He was stunned, and I took the empty plate to the kitchen. I fought the urge to turn around and look at him. I knew he was staring after me, mouth hanging open. I heard him clear his throat.
“Um, are you ready to go?” he asked.
“Just about. Let me brush my teeth first.”
The hole in the wall, as Mark put it, was located in Midtown. I rarely ventured to Midtown because I had no reason to. And because I felt like it was too cool for me. This was where trendy people lived and worked and went out. And I noticed they were all beautiful and stylish—very different from my side of town. As we walked down Crescent Avenue surrounded by beautiful people in beautiful clothes, I silently thanked Avery for choosing my outfit.
“Nice job, Marcus,” the bouncer said as he looked me over, checked my ID, and looked me over again. “Not even legal.” He held up his fist, and Mark bumped it. “Score.”
I rolled my eyes. Really?
“Your name is Marcus?” I asked as the tops of my hands were swiped with large X’s.
Mark laughed. “No. But Angel likes to call me that.”
“That huge guy out there is named Angel?” I asked.
“Yep.” Mark put his hand on the small of my back and steered me inside.
It was exactly as he described: a hole in the wall. Dark, small, crowded, and loud. DJ Left Brow wasn’t spinning beats yet; the club was playing radio hits. It was a weird mix of people: ghetto thugs, hipsters like Mark, Georgia Tech students dressed in school apparel, guys in suits, women in stilettos, women in sneakers, lots of ethnicities. I couldn’t figure it out and decided this must be real culture. Apparently I’d lived in fake, all-white, suburban middle class culture. I noticed an Asian couple to my left.
“I thought Asians liked techno or electronica,” I said to Mark.
“Huh?”
“Uh, never mind,” I said quickly, taking a seat close beside him at an available table.
His lips curled into a knowing grin. “Can you believe all the white people here?”
I ignored him. Or tried to.
“I mean, white men in suits? Shouldn’t they be at East Andrews?”
I didn’t know what East Andrews was, but I’m pretty sure he was teasing me.
“Don’t make fun of me, okay?” I snapped. “I’m confused.”
“About what, Cadence? Music is music. It doesn’t have a color.”
Evidently. I felt really stupid and immature at the moment, and pulled on my tube top to cover my small amount of cleavage.
“I liked your shirt the way it was,” Mark said.
I grunted.
“I feel like you’re not having fun,” Mark said. “I’m sorry if my teasing made you mad.”
I shook my head. “I’m not mad. I just feel out of place.”
“That’s what’s great about this joint. No one looks like they belong,” Mark said. “So we fit right in.” He kissed my forehead.
The excitement picked up when DJ Left Brow took the stage. Though I’m not really a mechanics girl, I wish I had a better view to watch him work the records. I was interested in the sounds scratching made, how the movement of the DJ’s hands could manipulate different pitches.
“Wanna dance?”
I grew instantly nervous. “Dance? Um . . .”
He grabbed my hand and hauled me to my feet.
“Not really a request,” he said, and pulled me close. Very close. His thigh nudged between my legs. We rocked and swayed to a slow beat, Mark’s hands pressed firmly on the small of my back. I clung to him, letting him move me however he wanted, smelling the faint sweetness of his skin, feeling the small beads of sweat forming on his neck from the cramped heat of the club. His hands crept lower until they rested on my ass.
“We’re in public!”
“We’re in a dark room surrounded by people who don’t give a shit about us,” Mark replied. “Now be quiet and let me enjoy your ass.”
I didn’t know what to make of that statement, so I just stayed quiet. When the next song started, the mood in the club changed from mellow sultriness to upbeat funk. The beat picked up, and I had no idea how to dance to it. I quickly learned that I didn’t have to. Mark let me stand in place while he danced around me. I’d never seen a white guy dance like that. People actually stopped to watch him.
“What do you think about this one, Cadence?” he shouted, and did some moves that I later learned were part of a dance style called “pop-n-lock.” He garnered a few claps. I grinned from ear to ear. I had the hottest boyfriend in the club. No one at school would ever believe that Mr. Connelly could dance like this, and there was no one I could tell.
He was sufficiently sweaty by the end of the song and suggested we take a breather for the next few. I like how he included me in the “breather” like I’d danced at all.
“I was worshipping you out there,” he said, downing a bottle of water he’d purchased when we arrived.
“What?”
“When I was dancing around you. It was really a form of worship,” he explained.
I blushed.
“I plan to worship you in other ways later tonight,” he went on.
His words set my skin on fire.
“You were really something out there,” I said, squirming in my seat.
“All for you, Cadence,” Mark replied. “You give me the rhythm. Actually, you are the rhythm.”
It was so sweet and so corny. I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing.
“You’re laughing at me? I thought that line was good.”
“It was perfect,” I replied, and kissed his cheek.
“Well, call it rhythm. Call it whatever you want. The point is that you make me happy. I’m so happy with you, Cadence,” Mark said. He kissed my cheek in return, then moved his mouth to my lips. He spoke into my mouth, “Maybe just a few more, and then we’ll go home?”
“Mmhmm,” I replied, and pressed my lips to his.
It was late. We were both tired. But neither one of us wanted to sleep. Sleep was a waste of time, and we had no time to spare. I sat on his lap straddling his thighs. I think it was his favorite position.