Free Crazygirl Falls in Love by Alexandra Wnuk Page A

of fun. The
Stranger is an amaze salsa dancer, and I was always okay at samba (Mum was right,
all those years of ballroom dance came in handy after all) so by
the end of the night we’ve developed a hybrid of salsa and samba
which I think is pretty neat. Kinda coupley in a way, don’t you
think?
    Everything is going fantastically until I notice Lizzy staring
at us from the bar. She’s just standing there, glaring.
    “Lizzy is looking at us,” I lean in to whisper to the
Stranger.
    He doesn’t answer. I’ve noticed that he only responds to
direct questions, so I rephrase,
    “Why is Lizzy looking at us?”
    “Maybe she like what you wear?”
    I laugh. This guy really is Mr Elusiveness, he’s got a vague,
non-committal response for everything.
    The top of my head fits just underneath his
chin. I can feel the movement of his chest. His broad, manly, strong… Stop. Stop
it Penny. But oh, he’s so handsome… No Penelope Jones, he’s a bad man and you are
going to get hurt! But he’s such a
babe…
    “We go now?” He asks, stroking my hand.
    “To where?”
    “To my house.”
    “Are we going to have dinner first? I could murder a
kebab.”
    I regret saying it as soon as the word ‘kebab’ flies out of my
mouth (even though it couldn’t be more true, I could use a grease
hit right about now). It came out sounding desperate and needy.
Hasn’t he always said he doesn’t ‘do’ dinners? I’m pushing the
issue, and it’s never appealing when a chick pushes a relationship
issue.
    On another side note, why is it that when a guy chases a girl
it’s sexy and romantic, but when a girl chases a guy it seems so
pathetic? I guess that’s why I never message guys first.
    Adding fuel to my minor embarrassment the Stranger starts
laughing,
    “I do not do that, but there is nice wine back at my
house?”
    It takes a superhuman effort for me to
untangle myself from his grasp. His
masculine, virile, fabulous, sumptuous…
    “And I do not do that , so it looks like we’re at an
impasse. Excuse me for a moment, I need the ladies
room.”
    I feel powerful and self assured as I turn my back to him and
walk away. It actually physically hurts to leave him when I know I
could just as easily continue to dance and end up back at his place
(where I get carte blanche to ravage that incredible body as I see
fit).
    But that would be a short term plan with an even shorter shelf
life. I need a new plan, a better plan. Maybe I can wear him down
with my relentless insistences on proper dating rituals like dinner
and movies, until he eventually caves? But isn’t that just a
different version of the same old mistake known as
If-I-hang-around-long-enough-he’s-bound-to-start-liking-me?
    God I hate being single sometimes.
    I move carefully between the wild dancing.
Legs fly, arms wave, hips turn, couples spin in and out. Ah salsa, you are a sexy sport
indeed . I weave my way through the passion,
noticing as I go Chloe chatting with Antonio at the bar, Emma
dancing with an extreme ginge and Arianna and Bruno, the mysterious
boyfriend we rarely see because he’s agoraphobic and gets Stranger
Danger. Lizzy has disappeared.
    I find myself in front of the mirror of the restroom. I stare
at my reflection. What’s so wrong with me that the Stranger doesn’t
even want to take me out for a coffee? I study my reflection. I
could pass as either European or Australian. I don’t look very
Polish, and the Aussie accent fools most people. I have very long
blonde hair, a side fringe, an okay complexion (except for the
problematic forehead and chin regions), a small nose, full lips
(not Scarlett Johansson big, but big enough).
    It’s nothing overly exciting, but surely he might at least
like the shape of my eyes? They’re large and cat-like, but the
colour lets them down, they’re beer brown. I’ve never liked them
but people sometimes tell me they look green, which I love to
believe. I also have dimples, but they only emerge when I’m
grinning