puts one hand on my knee and one on the door. “Thank you, guys. Seriously. I had no idea how badly I needed a night out,” she says.
“When was the last time you went out to a bar like this?” Frankie asks.
Zoey makes a dramatic gesture at looking at her watch. “Six, maybe seven years?” She laughs. “I know, I know. Before you say anything, I was just too focused on the bakery and well…I blinked and am practically middle-aged.”
“Oh my God, stop. You so aren’t.” When she opens her door, I do the same. “I’m going to walk you up.”
“Wow. Such a gentleman.” Zoey grins. God, she has such a great smile. “Frankie, Morgan. Thank you so much for inviting me. I feel like the popular girls invited me to the party, and it was the most fun I’ve had in forever.”
