Come on. Let’s get our groove on.
Without taking her eyes off the kaleidoscope of colors, Dylan slipped between two female bodies, inching in enough to place her elbow on the bar to secure a spot for a round of drinks. In any other situation, she might have been happy being in the gooey center of two women whose presence was like a warm, vanilla sugar cookie. But with the attendance bursting at the seams, their closeness was more like an oven that melted her insides, and not in a good way. It was stifling. Added to that, the chaos of voices demanding to be heard over the surround system blaring four-on-the-floor beats and syncopated bass lines from all directions kicked Dylan’s migraine into high gear.
“Hey, handsome, what’ll you have?” The sharp twang of a woman’s voice caught her attention, which she directed to the bar. A rainbow-colored lens flare momentarily blinded her. In front of her, a voluptuous woman with waves of sandy blonde hair and ample cleavage tossed a seductive smile as she leaned over the bar. She might not have been alive in the eighties, but that didn’t stop her homage to a forgotten time when women jacked their hair up with the cancer-causing fumes of Aqua Net.
Dylan had glimpsed images from Ida’s history, capturing eras when women flaunted more hair than a sense of virtue. Beneath the cascade of voluminous locks, the bartender possessed a certain allure that prompted a self-assured smirk to cross Dylan’s lips. The vision of that same woman brought to her knees, pleading for Dylan’s touch, fueled a surge of ego-driven satisfaction. “Whiskey. A double. Neat. And a Sex on the Beach.”
“If only you had the sand, I’d supply the rest. Coming up, sailor.” The barkeep spun around for the drinks. When she returned, she slid the glasses across the slick surface of the bar. “First time here? I haven’t seen you before.”
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