Until I Saw Your Smile Read Online Free PDF

and tattoos, while wasted frat boys wearing worsted sweaters ogled some seriously overserved European women with bad accents and even worse dance moves. It didn’t matter a bit that Matthew really couldn’t dance. He could barely move, surrounded by a kaleidoscope of Latinos, Jamaicans, and assorted white people bumping chests and thumping toes.
    And surrounding his date.
    It’s the attack of the leeches, Matthew thought sadly. Joy hated men to be “all up on her,” so I only brought her here once. Monique doesn’t even seem to notice.
    One huge guy wearing a William Paterson University sweatshirt grabbed Monique’s booty from behind, and Monique only smiled at him.
    I guess that’s how they say hello in New Jersey. He’s gone. I should have said something like, “You could have shaken her hand.”
    While Monique swayed to Mary J. Blige’s “I’m Goin’ Down,” an old Jamaican wearing a Rasta cap stood shouting a millimeter from her left ear while a Latino shouted into her right. Matthew found it bizarre that strangers became territorial over people they had just met.
    They’re being more territorial than I am, and I’m her date!
    Matthew tried to get in front of Monique, but the Jamaican boxed him out as the Latino asked to see Monique’s phone.
    Don’t give it to him.
    Monique gave the phone to him.
    Matthew watched him put in his number.
    He watched Monique save the man’s number, pressing several buttons to give him a name.
    I should have said something like, “Dude, she’s with me,” but I want Monique to smile. The less I say to her, the more she smiles.
    Matthew felt more like a security guard than a date. Actually, I feel more like a typical security guard, one that only watches and reports and doesn’t actually keep anything secure. It’s not as if we’re dating, though this is technically a date. I think. What passes for a date these days is up for debate.
    What bothered Matthew the most was that Monique didn’t seem to mind any of the groping or the grinding, as if she actually expected to be groped and ground. She loves the attention. Maybe getting felt up by strangers in public is her foreplay. Matthew was sure Monique rode the train from Bushwick to Brooklyn Legal so men could get a handle on her before and after work.
    The song changed to “Holiday,” a prehistoric Madonna song, while Matthew was more than three sets of hips away from Monique. She’s moving way too fast for me and twice as fast as the song. What’s she doing? What’s it called, soca, chutney, calypso, zouk?
    Matthew noticed a crowd of appreciative men inching closer to her.
    No one can do the limbo at The Cove. You’d be trampled to death. Hey! Does she have to lock her groin with that guy?
    Matthew was about to give up and find a place to sit when Monique appeared in front of him. She finished his beer and set it on the ground. She smiled, turned around, and grabbed Matthew’s hands, placing them on her front pockets.
    Okay, now we’re dry humping on the dance floor. Joy told me about this. What’s it called? Daggering? Cabin stabbing? Whatever it is, I like it very much.
    And so did about eight other guys before me.
    The Jamaican man crouched in front of Monique.
    Hey, we’re dry humping over here! She’s busy.
    â€œDid a magician give birth to you?” he shouted loud enough for Matthew to hear.
    â€œNo!” Monique shouted, laughing.
    â€œBut you are so magical!” the man yelled.
    I’ve had enough of these interruptions. Matthew pulled Monique’s booty tight to his groin and looked down on the man. “She’s with me! She’s my magic tonight!”
    The man backed away.
    Monique straightened up and turned. “I’m your magic?”
    I’m buzzing from her breath! “Can I get you anything?” A gallon of coffee, perhaps? Some breath