Names are over-rated
The club was packed that night; hot, sweaty bodies jammed into the dark. Roving strobes the only illumination once you left the puddle of light around the bar.
I’d come alone. It wasn’t my first time here, and that really didn’t bother me. If I left that way, that was fine. If I didn’t, so much the better.
We’d ended up next to each other when I came back from my last comfort break. At first, it was just that, but there was something about her that drew my attention, and soon enough we’d switched to a more synchronised motion.
We’d been dancing together for about a hour, when she leaned forward during a bit of a lull and said, “Hey. My name’s…”
Her voice was low, and smoky, and her warm breath across my ear raised the hairs on the back of my neck, and sent tremors further south. But the crucial word was lost, as someone pushed roughly past me.
“Cool,” I replied in kind, “I’m…”
But once more, fate intervened, and I suspected she no more knew my name than I hers.
“Let’s go,” she said, taking my hand.