LoveLines by S. Walden Read Free Book Online Page A

now as we walked up the stairs to the rooftop bar. I could feel the thumping and pulsing of the music before we even got to the third landing.
    “Oh, hush up with that, already!” she said. “Now listen up.” She stopped short and turned to me. “I’m twenty-one and a business major. You?”
    “Umm . How about a history major?” I replied.
    “That’s boring,” Erica said. “And what do you know about history, anyway?”
    “Does it matter?” I asked.
    “It might.”
    I looked at Erica evenly. “I don’t think I’m gonna run into someone here who’s interested in having an in-depth conversation with me about Benedict Arnold.”
    “Whatever. I don’t even know who that is,” Erica said. “Be a marine biology major,” she suggested. “That’s so nature zen.”
    “What? I don’t know anything about marine life,” I replied.
    “Oooo! Be a film major,” Erica said. “That’s glamorous.”
    “Um, no. I don’t know anything about that either.”
    “Then what do you know?”
    “I know that Benedict Arnold was a famous traitor during the Revol utionary War,” I said.
    “You’re, like, the nerdiest cute girl I’ve ever met,” Erica replied. “Fine. Be a history major. But they’re gonna think you’re boring in bed.”
    I laughed as we squeezed our way across the deck to the bar. I ordered the first round: two vodka tonics. Yes, it was feeling like a vodka night. I needed to loosen up.
    Didn’ t take long. After three drinks, I was ready to show my stuff on the dance floor. The crowded dance floor. Labor Day weekend in Wilmington is a hot, congested mess. Doesn’t matter where you go. And the rooftop bar—that had no air conditioning, mind you—was the place everyone wanted to be on Thursday night. It wasn’t even officially the holiday weekend yet, but the crowds were out in full force, milling around, occupying every square inch of that deck. People of all ages. Young college girls who dressed quite similarly to me. Single guys in their fifties hanging by the bar, unwilling to grow up. Thirty-somethings still young enough to get away with it.
    I grabbed Erica’s hand and headed for center stage when I heard The Notorious B.I.G.’s “Mo Money, Mo Problems” come on. Good beat. Good memories. Transported me right back to freshman year in college.
    I won’t pretend that I wasn’t completely flattered when three girls grabbed their boyfriends and hauled them off the dance floor shortly after I made my way onto it. I guess they didn’t like my suggestive moves. Or maybe they thought I ha d plans to move in on their men. Whatever. I just like to dance. And I’m really good at it. And Erica was all about directing traffic my way to allow me the opportunity to share my dancing skills with others.
    Some of the men were cute. Some were funny. All were way too young for me. None seemed to measure up to Erica’s standards. She kept switching them out like socks—trying them on me and deciding she didn’t like the style or color or length. But someone eventually caught her eye.
    For the record, I’m not good with sensing if someone is looking at me. Erica, on the other hand, is a master at it. She tapped my shoulder and leaned into my face, spittle flying from her mouth onto my cheeks and lips as she screamed at me.
    “There’s a really hot guy staring you down!”
    “Say it! Don’t spray it!” I replied.
    “ Ain’t nobody gonna do you if you say dumb shit like that,” Erica replied. “This isn’t middle school circa ’94.”
    “Whatever.”
    “Yeah, whatever. Now, when I say, spin around and take a look. Keep dancing, though. We don’t want it to be obvious.”
    I nodded and awaited Erica’s cue.
    “Now!”
    I spun around then remembered that Erica gave me absolutely no details.
    “Wanna tell me who I’m supposed to be looking at?” I asked when I faced her again.
    She giggled. “Duh. Sorry ‘bout that. He’s the guy sitting at the end of the bar with the pink shirt