The Art of Recovery

Wow

Noelle's POV

I sit on a bar stool, stirring my drink. My eyes landed on Kylie, Terra, Ash, and some guy who dance on he dance floor. I bite my lip, and try not to look at the half naked people dripping with sweat.

I blow a stray strand off air out of my face. The strobe lights make me wish I had my contacts. The dress Sam packed for me was fitting enough that I would look weird at the club, but enough that I wouldn't feel too uncomfortable. The Crimson fabric hugged me slightly, showing off my curves and shoulders. Terra put my hair in waves, and Kylie did my make up. I stir my drunk to keep from messing with my face.

"So, are you gonna drink that?" A voice asks from beside me.

I debate with myself, and against my better judgement I look up. His shaggy hair frames his jawline perfectly, and the shade of blonde he has is intriguing. His nose is straight, and his lips are slightly plump. He has a light 5 o'clock shadow, and his grey eyes dance over my face.

Stop staring, it's not like you're going to paint him.

I wish.

"Um, no. Booze isn't really my thing," I shrug.

"What about dancing?" His smile is sweet, and it reminds me of Robyn the day we went out on a boat into the ocean, just because he remembered liked the ocean. My cheeks warm at the thought.

"Uh, it's not really my thing... Thanks though," I say, hoping that he moves onto someone else. Plus I wouldn't dance to a song like this. It sounds like someone accidentally invited an amateur for his DJ gig.

"Oh, well I guess we have something in common, because I can't dance either." He holds his hand out, smiling.

I stare at it for an eternity, debating whether or not I should go. Do I really want to dance?

Yes.

With him? 

I mean he's not that bad looking, it's just that if sucks it won't be fun. Or maybe it will... I haven't danced awfully in centuries.

But I rather do it with Robyn....

"I mean... If you can keep up... I guess," I say sliding off the bar stool.

"I'll try my best princess," he grins.

His nickname makes me cringe slightly. I let him walk me to the dance floor, the awful music vibrating through the floor. I look up at him, trying to gauge his sobriety. He doesn't look too drunk, but some people can pull off the charade pretty well. When we arrive, he puts his a hands on my waist, and chills race up my arms.  I give him a wobbly smile.

"What's your name anyway?" I ask, as I start to sway to the beat of the music.

"Nash, and you?" He ask. He smells like the ocean, causing me to want to unravel at the scent of the salt from the water.

"Penelope," I lie easily. My feet start to shuffle a bit more comfortably.

"You don't look like a Penelope," he cocks his head.

"That's because I'm not a Penelope." I shrug.

"Then what are you?" He quirks his eyebrow, as I start to speed up my motions. My arms flutter a bit, even though it feels clumsy.

"I don't really know," I twist my mouth to the side.

"Well, you are a good dancer," he smiles warmly.