The Dream World Collective

106. Off The Dance Floor

The old wooden floor of the sitting-room-turned-dance-floor creaked under the weight of dozens of dancing college students. The boombox pulsed with an energetic dance song, and in the sweaty half-darkness Sushi was forgetting herself in the dance, her eyes closed, her hands above her head. No doubt the others were still scurrying around trying to bring some sort of order to the party, but Sushi had long since stopped caring. A few drinks and a night of dancing were just what she wanted to clear her head.

As the next song started, she retreated through the press of bodies to catch her breath at the edge of the room. Someone handed her a deliciously cold beer.

"Thanks." She immediately popped it open and took a healthy swig.

"No problem. You looked good in there."

Sushi smiled lazily and looked up at the man who had given her the drink. Her eyes shot open as air rushed into the back of her throat.

"You!"

Standing before her was Ari. His skin faded into the shadows, leaving his smile and pale shirt bright in the half-lit room. He tipped his head in acknowledgment.

"You haven't been by the gallery lately," he observed.

"What are you doing in my house?" demanded Sushi.

"I didn't know it was your house. The signs looked like it would be an interesting party." He gazed around at the bouncing heads and the jock manning the keg in a corner. "Honestly, if I'd realized it was just going to be another one of these I wouldn't have come."

"So go," snapped Sushi. "Door's right over there."

Ari peered at her intently for a long moment, his brows gathered until she couldn't tell if he was angry or just focused. Her insides churned, the strength of her attraction driving a renewed anger and, strangely, revulsion. She felt the clear-headedness of the dance floor sinking dangerously into a swirling murk.

"Stop it," she said.

Ari ignored her, studying her face as if he could see through her skin if he looked hard enough.

"You're still angry about Rose."

Sushi boiled over.

"Don't talk to me about your witch girlfriend in my house!" she screamed, pulling back her hand to slap him. "It's bad enough that you—"

"Sushi." Ari's hand flashed out and, with surprising strength, gently grabbed her wrist as her hand slammed toward his face. "I'll go, but listen to me first."

His eyes held hers fiercely. Her left hand had automatically cocked back to slap Ari when he grabbed her right, but now it dropped to her side, temporarily forgotten. Ari spoke simply.

"She's not my girlfriend. She's my step-sister. You ran away before I had a chance to say anything. I tried to find you, but you haven't been back all week and Eddie won't tell me where to reach you."

"But you said—" Sushi's mind edged back toward the awful night. Her brow furrowed. "I thought—"

Ari shook his head, his eyes widening, his hand releasing her wrist without either of them noticing.

"I'm really sorry," he said, and Sushi could tell he meant it. He searched her eyes again, but this time it didn't feel like he was peering deep into her in his usual way. He scanned her eyes the way a medic scans an accident victim, checking for wounds, verifying the pulse. There was something comforting in it, almost brotherly, and Sushi found she didn't mind it like before.

"You're a fascinating lady, Sushi," Ari said. Sushi felt her cheeks turning pink and was glad for the darkness of the room. "And just to avoid further confusion, I'm single."

Sushi stared hard at him, torn between anger, suspicion, and hope.

"So are we cool?"

"No!" Sushi slapped him hard on the cheek. His firm, soft, richly tanned cheek. He smiled, playful and repentant as a puppy. She swallowed. "Maybe."