Blondie Wannabe: A Billy Hargrove Fanfic

Dirty Dancing

Couldn't resist adding a scene from Dirty Dancing, enjoy!

Heaving my purse over my shoulder, I walked inside, suddenly feeling very tired and very unenthusiastic. I went to the bar and ordered a vodka soda.

"Is that Deborah Harrington?" the bartender asked.

I looked up and saw the scruffy beard and slicked back hair of Sal, someone I knew back before I went to Augustana. Tucking a lock of blonde hair behind my ear, I smiled up at him through my lashes; he was my first real crush before I met Craig, and he still looked the same as he always had, though I knew he must be over thirty by now.

"In the flesh, and would you keep it down with my real name, I'd like to keep my return under wraps for as long as possible."

"As you wish Blondie, but how 'bout a Shirley Temple; you know I don't serve anyone underage."

"I'm not underage."

He smirked at me, his full lips visible even through his facial hair. "Hon, I've known you since you were ten, I drove you home after you got your wisdom teeth removed, I know how old you are."

I pulled out my driver's license and pointed to my birthdate smugly. " October 3rd, 1963, read it and weep; but try not to get any tears in my vodka soda, thanks."

He pulled the ID out of my hand and examined it carefully. "This isn't a fake?"

"No, Sal, it is not a fake, now can you please get me a drink, I've had a very long, very annoying trip, and I'd like to be drunk and dancing as soon as possible."

He shrugged and handed the card back to me before going to mix the drink.

I took a long sip from the red and white striped straw and looked up at Sal, who was looking at me with those green eyes that brought me to orgasm alone in my bed more times than I'd care to admit. "You know, Piazza, an essential part of a vodka soda, is the vodka."

"That one's on the house," he said, doing that shit bartenders always do, wiping glasses, shifting beers around in ice, turning bottles of whiskey so their label's faced forward. "If you want something stronger, you're gonna have to pay for it."

I opened my purse and reached into my wallet. I let my hands graze past my credit card (I didn't need my parent's knowing I was buying alcohol, even though I doubted they looked at their bills, just let it get sucked out of their bank account) and instead pulled out a fifty.

"Keep 'em coming."

Sal looked at me warily before going to mix another vodka soda and I chugged the one I had like it was water (probably because it mostly was).

Soon enough, I was drunk and ready to dance like a stripper with some strangers.

"Hey," Sal said, tapping my shoulder. "You've got twelve bucks in change; you want it?"

"Nah, keep it, buy some pot for when we hang out next." I adjusted his collar in drunken bravery and he looked at me like I was a species he'd never encountered before. But I didn't stick around long enough to hear if he'd respond, because a few stumbles later, I was in the middle of a dozen bodies who'd made it out on a Friday at nine pm to dance to some local band playing a mostly Journey and Michael Jackson covers.

Everyone seemed to be in their mid to late thirties, except one guy who looked my age with a mullet that changed colors beneath the overhead lights: blue, orange, hot pink.

He caught sight of me about the same time I caught sight of him, his eyes round and blue, lashes impossibly long. He was wearing a black shirt unbuttoned almost to his navel tucked into tight jeans. Somehow I ended up with my back pressed against his chest, my ass grinding on his crotch, his hands sliding down the front of my thighs, the callouses on his fingers tangible through the thin fabric of my shiny, pink leggings. He nuzzled my neck, biting my earlobe and all blood in my body seemed to rush between my legs.

Across the room, Sal was wiping down glasses, looking confused, maybe even a little unhappy.

I turned around and wrapped my arms around my mystery man's neck, our noses less than an inch apart.

"What's your name?" he asked.

I let my hand drift down to his bare chest, feeling the hard muscle underneath tan skin. "Does it matter?"

Another chapter will be up soon since this one was so short, comment and vote if you enjoyed please!