Why was it that I’d treated Nelson, who was supposed to be nothing more than a very fun time, so different than all the others? Could there actually be something within me—the cynic—that saw him as potentially more? In a way that could be considered a relationship? The very thought of that made me want to find the nearest toilet and hurl, but mostly out of fear.
To distract myself, I sipped my beer and watched fine young things writhe against each other on the dance floor. I had almost decided to approach an Asian-looking dude with great cheekbones when my attention was averted by Nelson, of all people.
God, he looked so good in his painted-on jeans and curly blond hair falling into his eyes as he moved like liquid magic against the same guy from the bus the other day. He hadn’t noticed me yet, so I could watch him without his knowledge.