Her attention was stolen away entirely too soon, leaving him wanting more.
Wanting her: to know her, to talk to her, to know if their small moment - the lightning strike that had his heart pounding in his chest - had affected her so drastically, too.
He was sure it hadn't, though. She had moved on without so much as a glance back in his general direction. He knew that because he hadn't yet managed to peel his eyes from her. He watched as she and her friend fell back into their own world; singing, dancing and laughing as if they were the only two people in this club. Just like he was, they were so unreservedly entranced in one another, in the moment, that they were completely unaware of the chokehold they had on this writer's imagination.
They embraced one another, as good friends do. Their touches were intimate and familiar, but not in a romantic way. He wondered how long they had known each other. Were they childhood friends? Had they grown up together, faced the ups and downs of the teenage years together and navigated the trials and tribulations of life with the other by their side? Perhaps they were colleagues that had bonded over their mutual love for whatever field they were worked in? As time went by, were they pleasantly surprised to find they had more in common? Were they taken aback by just how deep their bond had rooted itself, or was it a slow-forming friendship where each milestone was felt and cherished, not just in hindsight?
He was pulled from his people-watching trance by the erupting laughter from his booth. He looked around at Meredith and her friends, laughing like a gaggle of geese at some undoubtedly not-funny remark - most likely at his expense - and forced a smile.
Meredith brought her hand up to his face and ran her perfectly manicured fingernails through the short hairs behind his ear.
"Nate was just saying you look a little... tired," she said.
He had no doubt that Nathaniel's actual comment was far less gentle, but he wouldn't bite back, wouldn't give the man the satisfaction.
He looked at the almost-empty glasses on the table in front of him, seeing his chance to excuse himself.
"Next round is on me," he announced with a smile before taking his leave.
As he walked to the bar, he looked over his shoulder just in time to see the woman in the black dress leading her friend away from the dancefloor. Even as they walked, they continued to sing and shimmy and laugh. He turned, quickly glancing at Meredith and her posse before joining the queue at the bar, and thought to himself that he would much rather be on the other side of the club with people he didn't even know than continue to be an involuntary tag-along with his ex-wife and her daft friends.
"And, he's back!" the bartender cheered, gaining Rick's attention. "Ricky, was it?"
She smiled; an almost laugh. He knew that she was flirting - eager for more generous tips, he was sure - but he wouldn't flirt back. The woman was far too young to even entertain the idea; almost half his age, most likely in her early twenties.
"Hey now, only the people stupid enough to marry me can call me Ricky," he joked.
The bartenders expression shifted to that of shock: eyebrows lifted, mouth agape. "That's your wife?"
She chuckled and shook her head. "Dude, with the way your entire body cringed at the sound of her voice, I thought you hated her!"
Rick grimaced. Perhaps his reaction had been a little harsh, but it was completely involuntary.
"Ex-wife," he explained, and the bartender seemed to accept it as reasonable; nodding slightly as she wiped spilt drinks from the bar top. "But I don't hate her."
He reflected on that statement for a moment. No, he could never hate her, but he didn't exactly like her. He couldn't, not after she broke his heart and betrayed his trust. He loved her like family. She was his family. But he didn't think he could ever like her again.
"I do hate her friends, though," he added for good measure. He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Anyway, before this turns into a therapy session: can I please have two bottles of Moët sent to our booth?"
He pointed to the booth for clarification and the bartender began to ring up the order.
"I was also wondering if I'd be able to have a drink sent over to the booth behind me, too?"
The bartender peeked around him and scanned the room.
"Red dress or black?" she asked with a smile.
"Black."
She tapped on the screen of the register. "That booth is a private event with table service so I can't see what she's been drinking, sorry."
"An old fashioned," he answered confidently. "You can't go wrong with an old fashioned."
She agreed and finished ringing up his order.
He handed over a small wad of cash for payment.
"It's yours, remember?" he reminded her when she went to pass his change to him.
"Are you sure?"
"Positive. Just don't rat me out to the boss man."
"Thank you, sir." She smiled and tucked the cash into her apron pocket.
Sir... that made him feel a hundred years old.
"I'll have Kayla bring over those drinks for you."
Kayla, he assumed, came out from behind the bar carrying the bottles of wine and some clean flutes. He led her back to the booth.
"I thought you had run away!" Meredith, obviously starting to feel the effects of the alcohol she had consumed, shouted over the music.
"I didn't realise that was an option," he snarked, taking his seat beside her again.
He wasn't sure if she didn't pick up on the sarcasm, or just didn't care, but she laughed and rested her head on his shoulder for a moment.
Once she went back to her chatter, he went back to people watching, trying not to linger too long on the one particular booth. When he did happen to glance back her way, he caught her eye.
She was even more beautiful than he had thought, offering him a coy smile before sipping from the drink he had gifted her.
He had hoped she would approach him, but she didn't, and he wasn't about to make a fool of himself by pursuing a woman who clearly wasn't interested in being pursued.
He continued on with his night, begrudgingly. Many times, he told himself he should just leave - he didn't want to be here, he didn't want to be with Meredith and her posse - but the thought of leaving this mystery woman, knowing he would more than likely never see her again, somehow seemed worse than the hours he was spending in poor company.
His patience paid off, however, when - just as he was readying himself to call it a night - he spotted her alone at the bar.
Seizing the moment, he approached her. He didn't have a plan, had no idea what to say, he just knew he couldn't let this moment pass without... trying.
I've been watching you all night...
No! God, no!
That was a sure-fire way to have her running for the hills.
Do you come here often?
Somehow, being so cliché felt even worse. He took a deep breath and tried to shake off the nerves: it wasn't like him.
With just a few more steps he stood beside her, close enough to gain her attention without invading her personal space.
He paused, waited a beat before speaking, but before any words could come out, she spoke.
"You know, it's super creepy: waiting for me to be alone before approaching me?"
He stuttered, eager to defend himself. "I-I wasn't waiting for you to be alone!"
She looked toward him and raised an eyebrow; calling his bluff.
"Okay, maybe I was," he admitted. "But, I promise I didn't mean to be creepy about it."
She smiled and let out a small chuckle. She, apparently, found his nerves amusing.
"You should buy me a drink," she said, an indication that she was open to him staying and conversing.
"I already did."
"And whatever it was, I really enjoyed it."
"Whatever it was?" he asked, shocked. "You've never had an old fashioned before?"
With the information she needed, she leant on the bar and garnered the bartender's attention.
"Old fashioned please," she ordered with a smile.
"Make that two," Rick added. He pulled his wallet from his pocket and handed over a few folded notes.
As discussed, the bartender rang up the order and tucked the change into her apron pocket.
"Think you just lost your change," the woman who had held Rick's attention all night informed him with a slight scowl.
The crease between her brows became more defined as she watched the bartender begin to pour the drinks.
"We, uh, have an arrangement," he informed her.
The woman peeled her eyes away from the bartender and searched his face for further explanation.
"An arrangement?" she questioned. "You realise that doesn't reassure me, right?"
She chuckled slightly as she turned toward him, her eyes drifting down his body; studying him, sizing him up.
"A stranger slipping cash to the person making your drinks? You should be cautious."
He groaned internally as the words came from his mouth. He used to be good at this. Now, apparently, he was the creepy guy who kept his foot firmly in his mouth.
The bartender placed the two freshly made drinks in front of them and he could see that she was hesitant to take it.
"The owner of the club keeps a large percentage of the tips," he explained. "I pay cash so that the bartenders can pocket my change instead of losing all their tips."
"Oh." She visibly relaxed as she processed his explanation. She gripped the glass and slid it closer. "That's actually quite nice of you."
"I'm actually quite a nice person. You know, when I'm not totally putting my foot in it," he joked.
She smiled wide, the flashing lights dancing in the whites of her eyes as she swapped the two drinks.
To reassure her, he ceremoniously picked up the drink she had placed in front of him.
"Cheers." With a smile, he took a long sip.
When he placed the half-empty glass back down on the bar, she smiled mischievously and swapped the drinks back again.
"Thanks," she said with an air of victory in her voice, then sipped.
"Sorry, I didn't catch your name."
"Kate."
"Kate," he repeated.
He liked the way that sounded. Kate...
"I'm-"
"Ricky," Meredith sung out as she approached from behind him. Again.
He closed his eyes and hung his head, letting out an exasperated sigh.
"Ricky?" Kate echoed the nickname with obvious amusement.
"Forgive me," he said, making no attempt to hide the frustration that seeped through his words.
He turned toward Meredith, hoping to run interference and keep Kate hidden from his ex-wife.
"We're going now," Meredith informed him with a smile.
He couldn't quite tell if she expected him to leave with her, or if she was simply just letting him know.
"Okay," he replied. "Have fun."
Meredith's face morphed from deceivingly angelic to slightly annoyed. "You're not going to come with?"
Her eyes narrowed as she leant to the side, peering over his shoulder.
His attempt at hiding Kate with the breadth of his body had, unfortunately, failed.
"I'm Kate," she introduced herself sweetly, with a smile so dazzling it looked like it belonged in a dental brochure.
She extended her hand and waited for the red-head to take it.
More than what he had been offered. He tried to force down that petty thought.
"Seriously?" Meredith looked back to him with a frown. "Isn't she a little... mass market?"
"There's no need to be rude, Meredith," he said through clenched teeth.
"We're going to Masquerade," she told him, as if their next destination would make him more likely to join them.
"I'm fine here, thank you."
Kate moved her hand to his forearm, bringing his attention back to her.
"You can join my friends and I, if you'd like?" she offered, looking up at him through fluttering eyelashes as she caught her bottom lip between her teeth.
If he didn't know better he would think that she was... flirting?
He ignored Meredith's unimpressed scoff and instead watched the amused twinkle in Kate's eyes grow brighter as she revelled in Meredith's undisguised jealousy.
He was torn between finding it incredibly hot or a major red flag.
Kate was confident, it oozed from her, and he liked that.
"Rick," Meredith drew out his name, pleading with him.
He moved his attention back to his ex-wife, meeting the all-too-familiar warning eyes he'd grown acquainted with over their short marriage. Before he had the chance to cave, however, an excited gasp erupted from beside him, gaining the attention of both he and Meredith.
"I love this song!" Kate exclaimed. "Dance with me?"
She picked up her drink and gulped the little bit that remained before grabbing his hand.
He picked up his own barely-touched glass and passed it to Meredith.
"Drink's on me! Have fun at Masquerade," he called as he allowed himself to be dragged away.
He turned back to the woman beckoning his attention with the seductive sway of her hips as they moved further onto the dance floor.
Kate ran her hands through her hair - as she had done earlier in the night - but this time her smile was replaced with the gentle tug of her bottom lip between her teeth.
She knew exactly what she was doing, and she did it well. Slowly inching closer to him, she placed her hand on his hip; her gentle touch was the encouragement he needed to move with her. He hadn't even realised he was standing there, still and stunned, looking entirely out of place among the dancers that surrounded them.
Emboldened by her smile, he reached out, daring to touch her.
He would have settled for a simple handshake - so desperate for that same touch Meredith had so flippantly rejected - but here they stood, her hands on him, bodies brushing as they swayed discordantly. His palm pressed to her waist, settling comfortably as they began to find their rhythm and their movements slowly harmonised.
"That's better," she said as her fingers trailed across his chest. "Good to see you relax a little."
She looked up at him through thick, black lashes; a sly smile curling the corners of her mouth.
He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, each beat feeling like it was trying to climb up into his throat.
She slung her arms casually over his shoulders, crossing her wrists behind his head. Gradually, their sway had slowed; not at all in time with the upbeat music that played but he couldn't care less. A beautiful woman - one who had captured his attention the moment he laid eyes on her - was in his arms, looking up at him with a smile so sweet he could almost feel the cavity slowly developing. She would have a lasting effect on him, of that he was sure.
"So-" She tilted her head and curiosity sparked in her eyes. "Who exactly is Meredith?"
There was no malice in the way she spoke his ex-wife's name, no animosity or hostility. But he could tell that there was something there, something hidden behind the misleading amusement in her tone.
Offence, maybe? She wouldn't be the first person to be offput by Meredith's... well, Meredith.
For the first time, Meredith's unabashed sense of entitlement and self-importance had worked in his favour, though: catapulting him through his uncharacteristically awkward first impression and right into this moment. To say he was grateful would be an understatement.
"Ex-girlfriend?" she asked, an attempt to push him through his silent thought.
"Ex-" He hesitated, contemplated the lie.
Kate didn't know him; she didn't actually care and he wasn't egotistical enough to assume their interactions would extend any further than this dance. And yet, he couldn't bring himself to lie to her.
"Ex-wife," he confessed with a sigh.
His hands gripped at her waist without his permission: a subconscious attempt to keep her near, he supposed.
Her smile faltered and she nodded slowly. "Right."
He held his breath and waited for her to walk away. A high-maintenance past that refuses to stay in the past? No one needs that baggage.
Her hands slowly dragged down his shoulders, dropping to her sides as she pulled back, and his heart sank back into it's rightful position, carefully guarded by his ribcage and encased in his disappointment.