I shrugged. “I can still enjoy our neighbor to the south without getting plastered. A packed dance floor helps.”

I drank, but not very often anymore—a couple of beers here, a vodka and club soda there. I think I’d felt buzzed a few times, but I hadn’t been drunk in over a year. Bored with the getting-drunk-and-hooking-up part of my life before I even turned twenty-one. Plus, my sobriety ensured that we would have a safe ride home after partying in a foreign country tonight. Especially since no one else was volunteering.

Did my choice to rein in my drinking as a junior in college make me more mature or more depressing? Maybe that’s what Gram meant when she said I was an old soul.

“Isn’t Canada our neighbor to the north?” Jeremy asked.

“You have to go south to get to Windsor from here.” Scott held the back of his fingers to his mouth and stage whispered, “Jeremy’s from Ohio.”

“Ohhh.” I nodded.

At the same time Kristen said, “That explains it.”

“Fuck off.” Jeremy shook his head, but he was smiling. No love lost between Michiganders and Ohio…ans?—people from Ohio.

“Does Ohio have enhanced licenses?” I asked, tucking my hair behind my ear, concerned about Jeremy’s ability to get in and out of the country.

Michigan offered an enhanced driver’s license for residents to go back and forth between Canada and the U.S. without having to have a passport. I would have never thought to apply for one, but my grandparents surprised me with a trip to the Hockey Hall of Fame in Toronto for my seventeenth birthday. It had come in handy a few times since then.

“Nah, I have a passport,” Jeremy answered.

“Ooh. Where have you been, world traveler?” Kristen twisted in her seat toward Jeremy.

“My dad got remarried in Saint Thomas a few years ago. It’s a US territory, but we all got passports just in case.”

“I want to go to the Virgin Islands.” Kristen grabbed my knee. “Save up for spring break senior year.”

“I can’t even afford a cell phone, KK. How am I gonna go on a tropical vacation?”

“Florida then?”

“Good compromise.” Scott scoffed.

Time to change the subject. Unlike Scott, not all of us had parents who would pay for international spring break trips every year.

“I remember my uncle talking about a bar Don Cherry owned. Is that place still open?” I asked. Scott always bragged about how often he hung out in Canada, so I figured he’d be the one to ask about the status of the bar.

“That place has been closed since we were kids.”

“Who’s Don Cherry?” Kristen asked.

“How are you two even friends?” Scott asked.

“He was a hockey coach. Now he’s a commentator,” I explained. “You know, Coach’s Corner?”

“The guy with the high collars?” she asked.

“High five!” I held up my hand. “I’m proud of you, KK. Very, very proud.” The obscene amount of Hockey Night in Canada I’d subjected her to in our two and a half years as roommates had paid off.

A prickling sensation sizzled through my body when we left the chill of the December night and entered the warmth of the club. Wicked’s concrete columns and blood-red walls enveloped me in its industrial comfort, and I fell in love with the place upon first glance. Exposed, matte black pipes formed a maze across the ceiling. The best part? Writhing bodies already packed the dance floor, and it was only ten-thirty. A lively dance floor early in the night was the saving grace for a designated driver. If I was dancing, I didn’t have to dodge the “Why aren’t you drinking?” question all night.

“Let’s dance!” I shouted, after Kristen and the guys tipped back shots. We all grabbed a drink before bouncing through bodies to the middle of the dance floor.

“You like to dance?” Jeremy asked as we claimed a somewhat open spot on the floor.

I touched his arm, leaning close to his ear so he could hear me. “Love it.”

Jeremy spun around and grabbed his crotch in what I can only describe as a drunk Michael-Jackson-wannabe move. Of course, I took it as a challenge and came back with the Swim, alternating my arms in front stroke movements before holding my nose and wiggling to the floor. Within minutes, we were entrenched in a battle of retro dance moves. For every Kid ’n’ Play and Shopping Cart he threw out, I returned a Tootsie Roll or Sprinkler. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had so much fun.

“What are you drinking?” Jeremy asked, still breathing heavy from our dance-off.

“Just a club soda, thanks.” I appreciated that he would brave the crowd at the bar for me.

After less than a minute to catch my breath, “The Wobble,” a song with its own dance moves, came over the speakers. Kristen clamped a hand over my arm and dragged me toward a bar on which a few girls had been dancing during the previous song.

“Not tonight, KK.” I tried to pull away, but she was persistent, even pulling a bar stool aside to give me something to boost myself up.

“Oh, come on. You teach this dance. You have to get up there,” she coaxed.

She was talking about the children’s cardio hip-hop fitness class I taught at our university’s student center. I used “The Wobble” as the cool-down song in my class.

Sighing in defeat, I climbed up a rickety bar stool, and hoisted myself onto the alcohol-slick bar.

Totally sober. In a curve-clutching black minidress and stilettos. Super classy, Auden.

I hadn’t always been a good dancer. I used to have to count the beat, lip-synching through the numbers. But I’d been doing “The Wobble” for so long, the steps were automatic.

Jeremy waved to get my attention, and then pointed to the drink he’d placed on the bar for me. I mouthed thank you and gave him a thumbs-up. I watched as he and Kristen started talking, then walked away from the dance floor. So much for a Wobble partner.

Halfway through the song I got bored and carefully stepped onto the bar stool I’d used to get onto the bar. I stopped to grab my drink before setting out to find Kristen.

“Don’t you work tomorrow?” a voice yelled in my ear in Russian.

“Geez!” I tightened my grip on my drink so it wouldn’t slip out of my hand. My heart betrayed me, accelerating more from the excitement of seeing him than the surprise attack. The correct move was to quash that feeling. “Didn’t realize I had a curfew.”

“Why are you mad at me again?” Aleksandr asked.

“I’m not mad. I’m embarrassed,” I admitted, crossing my arms in front of my chest. Why didn’t I have a filter when he was around?

“Does my presence piss you off?” He nodded toward my stance.

“Just wondering how we ended up at the same bar in Windsor again.”

“You have good luck?” Aleksandr’s mouth was so close to my ear that his lips touched it every third word. I was keenly aware of the soft tickle against a very sensitive body part.

“I get enough of your jokes at work. Can’t you tone it down during my leisure time?”

“I can’t seem to tone myself down around you at all. I thought I established that when I told you my life story.” Now I felt his lips on every second word. And this time his nose brushed the skin behind my ear.

His presence had the bees buzzing in my stomach like they’d mistaken Death Wish coffee for nectar, so I took a slight step to the side. I silently reminded myself that Aleksandr was a player, not someone I should get involved with. He’d told me himself that he was with a different puck bunny every night. And I didn’t want to step into an uncomfortable, immature pattern of hooking up with someone I still had to see every day. I didn’t. Even if the over-caffeinated insects wreaking havoc on my insides had their own agenda.

“You are beautiful.” Aleksandr took a step closer. A larger step than the one I’d taken away from him. His firm, flat stomach pressed against my arm when he bent to speak into my ear again.

“You are drunk.”