My Seoul Man

Chapter 11

Let me fill you in on those days before I sent him off, too. Cause...well, have you ever played one of those "What's Wrong With This Picture?" games where you're supposed to search through this perfect looking drawing to find all the little wonky parts?

Test your skills on the next two or three installments of this story. It may save you a whole lot of grief the next time you step out on faith in a new relationship.

Okay, "leggo," as all the K-pop idols say way too much now tryin'a imitate their favorite hip hop dudes:

We finally decided to take turns driving back to Whitman on Sunday evening because were so delirious from lack of sleep that we kept bursting out laughing at the slightest little thing—definitely needed those little naps.

Not for the reason you think—no uglies had bumped yet.

Don't trip—this really isn't one of those wonky parts. It's just that we'd sipped beer, smoked trees and round danced 'til almost sunrise when we had to go make breakfast for the guests and dancers.

So "Bae-J" trudged off with the men for wood and I yawned my way to the cook shack where the women who'd slept instead of partying gave us a whole lotta sass.

Me, especially, of course. Talking about how they'd expected me to be "walking all funny" after—oh, you remember what I told you about them. They were in rare form that morning for sure.

And Lana taught us all how to hula our hips while we were beating big bowls full of eggs and laughing 'til our sides ached too much to wiggle anymore. I wound up loving that woman. I wear her earrings all the time because they make me think of her. And smile.

I smiled the whole way home, too, during my turns at the wheel. Mostly after looking over at the man I hadn't slept with while he was snoozing peacefully on the passenger side.

I could totally understand why those scouts had chased after him. He was the K-pop type from head to toe.

Silk-skin, fine-features, cupid's bow lips. Broad shoulders, slim hips, well-defined dancer's muscles.

With the wind rustling strands of that shiny black hair into that newly tanned face, he was such a perfect picture that I swear I felt a director would yell, "Cut," any minute.

But a big rock hit the windshield instead, spun up from the road by the big semi in front of us.

Didn't crack the glass, thank God. Just startled AJ. Who eased up straight and frowned out at the road...

So I said, "No harm done," to ease his mind.

And he scooched over to pull a few loose strands of my hair out of my face and back behind my ear. Chuckled at the little shiver that gesture caused.

I said, "Don't be scared. No harm done. Go back to sleep."

"Scared the hell out of you, didn't I, though? With the ring thing..."

"What makes you say that?"

"I thought about it while I was out there with those guys chopping wood and sort of easing back to reality. I must've sounded batshit crazy coming at you like that."

I laughed. "At first, I kinda thought you and the guys had hit the pipe or something. Ronnie loves his weed."

"Wasn't the weed. It was the drums and the dancers—us, dancing. That heartbeat drumming through all of us like we were all part of one big, crazy creature—wow, there's the crazy again."

I laughed with him for a minute. And then asked, "Isn't it like that onstage, though? The music kinda pulling everybody together?"

He gave a pensive nod. "Sometimes once it's all muscle memory, the steps and everything, I can just dissolve into the music and the moment like that. But those dancers, the ones that suited up all serious—they humbled the hell out of me. I mean, they weren't out there showing off. They were sacrificing themselves for everybody. Sacred stuff."