let's get our g̶r̶i̶n̶d̶ groove on
✍︎︎
drew couldn't believe it.
yet, there she is. in her little dress.
leaning on the bar top as she stirs her shirley temple.
he knows it's her. he can recognize those thighs anywhere.
their image burned in his brain from last night, like engravings singed in wood. forever stamped with something he can't have.
the others are laughing at some story charles was sharing, one of his many wild adventures as a teenager growing up in the eighties. how he, too, had leather pants and big, voluminous hair and how he tried to become a groupie for the who.
speaking of trying, drew tried to stay focus to the story, honestly, he really tried.
but every time he takes a swig of his dog's head ipa, his grayish blue eyes can't help but to glance over to where she sits on the bar stool.
he watches as she makes conversation with the woman bartender, happily accepting another shirley. her happy-go-lucky smile brightens every one's night, even lightening up the dark blue and purple room.
unfortunately, with a beaming smile as bright as hers, it attracts some flies.
drew clutches his beer can as he watches a drunk guy from the dance floor stumble over to the bar and perch himself next to derrielle.
elle shifts in her seat as the drunk says something, obviously growing uncomfortable. she fakes a laugh, turning her head quickly to talk to the bartender— only to realize that they were busy attending to others.
she's too nice.
she would never cause a scene.
drew, on the other hand, would.
she nods at the man, trying to yes-him-to-death, but that only edges him on more— he places his grimy hand on her thigh.
no one touches his girl— h-he means— the girl.
not his girl. they're not together.
"i'm gonna get another drink, i'll be right back," he tells chase stokes, before excusing himself from the group and weaving in and out of people in the club towards the bar.
"ayo! get me one?!" austin calls out to him, but the words fade as her voice becomes more present.
"don't touch me," elle says, ripping off the ugly drunk's hand from her skin.
"come on, baby," the wasted guy says, almost begging. "don't be like that, i bought you a drink."
"yeah and i gave it to someone else," elle shrugs, picking at her fingernails. ignoring the man expertly, making him more angry.
"don't be a bitch, i spent money on you," the drunk states, his greasy hand grabbing her arm. "i deserve a dance."
"that sounds like a you-problem," derrielle raises her voice, startled that the man would touch her again. "please, leave me alone," she harshly yanks her arm back and into someone's chest.
"derry, darlin'," drew interrupts the tension, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "this guy bothering you?"
elle looks up to her kind rescuer, slightly blushing under his touch. his blue satin short-sleeve shirt tucked into black straight-legged jeans, paired with black boots and silver-pedant black belt. some of his shirt buttons are open, showing off the silver cross necklace. the short-sleeves showing off his veiny arms and matching metallic rings.
"no, darlin'," she smiles at him, patting her hand on his chest. "he was just leaving."
smirking back at her, he blatantly checks her out— as if he has no control over his bodily functions, as if she completely melted his brain.
"who the fuck are you?" the man spits, taking back by drew's presence.
"none of your business, pal," drew replies, his voice dropping into a serious tone. he quickly steps in front of derrielle, shielding her body from the sight of the shitfaced dude. "leave. before i make you leave."
the writer displays an amused smirk on her face, relishing in how protective the actor had gotten over her.
derrielle's irises dilate as she looks at his broad shoulders and back muscles flex through the thin satin material. oh, how she would love to scratch down his back as he pummels inside her.
"alright, alright," the guy says, holding up his palms as if he's being arrested. "i'll go," he turns, stumbling from the bar and back onto the dance floor.
"i had it sorted, you know," elle shrugs, looking away as he turns around. she picks up her straw, swirling the last of cherry-flavored drink.
"yeah, you're welcome," he rolls his eyes at her stubbornness, pulling out and sitting on a barstool next to hers. he motions over to the bartender, ordering another for the girl and for himself.
"what are you doing here?" elle asks him, turning to face him, giving him a better view of her body— as if she doesn't already know why he's here.
"umm," his mind went blank. his ice cold eyes sending red, hot laser beams as he fumbles with what to say. how could he say anything? all he wants to do is kiss her. all he wants to do is take her into the bathroom and fuck her until every single sequin falls off.
she starts to laugh at his face, "eyes up here, drew."
"sorry, rielle, you just look really good," he winks at her, sipping his beer. "the entire cast is here, celebrating the first episode.
"oh, that's nice," she smiles at the bartender as she settles down their new drinks. "you don't look so bad yourself," elle holds out her drink, toasting it with drew's.
"why are you here?" he asks, pushing his old beer can away and grabbing his new one.
"cheap drinks and abba," derrielle wiggles her eyebrows in excitement.
"why aren't you dancin' yet?" he asks her, motioning to the purple and blue neon dance floor. the disco ball twinkling like the stars.
"no one has asked me," she answers, elle's eyes longing to flashing lights. "i think they might be intimidated by my groove."
"oh yeah?" drew looks at her, his eyes softening at how she looks in front of him —how she's so passionate and confident and perfect for him.
he stands, placing a twenty on the tabletop, and holds out his hand. "let's put that to the test."
derrielle glances at his hand and then back up to meet his eyes, sizing drew up. "i warned you," she states, taking his callous hand and pulling him to the dance floor.
✍︎︎
"did drew come back with those drinks yet?" chase asks austin, his eyes searching the bar.
"no," austin shakes his head. "i'm beginning to get worried."
"oh, you guys don't need to worry about him," maddie chimes in, introducing herself into the midst of conversation. her eyes glint mischievously in the blue and purple lighting. "he's doing fine," nodding her head towards the dance floor.
austin and chase instantly turn their heads, their eyes bulging at what they are seeing:
"holy shit."
there they are. the actor and the writer. in the hot, crowded crowd, under the stars of the glowing lights and reflecting twinkles. hands on each other like ink stamps attached to paper presses. hot stuff by donna summer blasting throughout the club, adding a subtle reminder to dance to the rhythm— if you call grinding on each other, dancing.
mister starkey and miss johnson are liars.
no matter how many times they lie to themselves or to their friends, they could never not pass up the opportunity to have their hands on each other. and "friends" don't do that.
drew's hot, yet minty, breath on her neck, his hands sliding up her thighs and grasping on her hips. derrielle's ass pushing back onto his pelvic area, her breath fanning over his neck as her head is leaning back on his chest.
their eyes never tearing away from each other.
drew couldn't take it anymore. he needed her right then and there.
elle loves to tease him, every second of every available moment. but there was something in his eyes, maybe it was the magic of the disco, that she gave into it.
"do you wanna get out of here?" he asks her, leaning down and speaking into her ear.
"absolutely."
✍︎︎