It isn’t really a slow song, but it has a certain sensual rhythm, making me abandon myself to him. I let him slide his hands down my back, the heat and pressure of his fingers on my body making me lose control.
I can feel his desire through his shirt. He’s radiating an unbearable heat that almost burns my skin, despite the two layers of clothing between us.
He’s tense, nervous, almost uncomfortable. There’s no movement in his arms. He won’t look at me, doesn’t want any real contact. His mind is somewhere else.
He’s completely elsewhere.
He’s not really here with me.
It’s as if Ryan O’Connor is an empty shell, as if he’s sold his soul. As if he’d lost part of himself out in the street – and, despite myself, I want to know why.
“Why are we dancing?” I ask him, suddenly.
“What?” He looks at me.
“You don’t really want to dance with me.”
“Looks like I do, doesn’t it?”
“You’re not really here, though.”
“What the fuck does that mean? I’m holding you, can’t you feel it?” He squeezes my hips, but this time his touch frustrates me.
I pull away from him and his stare darkens.
“What are you doing?”
“I thought I made it clear.”
“You’re the one who asked me to dance – actually, you forced me to.”
“Oh, come on. Didn’t you want to?”
“I what…?”
“Don’t pretend with me, Christine. I know exactly what you’re looking for, so here I am. Wasn’t this what you wanted? Isn’t it what all you women want?”
“You have no idea what I want, and you can’t compare me to anyone else. You don’t even know me, Ryan O’Connor!”
“Exactly: I don’t know you. But I don’t have to. We both know how this is going to end.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“All you want is someone to fuck.”
I push him away, quickly.
“You really are a bastard, you know that?”
“Don’t you women like it like that?”
“Can you stop talking about all women? I’m me, and no – I don’t like bastards.”
“Oh, come on, knock it off. Or maybe you were just interested in someone else – my brother, for example.”
“Go fuck yourself, Ryan.”
I sprint off the dancefloor, desperately searching for the toilets so that I can cry in private.
I realise it makes no sense. His words shouldn’t hurt me, I barely know him. We have nothing in common, nothing to talk about – but I still feel like an idiot, like a poor deluded girl who thought that maybe…
Ryan O’Connor isn’t what I thought. He’s worse. Much worse. He’s a fucking heartless bastard, and I have no intention of letting him toy withmyheart.
