Wasted Words by Staci Hart

Tyler clapped his hands and shuffled like a breakdancer, rolling his shoulders before he paused and jerked his ankle like Michael Jackson. When he spun around and broke into the running man, a cackle burst out of me.

He broke out every 90s dance move I think he knew, the Roger Rabbit, the Side Kick, the Heel Toe, even the Carlton. He looked like he was straight off of In Living Color, which I’d watched reruns of at my friend’s house in elementary school, since we didn’t have cable. The people around us cheered him on, losing it during the breakdown when he did the Butterfly until he dropped his ass all the way to the ground.

I thought I might die of pride.

He was lit up so bright by the time the song ended, and everyone clapped as he made his way over to me, grabbing me around the waist to spin me around.

“You’re incredible,” I said, laughing as I hung onto his arms.

“No, you just make me want to dance.” He kissed my cheek.

It was then that I saw him, really saw him. I saw a future with him, maybe even a forever. I breathed deep, unafraid there in his arms, smiling at him like he was the only man that ever was or would be. It overwhelmed me in the best way. But I needed a minute alone to let it sink in.

I slipped my fingers under his lapel, feeling his solid chest under my hand. “I’m going to run to the restroom, okay? Want a drink?”

“I’ll get them,” he said with a smile, still holding me close.

“Nah, I’m going. Look, here comes Jack. You guys hang out and I’ll grab us drinks and pee, okay?”

He looked a little wounded, so I put on my take-no-shit face. And just when I thought I had him, he pulled out his wallet and handed me cash. “All right, but use this for the tip.”

I made a face, and he laughed before kissing me.

“Hurry back.”

I smiled at him as I turned. “I will. Don’t go anywhere.”

“I’ll be right here.”

I walked through the ballroom, my heart so light, it could have flown away. On my way to the bathroom, I made plans in my head to fix up my lipstick, briefly panicking as I wondered if it was all smudged and smeared. But I had faith that Tyler would have told me.

I had faith in Tyler.

The thought hit me deep in my chest. The way I felt made it undeniably clear that I’d given him my heart, my trust. And I wasn’t afraid to give it to him.

What I was afraid of was losing him.

I pushed the thought away, remembering how he smiled at me, how he touched me, taking comfort in the moments we had instead of what would come.

The bathroom was crowded with women, and after I peed, I sidled up at the mirror, digging through my clutch for my lipstick. I looked myself over, making sure I still had it together, and by some miracle, my reflection was very close to what it had been when I’d left the apartment hours before.

I popped the cap off the tube and got to work touching up my lipstick, concentrating really hard, so hard that I didn’t see that Adrienne had stepped up next to me, not until she spoke.

“Hey, Cam.”

I looked over, surprised to hear my name, though I smiled when I saw her. “Adrienne! I didn’t expect to see you here.”

She smiled back and washed her hands. “Yeah, it’s a pretty big industry event every year, so a lot of us come. Are you here with Tyler?” she asked, and uncertainty crept in, realizing I had no idea how she felt about the whole thing.

My smile fell. “Yeah, I am. Adrienne, I’m really sorry about what happened on your date. I had no idea how he felt.”

She shook her head, still smiling as she reached for a paper towel. “Don’t be sorry. I’m not gonna pretend like I’m not bummed, but I wasn’t attached, Cam. Not like the two of you are.”

I sighed and capped my lipstick. “Thank you for being so graceful.”

Her smile pulled up on one side. “Hey, it wouldn’t pay to piss off the chick who throws the best singles nights in New York, would it?”

I laughed. “So does that mean you’re coming to the next one?”

“Is that bartender in the Spiderman costume single? Because I would most definitely be interested in talking to him about the social injustices of arachnophobia.”

I snorted. “Greg is definitely single, and I’m sure he’d love to see Catwoman’s whip.”

“Then I wouldn’t miss singles night for the world.”

“Good,” I said with a smile. “I’ll see you then.”

“Have fun tonight. You look beautiful, by the way.”

I blushed and waved a hand. “Not nearly as gorgeous as you. I bet you wake up like that.”

She chuckled and headed toward the door. “Yeah, except with more drool.”

I fell in step with her. “Whatever. I bet even your drool is sparkly and tastes like champagne.”

That one elicited a full-blown laugh from her, which made me feel way better about everything, somehow.

We parted ways just outside the door, and I caught sight of Tyler on the dance floor with Jim, Anne, and a handful of other people. He looked over like he knew I was there and smiled at me, sending my heart into a flutter. I waved and pointed to the bar, making my way to get us drinks.

I was too busy looking his direction still, even though he’d already turned back to the dance floor, and as I walked around a table of hors d’oeuvres, the toe of my shoe caught on the linen. Everything moved in slow motion — the second my foot stopped, I knew what was going to happen. I pitched forward, noting the pattern on the carpet, thinking about whether or not I should drop my clutch or if I should tuck and roll. I also wondered how many people were about to see my underwear, and I spent a millisecond being glad I wore any at all.