WHO Aimee Jiang and Shannon Reeve WHEN Last saturday night [backdated a week] WHERE Club 49, London WHAT Par-tee, flirting, being drunk. RATING PG-13. I swear. STATUS Closed, finished
Saturdays nights were sacred moments dedicated to just having fun, at least for Aimee. Time to see her friends, drink something, go to a club if she had the money. She was barely over 21, she should enjoy it while she could. That night, it meant Club 49. A friend of hers had managed to get them in for free, and for a girl like Aimee it was always easy to get herself free drinks. Or to have someone pay a few for her. It was such a classic move from men, wasn't it? And made everybody happy. She dressed herself in a blue dress that highlighted her eyes and displayed probably a lot more skin than it was supposed to, a matching make up and accessories. Perfect, she told herself as she stared at her own reflection on the mirror.
She got there soon enough so it wasn't crowded, and took the opportunity to wonder around the lounge with her friend. They sat together, talking at the bar, being occasionally interrupted by a guy trying to hit on one of them. It was a nice place, and there was plenty of attractive people there. Such a promising night. She took her Martini and took her friend to the dance floor. Time to get it moving!
Seven drinks and almost two hours later, there were twice as many people in the club and, honestly, Aimee was drunk. Oh well, at least she was having fun. She wondered for a second where her friend was, until she located her on a corner, talking to a tall, blond man. Aimee smiled. Such a promising night.
Reeve had found out on the journals that Amy would be clubbing, and hopped the MTN to London. Those things always gave him the willies, so he gave himself a few minutes to regain his equilibrium. Then he headed to the club. He'd shaved, moisturized, styled his hair, dressed in a sharp suit, even added a dash of cologne--but not too much. He looked good, and he knew it, and he felt like...
Well, he felt like trouble, but that was beside the point. He grabbed himself a drink, casing the joint a while before he hit the dance floor to mingle.
Aimee could dance, that was for sure. After years of partying, she could draw people's attention. She had rhythm, she could move, and she surely imprinted a sexuality to her dancing that was as natural as it was charming. That night, her very short dress didn't help in making her less sexy. She finished her Martini - courtesy of a very nice man called Caleb - and went back to the dance floor with him, excited about the music playing. "I love this one!" She told him as their bodies moved together, her arms hanging loosely around his neck and as their hips found the perfect harmony.
Reeve spotted a familiar face in the undulating crowd, but he didn't approach. Just kept a casual eye on her as he merged onto the floor, moving his body in time with the ubiquitous beat. He paused near a group of young women who all seemed to be together, and it wasn't long before one of them noticed him, beckoning him into their inner circle. Of course, he joined, striking up a casual conversation with each of them in turn, saying, "There's plenty to go around."
The music ended, and then there was the next one; by the time the fifth song came, Aimee was dancing with the friend she had arrived with. Men. You give them a tiny bit of attention and they're already thinking you'll go to bed with them. She thought to herself, smiling to her friend as they danced around each other. Night was still young; if somebody wanted to take her home, there was still plenty of time for her to be seduced. Then her friend, who was also an aspiring cook named Michelle, said they should get a tequila. Such a wonderful idea! They went, each of them drinking avidly from their shot glasses. It was only at that moment, when Aimee turned to the dance floor again, that she spotted a familiar face.
Her stomach felt like a knot when she tried to process that new piece of information. It was one thing to mess with him over the journals, when she safely was at her place. It was something other do see the attractive man that could as well be have the Sheriff in person, in a club, just other anyone else. Truth be told, part of her wished it was just a coincidence and that he would not see her. However, part of her wished she could play with fire. She bit her lip as Michelle enthusiastically dragged her again to the dance floor.
Reeve had matriculated to a new group of dancers, this time a mix of girls and guys, and though he was aware of Aimee in his periphery, he still pretended not to notice. Just a glance, and a generic smile, and then his attention turned back to his current companion. It was hard to say in the ambient lighting, but from what he'd learned about Aimee, she was probably a little sauced. That meant she was probably a little vulnerable. It wouldn't do to take advantage of her.
But that didn't mean he wouldn't bait her just a little bit.
Okay. She needed to think straight. She needed to have a clear interpretation on the situation, and she needed to make decisions. Did she still have enough time to leave before being noticed? What would she tell Michelle to convince her to leave? She surely could not admit the truth. What actual chance did she have of being there without having to interact in some way with Reeve? How much trouble was she getting into, after all? Michelle and her continued to dance as she tried to pretend that she wasn't trying to make a serious decision. Oh, if at least she wasn't in an altered state of mind. Not that she was the most rational, forward-thinking type of person, but damn. Okay. Okay. Maybe she could go to the bathroom and hide for a while?
Her heart was racing, and her mouth felt incredibly dry.
And then, suddenly, there was an opening in the crowd, and Reeve found himself changing hands again, so that he was suddenly dancing right beside Aimee and her friend. He couldn't very well ignore them now, could he? That would just be rude.
"Fancy meeting you here," he called, still keeping a respectful distance. Well, as respectful a distance as one could keep on such a crowded dance floor. Meaning he might have rubbed shoulders, but he wasn't grinding. "Quite the turn-out, isn't it?"
That couldn't be happening. Oh no, sir, that couldn't be happening. Aimee felt nervous, and anxious, and paralyzed, all at once. What was she supposed to do at that moment? "Hello, stranger." She said, putting up her best charming face. Oh man. Reeve was so incredibly handsome and sexy attractive in person it was almost unfair. She had always had a problem with man, always ending up with someone wrong for her. Now, she was taking it a step further. Little John tried to say something, but Aimee was too numb to listen. "I agree. I had no idea you lived in the area." She would so have to move out of that city if that was true. She kept dancing.
Reeve laughed, shaking his head. There were little tells, almost imperceptible hesitations, brief flickers in Aimee's wide eyes that he might have missed if he were not trained to notice such things--but he did his best to dispell her nerves. "Me? No! I'm from the states. I'm just here for a bit of a vacation."
Was that true? Could she trust anything he said? Oh Lord, she was getting neurotic. Were they shoulders still touching? She tried to calm herself down. Michelle looked at their interaction with a face that transpired she was getting it all wrong. They surely weren't flirting! Were they? Oh Lord. "Always nice to take a break." She answered, her hips moving slowly to the sound of the beat.
"Don't I know it," he said, shuffling enough to give her a bit of a space buffer for a moment. Wondering if she would miss the contact, or be grateful for reprieve. Testing the waters. "I don't often get the chance to get away like this. Had to take advantage of it while I could." Another lighthearted laugh. "I'm sorry, where are my manners? I haven't even introduced myself to your friend." He shot the other woman a beguiling smile. "Call me Reeve. Shannon Reeve."
Was he able of laughing? The revelation came as a surprise, the clear display of humanity puzzling her. It was hard for her to see Reeve as anything beyond The Sheriff - even if she wasn't completely sure he was that character. In her mind, The Sheriff would have to be pure cruelty, ice as cold, calculating and dishonest. She could hear his laugh, in spite of the incessant beat. Was she wrong about him? Was Betty wrong about him? Was every reincarnate so attached and influenced by who they coexisted with? Was she missing the physical contact so abruptly broken? Oh Lord, she was surely going crazy.
"Nice to meet you" Michelle said, leaning in Aimee's direction for a bit and flashing a wide smile. "I'm Michelle!" She told him, her body never stopping to move. "Nice one, Amy!" She whispered on her ear and laughed mischievously. "Oh, look at that! I think I see a friend there! Excuse me for a moment." She gave her classic excuse for leaving the friend alone with the possible conquest and left.
The problem was that Reeve wasn't exactly a conquest. Oh Lord.
Reeve looked at Aimee as Michelle slipped away, rolling his eyes a little as if he had heard that excuse before. "Well, this is awkward," he said, turning his palms up in a slight shrug. "I didn't mean to chase away your date."
Chase away her date? What the fuck? Aimee blinked a few times before fully realizing what Reeve had implied. "Oh no, no, she's not my date." She made a dismissing gesture, because really, she wasn't a lesbian! "She's just a friend, she brought me here because she had an extra-" Why was she explaining herself to him? She didn't explain her actions to anyone. "We - I'm not- This is not a date." She said finally, too embarrassed and nervous for words. "Definitely not a date." This could possibly be the most awkward situation of her life so far. Reeve thought she was a lesbian! Okay, she had experimented, but she thought of herself as mainly straight! "I think I need a drink." She admitted in defeat.
"Fair enough!" he said, putting his hands up in mock surrender. Oh, he had a pretty good idea she liked men, but how was he to know she didn't dabble? One thing he did know, he certainly had gotten a rise out of her. "At least let me buy, then, since I've made such an ass of myself?"
"Okay." She answered, already walking her way to the bar. Did the Universe really hate her that much? Perhaps she should be avoiding him, not talking and taking his drinks. But she would really like to get a taste of him before avoiding the man like the plague. Wait, that didn't sound right. She didn't want a taste of him. She just wanted to see how he was. Interact a bit. She didn't really want to taste him. "Vodka." She told the bartender, trying to distract herself from her own lines of thought. Was that her what, 9th or 10th drink? She wouldn't know.
Reeve followed her to the bar, plunking down the money for her drink, and another of his own. Raising his glass then, he took the opportunity to study her face as best he could in such light. She really was quite stunning.
She raised her own glass, quite aware she was doing all the things she wasn't supposed to be doing. Reeve was standing close, as it would be expected; there was far too many people in that club for anyone to keep a respectable distance. She drank her shot all at once, no flinching. She could hold her liquor, but it wasn't good to push one's luck. Maybe she should stop for the night, and try to dance it away. Was there still time for her to get out of Club 49 and pretend nothing had happened?
The detective likewise upended his glass, but he had the advantage of it only being his second drink. Being this close, he would guess from her eyes that she'd had a few more before he had arrived. But he wasn't judging. He'd been known to overindulge on occasion, himself--though not usually in public, as it tended to lead to embarrassing shows of humanity. He was supposed to be the hard-boiled cop, not the sympathetic...whatever. He doubted anyone would buy the boy next door act from him anyway.
"So I suppose this is the part where we make small-talk?" he suggested, "Either that or I strike out horribly, you tell me to get lost, and I go drown my sorrows at the hotel mini-bar."
"This could also be the part when you say I have the most beautiful eyes you have ever seen, or something of the sorts, and I smile charmingly in response." She answered, her eyes examining Reeve's features, still a little amazed by his good looks. Villains definitely should not be allowed to be attractive at all. "It could work, who knows." She joked, smirking.
"It could, but I'm guessing you've heard that on too many other occasions to do more than smile and nod," he said, "On the other hand, you do have one of the most provocative mouths that I have ever...fantasized about tasting. Because, let's be honest," he added with a smirk, "Who wouldn't fantasize about that?"
Aimee's eyes unconsciously went from Reeve's eyes to his mouth, her own mouth slightly open, and back to his eyes. He really wasted no time. "Good one." She said, toying with her empty glass shot in one hand. She was still smirking when John tried to say something again, but it was too late and she was too inebriated to hear anything coherent. Mental images of his mouth on hers, and how he would look shirtless, and both of them in bed were far more interesting than anything John might have wanted to say. "That is a very good compliment." She admitted, her own mouth watering in expectation.
Following her gaze, Reeve's mouth turned up at the corners, lips parting as he gave another soft laugh. Who said women were the only ones who could flaunt their sensuality? "What do you know," he mused aloud, as if he had no idea how attractive he was, or what he was doing, "I got something right for once."
Aimee surely hadn't said that. Who was she to deny the right of anyone to flaunt their sensuality? Specially when they did it so well? And he was being charming, laughing, making her wish she had something else to focus other than him. Anything to take her eyes off him, her mind off him. "Oh, I believe you do get other things right."
Reeve shook his head, idly tracing the rim of his shot glass as he gazed at her with mischief in his eyes. "Now you're just stroking my ego."
"It's part of the game, isn't it?" She asked, looking at him straight in the eye. Such an odd game they were playing. She held her gaze, daring.
"I can only hope you're not going to take a pin to my bubble," he said, "Though I'm certainly going to enjoy it while it lasts."
"Isn't it the key to everything?" She asked, examining him for a moment before continuing. "Do you dance, Reeve?"
"You are too right," he said, languidly returning her gaze. "I don't dance often, but I can at least tell my left foot from my right. Are you asking?"
"The true question is: can you keep up?" She said, daring as she left her shot glass on the counter and headed for the dance floor. She wasn't there for chit-chat: she was there to dance, to drink, and to have fun. If Reeve couldn't keep up with her, she would find someone else. If he could... well, all she could do was hope not to get in too much trouble.
Reeve just smiled, feeling like the Chesshire cat as he followed her out on the floor. She'd posed him a challenge, and it was rare for him to pass up such an invitation, no matter what the consequences might entail. Besides. It was just little dancing. And where was the fun in dancing if there wasn't a little danger?