Page 8 of Hit Man
Me on a dance floor in the States is laughably unthinkable. But here? Dancing to a rap group called Phat P who’s singing songs about poverty and social unrest to the world’s wealthy elite while I toss back hard liquor like its liquefied gumdrops. Yet I’m feeling less socially awkward and more alive than I’ve ever been.
Whatever my expectations were about tonight, about my entire year-long stay in this city, I’m shaking them off for the evening.
I stare into the glass, barely recognizing myself. My friend insisted I wear her tight red dress, which is blindingly bold. In comparison to my wardrobe, which is grounded in black—more so because I hate wasting my creative energy on matching tops to bottoms than fitting into the stereotypical architect’s penchant for wearing this noncolor—the red dress projects confidence. And sex appeal, which I normally would feel awkward being so blatant about. There’s something in the water tonight that’s sidelined all sense of caution. And although the short, midthigh length and deep V-neck put a little extra bounce in tonight’s strut, it’s what I’ve got going on beneath the dress that is bringing out this sexual side of me I never really explored.
Nothing underneath. I’ve gone commando.
It’s all because of the handsome, bold stranger in the living room, too.
Hot guy. Attention-grabbing dress. The perfect plan, right?
If only he’d been at the party to see it.
My eyes skim over the faces of the men assembled in the living room below, then I shake my head. No hot-bodied boxer.
No answer to the question that begs to be answered: “Exactly how wildly uninhibited can you be?”
Phat P comes back on from their break. I close my eyes, letting the liquor and music guide me as I sway to their rap about the po-lice.
The po-lice, and poverty.
Rapping about poverty in a room that must have cost millions to construct.
“Are you okay?” Zoey asks.
“Yes,” I reassure her, shaking off my continued doubts about Juan Carlos. Renaldo comes over to us and I shout, “When is the next party?”
He shrugs his shoulders.
“Okay. What time is this one over?”
He glances at his watch. “Soon. Two a.m. We’ve a business meeting in the morning.”
I sigh. No stranger. No tempering this unshakable curiosity I have about him.
“There’s time for one more round,” Zoey hollers.
“I’ll go get them,” Renaldo says, heading off across the dance floor. He’s got tight buns perfectly outlined in that suit. But not quite up to Channing Tatum standards. Not even close to—
“You checking out my man?” Zoey interrupts, with a laugh. “Latino men are the best lovers. Look around you, they positively ooze sexuality.”
“Half of them aren’t Latino,” I remind her. Juan Carlos does have a lot of international friends staying at Casa Bella. Wealthy business associates, Zoey had told me when I asked her about it earlier.
“Trust me. You should try one on for size.” She hits me on the hip, and I grin at the enthusiasm in her voice. Yep, Renaldo is keeping someone happy.
“I just might,” I tell her. “Someone the opposite of me.”
“Opposites attract.”
I nod in agreement, like I know this to be true. “I’d like to be with a man who goes with the flow. Who acts on his passions rather than methodically plotting everything out. My ex, Howie, was threatened by my going abroad. My independence threw him off. Corporate work was the limit of his dreams for himself and me,” I tell her.
“Howie. You should have known what you were in for when you decided to date a guy with such a ridiculous nickname. I bet he’s pissing himself knowing you’re down here with all these gorgeous Latin American men.”
“You’re right,” I agree with her, feeling dizzy and a bit wild. And sadly enough, I don’t miss Howie. Even more sad is the realization of this has me wishing I never wasted my time on someone who I was never truly feeling. We were like two bobbleheads riding along in the same car headed toward the same career, same one-track vision of life. Until I got out.
“Now we’re talking, sister.”
Talking. Maybe now would be the perfect time to share that I’m one step ahead of her, and confide in her the real reason I put on this dress?
