This Won't Have A Name For A While

31. Late Bar

After our initial incident in the restaurant, everything else had gone smoothly, and we’d paid and left. I was disappointed to leave the stunning place behind - I could’ve stared at it for days - but we had an evening to be getting on with. By now it was properly dark, so we hurried down the street to the nightclub recommended to us by the owner of our villa in the welcome pack. Luckily for me, the heat of the day still lingered, allowing me to flaunt my dress without feeling too cold.

When we arrived at the doors to the club, crowds of people were gathering loudly and the intensity of the music inside shocked me. It was nothing like we had in America. The thudding beat pulsed right through me and hyped me up before I’d even gotten in; I felt how tense and excited John was beside me, so clearly it was having the same effect on him. But when I saw the length of the queue outside, my excitement began to subside, since we’d be lucky to get in by tomorrow night. It was ridiculous.

Though what I’d failed to remember was that I was here with John, who’s memorable face earned us a fast-track pass past the queue and directly through the doors. Stepping inside, a new kind of heat washed over us, mingled with the cries of the crowd and the heady scent of alcohol. Now I knew why John was so excited. It was common knowledge that he loved to indulge himself often. If there was one thing that really concerned me about John, it was that.

Though all of those thoughts were carried away when he seized me protectively by the waist, which I was glad for since clubs could be dodgy. The very action of it was making me feel things already.

The first main attraction for us was the bar, where John acquired glasses of something fancy and foreign for us to drink. When I took a sip, I didn’t recognise the taste at all, but I could tell it was strong. I didn’t dislike it, though. I certainly liked it enough to have a couple more.

The next stop for us was the dance floor. Usually I didn’t dance, but with those drinks in me, I felt I should give it a try. Around me, the crowd was a tangle of sweaty limbs and together we shared the rhythm. I still didn’t recognise any of the songs - they sounded European, much different to the stuff I’d heard back home. Next to me, John was dancing too, though not as frantically and carelessly. Clearly he could handle drinks better than me.

At last, I heard a song I recognised, and I couldn’t help but laugh at John’s pained reaction to it. It was Girls on Film.

–“THEY’VE GOT BASIC TASTE, WE’VE GOT BETTER SONGS THAN THAT!”– yelled John, over the sound of the crowd. I wheezed.

–“AT LEAST THEY’RE PLAYING SOME OF YOUR STUFF.”– I shouted back through the laughter, though I’m not sure if he heard.

After listening to his own song, he decided it was time to hit the bar again, and I followed him. The rest of the night was spent like that, flitting between the bar and the dance floor, until we got tired and ended up in a quieter corner of the club, sharing a seat together. I perched myself on his lap as we drank. There didn’t seem much point in talking because we could barely hear each other over the music, so instead we put our mouths to better use.

John had one hand in my hair and another at my waist, pulling me as far into his lap as possible. He also had me by the mouth and was kissing as hard as he could. When I felt him shift uncomfortably beneath me, I broke away uncertainly, before I felt for myself why he’d had to shift. We locked eyes and I saw how flustered he looked, his pressing needs obvious to me. How I wished we were alone right now.

But our moment was broken completely when a group of girls surrounded us excitedly, having recognised John. I couldn’t hear what they were saying over the music, but I assumed they were screeching. This was where his job would intrude on our personal life. Obviously, I understood that he had to flirt to keep his public image up, but I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealously when he gave them his best smile. However, the little squeeze he gave my waist alleviated that very quickly.

Soon, they left, and we returned to the dance floor too. We certainly couldn’t shag in the middle of a club, so we enjoyed the rest of our night the best we could. But underneath the surface, lust still bubbled.