A/N: Had to edit this when I heard a song by JT that fit this better. Sorry for breaking up the chapters, but I added a little bit more to this one to make up so please read it and review! Hope you're liking what I've got going on here.
Song: "Tunnel Vision" Justin Timberlake, watch?v=b815U7xYD0U
Rick's eyes roam around the packed club, he can't help but picture the mob of swinging hips on the dance floor as a little can of sardines. Damn this whiskey must be getting to me.
A half hour has passed and his wild imagination has successfully diverted his mind from the spiral of self-pity he had going earlier. Rick has come up with stories about the massive, intimidating bouncer who, Rick believes, is using his pay checks to pay for ballet lessons in pursuit of his life long dream of performing as Lieutenant Pinkerton in a performance of Madame Butterfly. Rick also played out the story of the douche bag stockbroker, who is attempting to cheat on his wife. However, according to Rick, the stockbroker soon learns his lesson when he unsuspectingly brings a tranny back to his hotel room and gets a nice surprise when he slides a hand up the gentleman's skirt. That one gave Rick a good laugh, Cheaters never prosper...well except for my ex-wife. She is prospering quite a bit off our divorce, Rick thinks bitterly.
But he strangles that thought and scans across the dance floor seeking out another poor bastard that will be the victim of his over active imagination. Rick's sea blue eyes bounce and trip across the dance floor back and forth, moving from far to near, until they suddenly they lock on the most beautiful sight he has ever seen. Rick doesn't even realize he is staring, like his eyes were magnetically drawn to her long wavy hair, dark haunted eyes, somberly frowned pouty lips. They greedily take in the goddess before him as his brain plays catch up, rushing to find adjectives that fit her never-ending legs, luscious lower lip that is tucked neatly under her teeth, the tight, deep purple dress that hugs her body and gently flares out to mid thigh. She is making her way towards him with confident, sure strides that calls the attention of everyone around her. Every man and woman she passes looks at her, yet Rick feels like not one of them actually see her because if they had they would never let her walk right by without begging for her company.
As this stunning mirage of a woman is oblivious to Rick, she becomes his sole focus. He can't take his eyes off her. His field of vision narrows and all he sees is her, every aspect of this stranger is a mural painted across his imagination, yet somehow she is an enigma begging to be found, discovered, investigated. His tunneled vision burns into her dark, molten eyes and even from a distance he can see the long sweep of lashes and smokey make-up that paints a mask to hide her emotions. Stories and histories and possibilities race through his body as he tries to read the look in her eyes, the motion of her body, the curls in her hair.
He is in a crowded room but this one woman tells more stories with her eyes than the written biographies of every other occupant of the club. He has tunnel vision for this woman and everything in his sight is absolutely intoxicating and enrapturing because all he sees is her as everything else just disappears. He is captivated.
The goddess of a women skirts around a grinding couple in graceful movements and just her walk is an alluring dance, a graceful ballet that Brian the Bouncer Ballerina wouldn't have a chance at being in because the way this woman shifts her hips and points her toes with each casual step is a work of art that should never be corrupted.
She is getting closer to Rick and his mouth has gone completely dry as he gapes. As a writer, his mind frantically narrates the image that plays before, attempting to capture it; but as a man, his slacks tighten and he imagines every way he could touch her and learn the swaying dance of her body. She is now about four feet away and headed directly in his direction, Rick's heart pounds in anticipation.
But wait no, she turns and slumped into the booth that Rick has been using as camouflage the whole night, out of Rick's sight but certainly not out of his mind. He strains to hear her over the pulsing music, desperate to add another component to this hauntingly remarkable woman.
He only hears one sentence before the beat of the music picks up and obscures the rest of her honey-sweetened voice.
"Lanie, no offense, but this girl's night out plan to cheer us up is a catastrophe."
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