Chapter 2

Trix

Tonight is me time. I came alone and am hell bent on leaving alone. These days it seems like everyone comes to raves to hook up. Not me. I can do that anytime. I can't dance to trance music with a herd of other trance enthusiasts anytime though. Trance music is getting harder and harder to find in the wild. I'm glad my friend, Dexter gave me a heads up about this one. He's earned himself a glow in the dark necklace and a hug for his trouble.

Dexter is a strange little guy. I met him at a rave a few years ago. He likes meeting new people and if he takes a shine to you, he'll put your contact information in his phone and invite you to group chats sporadically. He told me he had someone he wanted me to meet, but I haven't seen him yet.

I tend to dance by myself because I'm a little hyper and no one else can keep up with me. Which is why I like trance music. It's got a really fast tempo. I raise my hands above my head, close my eyes and gyrate in place to the beat of the music. It's like my hips have a mind of their own and are perfectly in sync with the beat.

There's a little mental trick I do when I'm lost in the dance. I break apart all the guys I ever dated into their component parts and try my best create my perfect franken-boyfriend. He'd be six foot tall, have long dark hair, pulled up on his head in a warrior's topknot, because I'm the one fool who still thinks manbuns are sexy. Naturally, he'd have startling blue or green eyes, because if I ever got around to making babies with them, I'd want them to have pretty eyes, rather than my muddy brown color. Though somehow, I've never managed to recreate the perfect man in my head. Getting caught up in the music I kick the idea of a franken-boyfriend right out of my mind and whirl around to make more room to swing my hips.

That's when I see him. It's like he stepped right out of my imagination, right down to the warrior's top knot. Well, if I'm being honest, it's more like a messy manbun but it would be an easy fix. He's proportioned like a bodybuilder and has the most beautiful hazel eyes I've ever seen. My eyes drift down and I can't help but notice the bulge in his pants, Mr. Straight-Outta-My-Imagination is packing. It takes me a moment for it to click that he's moving in my direction, proudly stalking really. I wonder if I'll be able to catch a whiff of aftershave as he walks past. He probably smells as good as he looks.

Truth be told, he's panty-melting hot. Several women are watching him, not just me. I can tell by the way he moves that he has a ripped torso. As he comes toward me, I try to imagine what his muscular physique would look like without a shirt. I'm not exactly undressing him with my eyes, just rolling around the idea in my head. Dear God, I do love a man with sculptured abs.

This is about the time I realize he isn't walking toward me, but straight to me. I know because his eyes are eating me up. When he gets close, I start to panic when I see just how large he really is. Large guys tend to get what they want from a woman, so my guard is automatically up.

Remembering the bulge in his pants, I remind myself not to glance down. That would just make things awkward. I didn't need to look down because every detail of it is burned into my mind. One of my problems is that my brain always gives such good advice, but my body doesn't listen. That explains why I glance down to gaze at his zipper before I even realize I'm doing it. It only takes me a second to get ahold of myself but it's too late. Now the handsome bastard is smirking all over the place as one hand slides down to rearrange his junk. Damn it. Why do I always have to look?

I whirl around and give him my back, I don't want to waste time saying hi to a smirky stranger. Up until that point he'd seemed pretty near perfect, but I grew up surrounded by total assholes. I don't need to start gathering them from the outside and dragging them home with me.

I want a man who respects women, with a heart of gold and a great sense of humor. A man with the bearing of a king who will treat me like a queen. Okay, that sounded all kinds of wrong in my own mind. I get so whack-a-doodle about men. It's from being an orphan who was brought up by a grandfather who gravitated toward women half his age who were all too happy to cozy up with the old buzzard.

When an arm snakes around my waist from behind, I don't have to think very hard to realize who it might be. Some women might have been really upset at being touched but I wasn't precious that way—in clubs it happens, especially if the music is too loud to get someone's attention in the conventional manner, but the men who come to the raves are usually respectful. Besides, he's not pulling me back against his thick cock so there is no need for me to scream the walls down. This smirking stranger is turning me back around. The second we're face to face, he takes a small step backwards, out of my personal space.

"Hello, my name's Vapor. I wanted to introduce myself, on the off chance that you might want to dance with me."

He has a deep, resonant voice for such a young guy. He also smells fantastic, like I thought he would. The scent is akin to sandalwood and cherries. I find myself smiling at him despite my doubts. "You like trance music?" I ask.

"What? Trance? I thought I was at a line dance," he says with a confused look.

It takes me a second to realize he was joking, "Funny guy," I deadpan.

"I'd ask if you come here often, but that line is way too old," he flashes me a grin and then says, "We can talk anytime, but dancing all night in a place like this is a rare treat, so how about it?"

The sexy bastard is right. I step closer. Looking into his warm hazel eyes, I decide hazel would work out just as well as blue or green for my fantasy man. So far, this guy is checking off a lot of my boxes. "Alright, let's see what you've got," I tell him playfully.

Trance isn't really the type of dancing where you put your hands on the other person. We just move closer, and our forms melt together. It was freeing and fun for me to lose myself in the music. After the song was over we stand there, excited and sweaty staring at each other for a few seconds. When the next song starts the two of us just kind of get lost in the beat. This is the first time I've enjoyed dancing with a partner so much that everyone else just melts away. At some point, he pulls off his shirt and tucks it in the back of his pants. In that moment I don't know what got to me more, the jealousy that I couldn't follow suit or that his body was such a feast for the eyes. I can tell by his expression that he knows it too. This man is full of himself, and it looks good on him.

When that song ends, a slower track comes through the warehouse speakers with a hypnotic pulsating beat. It was so unexpected that my body came to a staggering stop, almost making me trip over my own feet. If it hadn't been for Vapor catching me, I might have fallen flat onto my own face. God knows, face planting in front of a hot guy is not how I wanted this night to end.

His hands land on my waist. As we fall into the slow rhythm of the music, one of his hands moves down, skimming over my waist to rest on my hip.

"Is this okay for you, babe?"

"Yeah, if your hands land any place that pisses me off, I'll let you know," I respond mildly. My comment may be a little abrasive, but I had no intention of leaving him with the impression that I was the kind of woman who puts out on a dancefloor.

"Not every man is a grabby asshole," He states soothingly.

"You'd be surprised. The world's not a very nice place sometimes, especially for women."

"Ain't that the damn truth."

I point out the obvious. "Of course, it happens a lot more in places where they serve drinks, and the lights are low."

By this point his warrior's topknot has come loose and his long dark hair is down around his shoulders. I can make out intricate tattoos covering his torso and arms. Although he hasn't turned around, I'll bet he's got them on his back as well. This man is smoking hot and seems respectful to boot.

I have to admit, being held close feels warm and nice. I gaze up at him as we move gently to the music. He's a good dancer. And I'm all too comfortable in his strong arms. There's a lot to like about Vapor. He seems like a wholesome man and has a nice way about him. Good men are hard to find in my world. Ones who are ripped and into my favorite music are nearly impossible to find. This one was working himself from the new friend to casual hookup category pretty damn fast.

He asks, "Do you want to get a drink from the bar?"

"I thought you were mister ‘we can talk anytime', so we should dance now," I tease as we head to the bar area.

"The dance floor is getting too crowded," he responds with a shrug.

"I'm going to make a quick trip to the ladies' room," I say before veering off toward the neon signs that pointed to the portable festival-type toilets the organizers had installed.

"What are you drinking," he calls out as he pulls his t-shirt back over his head.

Glancing over my shoulder, I reply, "Surprise me. Something cold."

Entering the miniscule toilet cubicle, I'm pleased to see that due to the small number of guests and the generous number of porta-potties, things are still nice and fresh. At some of the raves I've been to, the facilities were disgusting. After dealing with the necessities and washing my hands, I take a minute to look at myself in my compact mirror. My long blonde hair is sweaty from dancing enough to work up a sweat. Digging through my purse, I sprinkle a little dry shampoo along the part and then give it a brisk brush. It only takes a minute for my hair to start looking a lot better. Pleased, I shove the brush and shampoo powder back into my purse. I'd come for the great music and dancing. Who knew that I'd meet a decent guy?

I find us an empty table tucked away in the corner of the warehouse and make myself comfortable while my hot new friend hovers around the bar, picking out drinks for us.

Tonight is getting a bit wild because people just keep streaming through the door. Most of them head straight to the dance floor. People are practically fighting for a spot to call their own. Vapor was right about it being overcrowded tonight. Some rave operators are bad for allowing too many people into the building and I hope that this isn't going to be the case tonight.

When he comes back with a trayful of drinks, I realize that I really like the way he moves, as well as the way his eyes light up when he finally spies me at the table.

"Got a selection, some alcohol free, and some of the house special. Given how hot it is in here, I can't promise they'll be chilled."

"Thanks. Anything thirst-quenching will do at this point," I say with a smile.

When he sets the drinks down, I pick the one that looks like it might be a berry drink. It tastes delicious. The conversation really flows between us. This man has an opinion on just about every topic I bring up, and it's really nice to actually talk to someone. Normally, most men just try to wrap the conversation back around to flirting or sex. It's like when their dick is hard, scratching the itch is all they can think about. Not Vapor, he really seems interested in getting to know me.

I watch his lips as he talks, imagining what kissing him would be like. I grope around in my purse for my container of mints and pop one in my mouth, just in case we end up in a lip lock. I can't believe that I'm seriously contemplating inviting this sexy stranger home with me for the night. A little voice in the back of my head reminds me that just because he seems like a genuinely nice guy doesn't mean he is one. Then again, it's been a long time since I'd taken a chance or been reckless.

"What ya got there?" He asks curiously.

I open my mouth and stick out my tongue like a naughty child, showing him my heart shaped mint.

"Fucking hell, are you taking ecstasy?"

I almost laugh at the absurdity of his words. Sure, drugs are part of the psychedelic trance scene, but I certainly don't do them. My life is complicated, and I can't afford to blink, much less be strung out on drugs. Besides that, I know firsthand what can happen with drugs.

"It's a mint," I say, waving the box.

He takes the box from me and shakes one out, he's looking all kinds of concerned.

"Are you police, DEA, or just a random Boy Scout gone rogue?" I ask.

"None of the above. I've just seen what drugs can do to people and the shit the dealers here sell."

"Same here, I've seen what harm they can cause."

His guarded expression dies away, replaced by a feral grin as he tosses one of the mints in his mouth. "I'm glad to hear it. If you choose me as your bedpartner tonight, I promise to make you come so hard your head explodes. No drugs needed."

Laughter bubbles up from my very soul. "You had me, right up to the head exploding part."

Now that we are on the same page about how we want the night to end, we continue drinking and talking about random things, including getting an Uber to take us to my place as we both got a ride here, and even if we hadn't, we were a little too tipsy to drive.