Page 1 of Dance This Song With Me?

Chapter 1

LUCAS

The thumping beat of the bass hit me as the door opened and I stepped into the club. The room throbbed, vibrating with the beat and the jiggling, grinding mass of dancers pressed intimately against each other on the dance floor. Strobe lights cycled through their colors, as sequins glinted and psychedelic mesh crop tops shimmered above bare midriffs, cropped shorts and skin tight jeans. The smell of smoke, alcohol and sex hung heavy in the air.

The place was crowded.

I pushed my way to the bar and waited for the bartender to notice me. He was bent over scooping up ice from a tub, his straw-colored curls falling across his cheek. Another type of cheek peeked at me from beneath his super-short denim cutoffs. Lean legs covered in pale, hairless skin disappeared downwards into elfin boots. He stood up, dumping a bucket of ice into the icewell, brushing his hair back from his face, with an unconscious gesture.

Grabbing a clean glass from the drainer, he scooped some of the fresh ice into it, deftly free-poured something from a couple of different bottles, decorated the drink with a piece of pineapple and a paper umbrella and slid it across the bar to the guy he was serving, delivering it with a smile.

Cute enough, but not my type. I didn't mind looking though.

Someone slipped onto the barstool beside me, blocking off my view of the cute bartender.

"What will you have?"

I blinked, sizing up the newcomer. He was much larger than I, and clearly spent a lot of time at the gym, judging by the massive biceps bursting from his shirt sleeves and the broad chest barely contained by the white button-up. The straining shirt was open half-way down his chest revealing a thick gold link chain lying in a snarl of dark chest hair. I didn't like his cologne, and I wasn't a fan of the over-confident smirk that twisted his large red lips. Suffice to say, he was not my type in any way.

I was beginning to regret coming to the club tonight. What was I going to find here anyway? A hookup wasn't really my speed, after all. I'd done my experimentation during my university days, now I was looking for something more substantial, something that fell somewhere on the relationship scale. All that would happen here was I'd get hit on by guys that wanted a quick fuck or bj and then sayonara...

"I'm good, thanks," I replied, smiling to soften the rejection.

"Just one," the guy insisted. "Hey!" he called out to the bartender. "Over here!"

The sandy-haired bartender looked across from where he was talking to a customer, raised his hand in acknowledgement and continued his conversation.

"Jesus!" the guy beside me growled. "Fucking bartenders, right? They're all the same." He moved closer and a large hand appeared on my thigh. That was enough for me.

"He's a friend of mine," I said, sliding off my stool and getting to my feet. I didn't know the bartender at all, but this guy was a fucking creep.

I made my way to the end of the bar where the bartender was finishing up with his customer. He glanced up, bright blue eyes peeking out mischievously from beneath his curls, a heavy line of dark eyeliner accentuating their almond shape.

"Hey," he said, cheerfully, "that guy bothering you?"

I shrugged, "He's a dick."

"Haha! Plenty of those in here. Take your pick," the bartender grinned cheekily, looking around at the busy venue, the people laughing and talking around the tables, the tightly packed dance floor. He licked his lips appreciatively.

"Are you the regular bartender?" I asked. His attire, whilst entirely suitable for the venue itself, seemed unusual for behind the bar.

"Nah!" he replied, his eyes giving up their wistful study of the dance floor. "Just filling in for Brian. He's my boyfriend. He's the regular bartender. He had to go out for a minute."

"You look like you know what you're doing."

He laughed. "It's not my first time." His eyes twinkled mischievously. "Can I fix you something?"

I looked around. The guy who'd been hitting on me had moved off and was now bothering someone else. There was no-one who caught my eye, and besides, I'd already decided I wasn't interested in a hookup tonight. I decided I couldn't be bothered staying for a drink after all.

"Nah. Changed my mind. I'm just leaving," I told him. "Can't say I'm really in the mood tonight."

"Fair enough. Catch you next time then," he winked at me. Just then someone came up to the bar wanting to order. I took that as my cue to leave, pushing my way through the crowd, keeping an eye out in case the annoying guy decided to follow me, but he was busy trying his luck with someone else. I breathed a sigh of relief as I made it out into the fresh night air. It was peaceful out here by comparison. Sure, it was a Saturday night and there were plenty of people in the street, but my head was no longer pounding from the assault of the bass, and the ringing in my ears was already beginning to fade.

It was still early, and I felt too restless to sit at home alone, so I wandered the streets enjoying the cool air and the city lights - the red and white lights of the traffic, the warm glow of the restaurants, the occasional neon sign offering Thai massage or cheap accommodation. The vibrancy of the city on a weekend was completely different to its sober busy-ness during the working week. Light and music washed over me as I passed open doors, bars filled with rowdy drinkers, restaurants where the loud buzz of conversation spilled out into the street along with the lighting, theatre foyers filled with milling patrons. Car horns honked and the occasional emergency vehicle siren whined in the distance.

I wandered aimlessly, soaking up the sounds and the energy of the night, alone but not lonely, when my attention was caught by a style of music I hadn't heard before. My body was overcome by an almost irresistible urge to move, but at the same time was totally unsure how. It was ridiculous but the only dancing I'd done in my life was the kind you did in an over-crowded gay bar, and this definitely wasn't that.

Like a siren-song, the music wound its way down from the upper level of a venue, and spilled out into the street from a narrow doorway sandwiched between a tobbaconist and an icecream shop. A continuous trickle of people entered via the door, their attire giving no clue as to what sort of place it was. Some were dressed in tight fitting mini-dresses, others in jeans, some in shorts. There were high heels and glittery sandals, and sports shoes. I realized I was staring and hurriedly looked away, but no-one paid me any mind, too intent on getting to whatever event was taking place upstairs. There was no bouncer at the door...