Chapter 8

Han

Even though smoking was allowed only outside of Trestle, there always seemed to be clouds of it inside the bar. Amber light fractured through the haze. That, combined with the drinking, laughing patrons below me made the whole night felt surreal. The music vibrated everything. I could feel the pulse of it in the platform below me, up through my heels, and into my legs.

As I danced I kept my eyes focused upward and away from the patrons. It wasn’t that I was ashamed. I wasn’t a stripper or anything. The dancers at Trestle were just for atmosphere. We stayed clothed. I think I wore less clothing than anyone, but that was because I split my shift between dancing and bar tending, and the less clothing, the more tip.

But there was nothing more awkward than making eye contact with someone below. Suga was careful to keep the bar as ert-free as possible, but the way we were framed up here on pedestals with soft glowing light could turn just about any guy into a creeper.

Normally I tried to lose myself in the music and just dance for me. It made the time go by faster. But tonight, my mind was so full of the day’s events that I just couldn’t seem to turn my brain off. I took two shots before my shift started to try to remedy the problem, but so far nothing had changed.

I took turns staring at various places on the wall and ceiling to pass the time. I caught J-Hope’s eye over at his table in the corner. He smirked at me, waggled his eyebrows, and his lips.

I pretended to gag.

He shook his head and went back to scratching away at the lyrics in his journal.

This afternoon was forgotten…for now at least. 

I smiled, swaying my my hips, and glanced at the front entrance as the door swung open. Another cloud of smoke rolled in through the door. Like he was stepping out of the fog, Jungkook appeared. My twenty-four-hour, pretend-we-met-in-a-library, mum-hugging, golden-boyfriend.

He looked good.

Too good.

He laughed, and people stopped mid conversation just to stare, like he was a celebrity. Dark hair tumbled down his eyes, and he pushed it back. He had the kind of hair that just begged to be touched. He was with someone, a tan strikingly good-looking guy, and he was smiling so big that his teeth were like little pearls in the dark room. He’d seemed like a pretty smiley guy when we met this morning, but only by seeing this smile in comparison did I realise how faked it had all been. He had these perfect smile lines and his eyes crinkled slightly. He laughed again, and I saw at least three girls manoeuvre closer to him.

One of the braver girls broke off from her friends, and stepped right up to him. I couldn’t heard what they were saying, and it was too dark to read their lips.

Not that I even know how to read lips.

She looked exactly how I pictured his type of girl. Perfectly dyed hair, perfectly-done makeup, sophisticated style and nauseating.

The complete opposite of me.

In less than a minute, he charmed her the same way he charmed my parents. She was giggling and touching his arm, falling into him, all while curling her hair around her finger. I waited for him to move in for the kill, but he didn’t. They just kept talking and talking. She was clearly giving him the green light, and he was still chatting her up like an old lady in a church.

Why wasn’t he taking what she was so clearly offering?

He started talking to his friend, ignoring the blonde. She gave the kind of pout that was obnoxious on anyone above the age of five. 

I smiled.

Some of the tension in my shoulders loosened, and I danced a little easier. I told myself that the relief I felt was a by-product of those earlier shots kicking in and had nothing to do with the blonde girl he was blowing off.

Then the girl reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. She was smug as she entered what I assumed was her number into his contacts, and I wanted to rip her stupid blonde hair out. He looked over his shoulder and