Page 6 of One Night with the Werewolf
“Good point,” she finally says.
I nod. “Cities are actually very smart in that way. If we were really the advanced species we think we are, everyone would live in a massive apartment building that recycles water through a series of fish tanks and plant nurseries.”
Wow, I sound like a goddamned geek. But both Emelia and Arin are listening raptly while Harry plays around on his phone.
Men these days.
“That makes sense,” Arin says after a moment. “I agree with you now, I think.”
“But I just hope they don’t take Elroy’s,” Emelia adds. “Any place but Elroy’s you can turn into a skyscraper, okay, Roscoe?”
I laugh. “Not my decision, but I’ll keep it in mind.”
After a few more minutes of chatter, Emelia finishes her beer. I’ve already polished off mine, as experienced as I am in drinking a lot of beer way too fast, and so I get up to fetch us more.
“Yeah!” Emelia says, hopping to her feet. “I didn’t think you’d want to go out and dance.”
Looking at her radiant smile, her eyes still red from crying, I don’t have the heart to tell her I was just heading over to the bar to refill.
“Sure,” I say. “I’m an old man, but I can dance.”
Her smile fades. “You’re not old. I don’t know why you’d call yourself that.”
She seems almost… affronted.
“I’m approximately twenty-one years older than you are,” I say. “That’s when Julie and I had Jason.”
Emilia gets a look on her face like she just ate a lemon. “I don’t want to think about Jason right now.” She grabs the sleeve of my leather jacket and pulls on it. “Let’s go out there and see how those joints of yours move.”
The dance floor is packed densely enough now that we have trouble finding her friends, so eventually, we give up. Instead, Emelia and I dance awkwardly side by side, simply grooving with the music while others dance far more wildly around us. A couple nearby are face to face, making out while they rub their hips together.
I was never much of a dancer in my heyday, either. But I did like that part of it—holding someone while you both rock in time with the music. It reminds me of my wedding to Julie, when we were still happy together.
Before the bite.
“Roscoe?” Emelia calls over the pounding music. “Are you okay?”
“Just thinking.”
“I am, too.” Her eyes are misty again, and that’s not good. She should be distracted, but her friends aren’t here—so that leaves it up to me.
I take her hand in mine, glancing down at her for permission. She nods, so I loop my other arm around her back.
“This is the only dancing I know how to do,” I tell her as I bring her in a bit closer, but not too close. “It’s probably not what you’re looking for.”
She shakes her head, both eyebrows up to her hair. “No, no, this is fine.”
We dance along to the music that way, probably looking like a couple in our sixties trying to groove with the cool kids. Buteventually, I feel Emelia’s hand relax in mine, and her own arm snakes around my waist.
“Hey, thanks,” she says.
“For what?”
“For keeping me company. We lost Arin, never found the Kims, and who knows where Becks went.” She sighs. “I still can’t believe it.”
I nod, just listening to her over the frantic beating of the speakers.
“It’s like it meant nothing to him. Nothing at all. He couldn’t have cared less.” She sniffles, leaning her head against my chest. “I knew it, I think. That he had other people. Deep in my gut. But I wasn’t willing to admit it.”
