Author: Skytate17
Title: You Won't Be The One That Got Away
Summary: The two ended up at the same bar every Friday night. One came to dance, one came to do his job. They were two different worlds, colliding on these ambitious Friday nights when the party goers were out. Stealing glances across the bar, one wishing the other would knew he existed, the other wishing he never existed at all.
Note: I totally had a good idea for a new story…… slash my people!
Chapter One
The lights were low, the floor crowded with bodies all grinding and sweaty with the heavy beat blaring throughout the extremely packed bar dance floor. Standing on a podium at the front stage, he flipped through his records, planning out his next round of tracks for all those drunken dancers in front of him. It was the same routine every Friday night. Club was open until four in the morning, it was $15 to get in, and two dollars to cover the shots for the night.
So, of course the place was crowded. Despite the crowd though, young DJ Bridge Carson could only see one. It was like a game for him every Friday night. That man would walk through those club doors, usually with his new female accessory for that week, sometimes even two and maybe a guy friend. But, he never seemed to come with the same people.
Bridge's green eyes peered through the crowd, noticing that his young catch was far off tonight, somewhere across the bar. Flipping a record, he tore his eyes away for a moment, focusing on his work. After all, he came here for the money, not to check out the guys. But ever since this one in particular started to come regularly, he just couldn't seem to help himself.
"It's your Bridgey Boy here," he suddenly called into the microphone with a sly grin as he fiddled with the records. "How you all holding up? Three hours to close! Think you can make it?" The crowd let out a cheer, although somehow he knew they had no clue what he had just asked him. Majority of them had already taken advantage of the two dollar coverage on shots for the night.
Glancing into the crowd, he noticed the young man gazing in his direction now. Not because he was interested in Bridge, not because he cared about what he said, just because he was speaking. Soon enough, the young man looked away, Bridge's heart skipping a beat as he remembered his job.
"Thought I'd lay out a mellow track for all of you lovers out there," he murmured softly then, staring down at the record in his hand. "If you're not with someone, find yourself a good looking guy or a sexy girl to get with, even if for these few moments."
As soon as he scratched the next record into the mix, Bridge allowed himself another moment to steal a glance. His catch was lingering across the room, some skinny little blonde swinging her hips to the gentle vibe of the music. Bridge narrowed his eyes, half wanting to change the song just to mess up her beat. He hated to be jealous, especially over someone he hardly knew. Especially over someone he knew he would never have, but he couldn't help it.
He watched as the lights grew lower, a few strobe effects lighting up certain areas, colored lights in others. Bridge's man in particular was wrapped in a purple hazed glow, perfect for the slow sway of this song in particular. He watched the man dance, lightly grazing his hips against the woman's he was with. His hands placed on her hips, his lips playing against her neck, making Bridge's heart skip circles in his chest.
It was this way every Friday night. He could only stand at his DJ booth, watching, no, torturing himself with a man who was never going to return his attention.
A little later that night, after everyone had been cleared out of the bar, Bridge sat on one of the barstools, watching a coworker clean up. The dark haired woman collected all the used shot glasses in a few stacks, watching her friend play with one of the stacks. "Don't break those," she muttered then as he clanked a few together.
"Z, I have a question for you," he muttered then, taking out a single shot glass and rolling it against the counter of the bar. "So, this guy…"
"He who shall never be named because you're too much of a chicken to speak to him," the woman commented back as she slid aside the shot glasses, yanking up the one he was messing with. Bridge narrowed his eyes on her before giving her a light nod. "What about him?"
"Do I have a problem?" he questioned curiously, now drawing patterns on the counter with his finger. She yanked a wash cloth from beneath the bar, beginning to wipe it across to soak up any spilt drinks that were most likely everywhere. Two dollar shot nights never went over well, but they always had them.
Narrowing her eyes on him, Z stopped her cleaning for a second as she cocked her hand on her hip. "A problem? Like what?"
"It's so stupid… he's been coming here every Friday for the past… what… two months? And I can't stop looking at him, thinking about him, watching him… It makes me think there's something wrong with my head," he laughed briefly, although he was hardly joking. He never found himself with that kind of an infatuation with anyone. "As you said, I don't even know his name."
She shrugged, continuing to wipe up the counter now. "I say you give up," she stated bluntly then, brushing back her dark hair. "You're looking to find yourself a man, where as he is in here with a different girl every week. Ladies man."
"I used to be like that," Bridge commented then, reaching down the bar where she had shoved the shot glasses nearly out of his reach. "He's in denial."
"You wish," she laughed back as he also smirked, knowing he was probably in over his head with this little crush. Although it had grown to be quite more than a crush, despite not even knowing the man's name. He wasn't quite sure what it was. He didn't like to believe in love at first sight, but that's almost what he assumed it would be like. But that was lust. Maybe it was just lust. Whatever it was, it was really messing with his head and heart.
Sighing, he watched her clean up the counter, then turning in his chair slightly to see all the others cleaning up the place as well. He never really had to clean anything up. He just had to collect his records, pack them in the back of his car, and push back the turn table. Still, though, he liked to linger around during the after hours. Despite it being four in the morning, he wasn't tired in the least bit.
"Does he ever come by the bar?" Bridge questioned then as she rolled her eyes, wanting him to drop the conversation. Of course, the two of them were best friends and this was normal on Friday nights. She would clean up and he would babble on about this guy, sounding like the club hoppers who had one too many drinks that night. Bridge was completely sober. He was just one of those people who got really talkative at four in the morning.
Wiping up the last bit of spilt beer on the counter, she tossed down her rag and collected the many glasses she had stacked all in one area. She nodded her head towards them as a signal for Bridge to collect what she could grab and follow her into the back room. "Does he ever come to the bar? You've got to be kidding me… he's always around."
"And you haven't asked his name yet?" Bridge grunted, dumping all the glasses in the sink as she did the same.
Turning to him, she cocked an eyebrow, beginning to run the water in the sink. "Why should I ask his name? I'm not the one who wants to get in his pants," she threw back, turning towards the sink again to start rinsing out the dishes, hoping to get out of there really soon.
"Cause I'm your best friend and best friends do things like that," he commented then, leaning over the edge of the sink.
"What, get in your crushes pants? Last time I checked, that was a pretty back stabbing bitch kind of thing to do," she laughed as he sighed, turning around and resting his bottom against the edge of the sink. "Next time he shows up, I'll attempt to get a name out of him. No promises."
Bridge nodded with a half smile, content that after two months he was finally making a move to get to know this mysterious guy that he saw every Friday, even if it wasn't him making the move. Whatever the case, someone was making a move and things were eventually going to happen.
"Anything else you want to know? Social security number? Sexual preference? Boxers or briefs…?" she muttered then as he rolled his eyes, reaching into the sink and splashing her a bit before rushing away before she could fight back. Unfortunately for Bridge, Z was quick, scooping up one of the bigger beer glasses and dousing him in the soapy water.
"Just a name, thanks," he grunted, shaking himself off before running his hands through his now messy and wet hair. "Thanks for the shower, too… catch you later." She smirked, watching her friend take off for the night.