Just Friends

[ 4 ].

The night was still young, with the hands of the clock barely grazing the midnight hour. You were comfortably nestled in the buzz of the bustling bar, having just finished your fifth cocktail for the evening. As the liquor seeped into your bloodstream, you felt a giddy lightness take over. Your head spun in a dizzying whirl of laughter, conversation, and clinking glasses.

The cacophony of the bar seemed to swirl around you, an intoxicating mix of sounds that only added to the euphoria of the evening. Emboldened by the liquid courage coursing through your veins, you found yourself becoming more open, more conversational than usual. Words flowed from your mouth with an ease you rarely experienced. Each sentence was punctuated with a joke that was wittier than the last. Your laughter, usually a quiet, reserved chuckle, had transformed into a boisterous giggle that echoed around the space. You were not just happy; you were ecstatic.

The recruit, a young man with a charming smile and sparkling eyes, had invited you to this pub. He, too, was having a great time, his laughter mixing with yours, creating a symphony of joy that filled the air. He had ditched his friends, choosing to spend the entirety of the evening with you instead.

The electric energy that danced in the space between you two was undeniable, a palpable force that drew you both closer like magnets. His hands were continually brushing against your side in an intimate manner, gently pulling you closer to him, or clutching your arm in a warm, secure grip. Every then and again, he would draw you in closer to whisper sweet nothings and compliments into your ear.

Initially, your instinct was to maintain a certain level of distance between the two of you, gently pushing him away in an attempt to create a physical and emotional boundary. However, as the night progressed, and the alcohol started to take its intoxicating effect, influencing your senses, you gradually found yourself drawn into the allure of his company.

You started to appreciate and even enjoy the undivided attention he was showering on you. Everything about him, from his compliments that made you feel good about yourself, to his touch that sent sparks of electricity through your body, started to become more appealing. His undivided attention was now something you were beginning to crave.

Throughout the night, you didn't think of Ghost. And on the rare occasion when his face sneaked into the recesses of your consciousness, you were quick to brush it off, realizing that you didn't care about him. Why should you? He was merely a friend, nothing more and nothing less. He had never expressed any sort of romantic interest in you, nor had he ever hinted at wanting anything more than friendship. But the guy sitting next to you on the barstool was a different story altogether. He was making his intentions crystal clear, with his playful, flirtatious remarks and his bold, unabashed actions, that he wanted something more from you. He was interested in you, and unlike Ghost, he wasn't afraid to make it known.

After the recruit had gone ahead to order yet another round of drinks, your eyes wandered around the dimly lit bar. The atmosphere was thick with the scent of old liquor and the sound of murmuring voices, but oddly enough, there was no one out on the dance floor. Despite the absence of dancers and the rather terrible music playing through the old speakers, a sudden desire stirred within you. You realized you wanted to dance, and you didn't care about the lack of a lively atmosphere or the quality of the music.

"I'm a lousy dancer, so I'd rather sit here and talk with you." The recruit replied when you proposed the idea to him.

With a twinkle in your eyes, you blinked at him. A playful grin slowly stretched across your face. You extended your arm towards him, allowing your hand to rest gently yet deliberately on his leg. Your touch was feather light but also carried a certain firmness, your fingers tenderly squeezing the muscle of his thigh. You leaned in, the distance between you shrinking, your faces drawing closer. Fluttering your long, black lashes at him in a coquettish manner, you let your voice drop to a soft, nearly inaudible murmur, each word deliberately chosen and laced with persuasive charm. "Please," you said. "Just one dance, that's all I ask."