2.
Crystal
The neon lights of Atlanta’s nightlife blur as I weave through the throng of revelers and into The Wicked Wolf. It’s a Georgia Tech hangout with a stage, and I can hear Jackie’s laughter even above the noise. The weight of my failed final project is like an anchor around my neck, dragging me into murky depths where numbers and equations swirl mockingly.
“Come on, Crystal!” She tugs at my arm, her face alight with year-end relief and probably too many shots. “This is our night! Three years down, one to go!”
“Sure,” I manage, forcing a smile. Not for me. My gaze flickers over the sea of faces, all celebrating something, anything—perhaps just life itself. But I’m mourning the death of my academic career, the cold dismissal from my professor still echoing in my skull: “Your skills are not sufficient.” His words, veiled in politeness, were laced with the poison of discrimination that’s plagued me since I chose a path in this male-dominated field. I shake my head. I can’t let that thought take hold now. Not tonight.
“Hey, what are you going to do for the summer?” Jackie’s voice cuts through the din, her eyes probing. “Head back to Orlando or stick it out here in the ATL?”
I haven’t told her I won’t be returning to school. I don’t know what to do. I sip the beer the bartender hands me, its bitterness matching my mood. “I don’t know.” My voice sounds hollow. “Neither option seems great right now.”
“Ugh, your mom is such a pain,” she says, rolling her eyes. “But you’ve got options, girl! You could do anything.”
Can I though?My confidence has shattered along with my GPA, both casualties of an education system that never quite fit. I wasn’t meant for applied mathematics, despite my stubborn attempts to prove otherwise. My heart was never in it, not like Jackie with her physics. Her passion was practically tangible as she swept through her final project. And there seems to be more room for women in physics than in math. Madame Curie, anyone?
“Maybe,” I murmur, the word more wish than conviction. I look up at the sky. Atlanta holds memories now tinged with regret while Orlando… Orlando is a cage with gilded bars in the shape of my mother’s expectations.
“Let’s not think about it tonight,” I say quickly before Jackie can press further. “Tonight, we dance, we forget, we pretend the world outside doesn’t exist.”
“Damn straight!” Jackie whoops, dragging me into the pulsing heart of the crowd where the bass pounds against my chest like a second heartbeat. I lose myself in the music, in the anonymity. Here, I’m not Crystal, the failed math student. Instead, I’m just another body moving to the rhythm, another soul trying to find her place in the frenzy.
But as Jackie twirls under the strobe lights, her grin wild and free, I feel another pang of envy. Her future is bright, illuminated by success and certainty, while mine is a dark road I must navigate without a map. Yet again, I push those thoughts aside and focus on dancing.
The stage is set for Velvet Anomaly, a local band whose lyrics have whispered to me through countless nights of equations and despair. Maybe I could be a roadie for Velvet Anomaly? The thought flits through my mind and puts a smile on my face. A butterfly daring to dream before its wings are clipped.
And then, there he is, the man of the hour. Across the bar, Justin Capriotti stands like a beacon in a sea of bodies. He’s one part of today’s engineering elite, radiating a success that seems wired into his DNA. He’s also friends with Turner Bishop, Velvet Anomaly’s lead singer, whose voice can strip you bare with a single note.
They’re reveling in their glory, basking in the spotlight from today’s showcase. Their tech was nothing short of miraculous, sleek and efficient, the kind of innovation that reshapes the world. And here I am, nursing my beer, wishing for that same electric charge in my brain…and the ability to turn math and science into victories instead of setbacks.
A cheer erupts from the crowd as the lights dim, signaling the imminent arrival of the band. I let myself get lost in the surge of excitement, just a fan waiting for my favorite music to take the stage. And who knows? By the end of the night, anything could happen.
After a moment, though, my gaze returns to Justin, now framed by the lights of the impending show. He catches my stare, and there it is, the upward twitch of his lips, a silent acknowledgement that sends a ripple of warmth through me. His dark hair seems to absorb the ambient glow, and those blue eyes sparkle with an intensity that feels like they’re fixed solely on me. He’s tall, effortlessly standing out among the crowd, and if this is going to be my last college party for a while, I’m going to make the most of it.
The opening chords of Velvet Anomaly’s first song shred through the buzz of conversation, throbbing against the walls of The Wicked Wolf. It’s a sound I adore—a raw fusion of Trent Reznor’s edginess and Harry Styles’ velvet croon—and it hooks me instantly, tugging at something primal. Jackie, beside me, matches my excitement. We’re both tipsy enough to let go without a second thought, our bodies swaying to the driving beat.
And then he’s there. Justin weaves toward me with a predator’s grace. The air shifts, charged with electricity as he draws near. His movements are a challenge, daring me to match him beat for beat. So I do. We dance, not quite touching yet utterly entwined, every sway a wordless conversation. When he presses closer, his body against mine in a rhythm that’s anything but innocent, I can’t suppress the thrill that races up my spine. Dirty dancing with Justin Capriotti—it’s reckless and exhilarating, and right now, there’s nowhere I’d rather be.
The songs flash by, seemingly in an instant. Justin comes and goes from beside me, though Jackie never strays. We dance and sing and drink and drink, and eventually, the band’s final chord resonates through the bar. I’m out of breath, a sheen of perspiration on my skin as the crowd cheers. Jackie catches my eye, her face flushed with exhilaration, and we make our way out of the crowd and to the bar.
“Hey.” A voice cuts clearly through the post-concert hum, and I turn to find Justin standing next to me. He has an easy confidence, a half-smile on his face that does peculiar things to my heartbeat. “I’m Justin, and this is Austin,” he says, gesturing to his friend.
“Crystal,” I reply, trying to sound more composed than I feel.
Jackie offers her name with a chirpy cheerfulness. “I’m starving after all that exercise,” she declares, and I agree with a nod.
Something salty and crisp is suddenly appealing. Justin suggests fried pickles, and it’s unanimous. When they arrive, we all reach in, the tang of dill and crunch of batter a perfect foil to the lingering beer on my tongue. Women glance at Justin as they pass, and I can’t believe he’s standing with me.
Jackie and Austin dive into a conversation about their majors, and I listen with half an ear, watching animated expressions flit across their faces. They’re in their element, discussing physics and sharing war stories about difficult classes and professors. A pang of regret tries to swallow me as I bite into another pickle, but I push it aside. Tonight’s not about what-ifs or might-have-beens; it’s about right now.
“Applied mathematics, huh?” Justin asks me, his eyes lighting up.
“Yep,” I say and leave it at that. No need to tarnish the night with my failure. The lie sits heavy, but I wash it down with another sip of beer.
As the night winds down, the crowd thins. Jackie and Austin remain deep in debate, their heads bent together. I’ve just turned back toward him when Justin leans in, his lips finding mine in a kiss that tastes of promise and rebellion. My heart races, my senses sharpening as I kiss him back with equal fervor.
“Come back to my place?” he murmurs, blue eyes searching mine.
“Okay,” I breathe, a reckless affirmation.
Jackie waves goodbye as we break away from the crowd, slipping into the cool Atlanta night. Justin laces his fingers with mine. The walk to his house is a blur of anticipation. His hand is warm and certain, and I squeeze, anchoring myself to the moment.
“Here we are,” Justin says, pushing open the front door with a flourish. The house is a typical one close to campus. It would be condemned in any other neighborhood in the city.
The door closes behind us with a thud that punctuates the sudden urgency in our movements. I fumble for the hem of his T-shirt. His hands are more skilled, deftly peeling my blouse away, sending it fluttering to the floor.
“Wow,” I giggle, breathless, but there’s no pause in our frenzied disrobing. I kick off my shoes, and they clatter against the wall. His belt hits the ground. Our pants follow, a trail of crumpled denim carcasses in our wake.
We navigate the hallway, leaving a trail of clothing—a sock here, a shirt there as we make our way to his room.
Inside, we’re bathed in the dim glow of a single lamp. The sight of Justin naked sends a jolt through me. He stands before me as if carved from stone, hard planes that are difficult not to run my hands over.
“Justin…” I drink in the sight of him, but words are lost when he pulls me close. I jump up, legs wrapping around his waist.
He lays me down on the bed. “You’re so beautiful.”
His fingers trace delicate lines of fire along my skin, igniting a hunger deep within me. I arch my back, wordlessly urging him to continue, to explore every inch of me. His touch is electric, sending shivers down my spine and leaving me breathless with anticipation.
A moan slips past my lips as he teases. His fingers slide between my folds and bring me to the edge before retreating. “Please,” I whimper, begging him to take me higher, to push me over the precipice.
He gives me what I crave, thrusting his fingers deep inside, stretching me wide as our eyes lock. I gasp, writhing beneath him, lost in the pure pleasure of his touch.
As my climax washes over me, his kiss is warm and hungry, our tongues dueling with a fiery passion. I grip his shoulders, pulling him closer, desperate for the connection.
With a low growl, he pulls away, leaving me panting and wanting more.
The night air from the open window brushes over my heated skin as Justin reaches for the side table, procuring a foil packet with a practiced flick of his fingers. I let out a half-nervous, half-delighted chuckle. “I’m not convinced that’s gonna fit,” I tease, eyeing him with a mix of jest and genuine concern.
He meets my gaze, a twinkle of humor in his eyes. “Trust me,” he replies. “I’ll take it slow. We’ll be more than fine.” His assurance calms me, and I nod, sighing.
Justin slips the condom over his erection and looks at me with a hunger that matches my furious desire. I hardly recognize myself.
“Is this okay?”
I nod. “Yes.” You’ve got to adore a man who asks for consent.
He positions himself at my entrance, his tip pressing gently against my wet, aching core. I whimper as he enters me, inch by slow inch. My body screams for more, craving the sensation of being completely filled. Finally, with a deep, guttural groan, he thrusts forward, burying himself inside me. My back arches, my nails digging into his shoulders as our bodies become one.
Our rhythm builds, and I cling to him, my legs wrapping tighter around his waist, attempting to pull him even deeper. Our movements grow rough and primal, our kisses turning frantic as we lose ourselves in the all-consuming passion between us.
It won’t be long before I reach the edge once more. Justin’s eyes lock with mine, and he pounds into me harder, faster, my entire body humming with need.
As I teeter on the brink, he thrusts one last time, sending me over the edge. My body convulses around him as I climax, moaning his name like a prayer. He grips my hips, steady and strong, pulling me closer with each surge of his body. The pleasure washes over me, a tidal wave of pure ecstasy that leaves me breathless and spent. His eyes never leave mine as he pants, riding out his own release.
As our bodies still, our hearts pound in sync, our breaths mingling with the scent of sweat and desire that fills the room. He pulls out slowly and helps me to rest on my side, our bodies still entwined. I stroke his cheek with my fingers, and he smiles softly, seeming content.
“That was…incredible,” I whisper.
He nods, his eyes soft. “I’ve never felt anything like that before. You… You’re incredible.”
Despite the day’s turmoil, the world outside fades away, replaced by the warmth of his touch and the afterglow of our shared passion. In this moment, there is nothing else that matters.
I sigh contentedly. Lying here, spent and panting, I’m smitten beyond reason.