Sitting on the old metal chair in the half empty gym I thought to myself, why did I always do this?
Why did I spend hours upon hours trying on clothes, finding the perfect dress matched with the perfect pair of shoes? Why did I spend even more time applying my make up perfectly and styling my hair when I knew it wasn't me he was trying to impress with jokes and a new, expensive shirt? Why did I set myself up for disappointment?
I would always get my hopes up. I mean, surely he would notice me in this dress that cost me two months' worth of allowance and these heels that were murdering my feet. But they did make my calves look great.
Yet here I was, sitting alone, wrinkling my dress and regretting ever putting in all that effort.
Just as I was about to give up - about to throw these stupid shoes into the overflowing trash can full of empty punch cups and dirty napkins - I smelled his cologne. That terrible odor that he probably thought was manly but really smelled like wet dog. That horrible smell I loved because it was so him.
"Hey, Jessica." He nudged my shoulder hard. Too hard. I almost fell off the chair.
"Wanna dance?" he asked nonchalantly. I felt that tingling feeling in my stomach. No butterflies, huge, ugly moths were fluttering around, bumping each other and making me feel sick. At that moment I was glad I had spent so much money on my dress, even though I probably had wrinkles around my butt. Chiffon was not made for sitting down; it was made for dancing in. Something I had not done much of tonight.
He offered me his hand, which I took much too enthusiastically and scolded myself in my mind for doing so. He led us to the middle of the dance floor and wrapped his hands around my waist, pulling me closer to his body. I made a mental note of what song was playing, the feel of his body tight against my own, how the material of his shirt scratched the top of my breasts and made me itch. But I took special notice of just where his hands were - right above the curve of my butt. We were good friends, so we had often danced together before. But they had never been this low.
I pulled back to look at his face.
"So … no luck with Bella?" I tried to not let him hear the jealousy in my voice but I wasn't sure if I succeeded. I wasn't very good at hiding anything from him.
"Nah, she doesn't really see anyone except Cullen," he shrugged and that was that. I laid my head on his shoulder and we danced in silence.
I would over analyze this entire exchange with Angela on the phone later. I would read too much into every look, every touch, every word. We would pass off theories to each other what they all could mean. But at this moment, slowly dancing in Mike's arms, I remembered why I went to all this trouble. Why I did this every time I knew he would be around.
It was for these moments - the fleeting looks, the maybes, the I hope so's...the could he ever...