Don't Look Down

twenty-three: don't cockblock me

We meet Marsha at Cielo after deciding an evening like tonight warranted someplace other than our usual watering hole. Since I don't frequent the nightlife scene and Seth doesn't care, we left the destination in my bombshell's hands.

As we weave our way through a surging ocean of bodies with electronica dance music pulsing through our ears, it's obvious we should have picked a place ourselves.

"This shithole smells like our dumpsters," Seth yells as we head to the bar. It's a difficult trek through arm jabs to the stomach and heel stomps on my exposed toes, but Seth's arm is around my waist, keeping me balanced. In his embrace, I feel safe, and in a place like this that's saying a lot.

As a shirtless guy drenched in his own perspiration fist pumps in front of me, I shout, "Pretty sure that's the body odor." Waves of it crash against my face with each arm thrust this guy makes.

Seth reaches around me to shove him aside, clearing a path so I can take three more steps. And after five more minutes of treacherous weaving, we finally emerge from the dance floor.

"I think I need a shower." I flick my hands in an attempt to rid myself of the sweat that's just been wiped over my body.

"This is nothing. Try going two weeks without one and we'll talk."

His delivery of the line is easy, but it's always unsettling when he references the life he lived before I knew him. He's had it rough and I hate thinking about that. Seth deserves the best. I'm not saying the best is me, just that I'm glad that by living with me I've been able to rectify a few of the luxuries he wasn't offered before.

That tiny improvement has me smiling.

Marsha emerges from the same dance floor we did. However; unlike us, she's been dancing. Her hair is a blend of frizz and sweat, but it doesn't keep the eyes away. There's at least three in our vicinity locked on her and, per usual, she is unaffected.

"You made it," she squeals.

"Unfortunately."

"Shove it, Seth." Marsha reaches over to grab my wrist. "We're here to celebrate. If you can't do that then Ellie and I can handle ourselves."

Seth's gaze scours the room. "I'm not so sure about that."

"You're the one who wanted to go out tonight," I point out. "So lighten up and let's get a few drinks."

With one last look around the club, he nods.

Despite Marsha's protests, we stay near the bar. Seth sips his scotch while Marsha and I toss back shots. Not too many, just enough to feel a good buzz. Each one is accompanied by a toast to my golden future and after an hours' worth, we convince Seth to take one with us.

"What the hell was that?" Grimacing, he slams the empty shot glass onto the sticky bar.

Marsha tosses her head back in laughter and I say, "A Pink Starburst Shot."