"Don't worry," he said, "we're not doing that."
"Doing what?" I said.
"Waiting in line."
I squinted up at him. "We're not?"
"Hell no," he said. "I got reservations."
I looked out at the crowd. "They take reservations?"
"Yeah. Watch."
We stepped out, and Lawton took my hand. Good thing, considering I might've been the teeniest bit wobbly on my feet at this point. He led us to the front of the line. "We got reservations," he told the guy at the door, a beefy guy wearing some sort of electronic headset.
"Hey," yelled a guy near the front of the line. "Buddy, haven't you heard? They don't take reservations."
Lawton didn't spare him a glance as the guy at the door looked at Lawton and then at me.
Then the guy smiled. "Come on in, Mister Rastor. Got your table all ready."
As we passed, Lawton handed him a folded bill, and not a small one either. The pattern continued as a woman in a tight red dress led us up a corded-off stairway to a VIP section, high above the dance floor. The sound pulsed through the place, making me move in time with the beat even as we settled into a comfortable booth, perfect for watching the action down below.
I leaned in close to whisper in his ear. "Mister Rastor? Well, aren't you civilized?"
He looked at me with hungry eyes. "Don't bet on it," he said.
When a tall redhead came to take our drink order, I glanced at Lawton. "I'm not sure I should have anything else to drink."
"Whatever you want, baby," he said. "You wanna order a Coke, go ahead. Or we can get out of here, head back to the house. Or wherever you want."
The music was hypnotic, with a steady beat that just begged to be danced to. "I don’t want to leave," I told him. I turned to the waitress. "I'll have a daiquiri," I said. "Heavy on –" I bit my lip "– whatever isn't the alcohol part."
After she left, Lawton wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close. "Don't you serve drinks where you work?" he said.
"Sort of," I said. "But I don't make any of them. Mostly, I just relay whatever to the bartenders, then just drop it off."
He glanced down toward the dance floor. It was jam-packed with gyrating bodies. I saw arms raised, hips moving, hair flying. I hadn't done a lot of clubbing, even in college. Between working most weekends and my constant money shortage, it hadn't been a high priority.
But looking down at that crowd, I wanted to be part of it.
"You wanna dance?" he asked.
I nodded.
He took me by the hand and pulled me up from the booth. Hand-in-hand, we made our way to the dance floor and waded into it. He wrapped his arms around me, and we started gyrating to the steady beat.
It felt amazing. He felt amazing. Moving against him made me think of all the things we'd done in private, and all the things I'd like to do again. I threw back my head and gazed up at him as we moved in time to the music. Around us, people were watching. I didn't care.
We stayed out there for the next song, and the next after that. Then the music abruptly changed, to a slow, hypnotic song. I fell into his arms and floated into sweet bliss as he kissed me long and hard, his tongue snaking into my mouth, and mine into his.
The rest of the night was a blur of dancing and daiquiris. Of watching from above and wading through the crowd. Of feeling his lips on mine, and his strong arms shielding me from the crowd. Good thing, considering the place was packed, and I was getting more unsteady as the night wore on.
At midnight, he led me back to our table and gave me a small box wrapped in silver paper. In it was a stunning pair of diamond earrings. I hardly recall what I said. It seemed far too extravagant, but the look in his eyes told me I couldn’t refuse. I was glad. Honestly, I wasn't sure I could have.
I put them on, right then and there, tucking the ones I'd been wearing into the box and handing it to Lawton for safekeeping. I don't know why I bothered. It's not like they were worth stealing, but I wasn't the type to waste anything, even if what I'd just gotten was so much nicer.
All in all, it was the best birthday ever. A night to remember, just like he'd promised.
