Jaimie Crespo

My best friends and I were out dancing at one of the hottest clubs around, when I heard the two words I loved most. In a loud, rough, gravely tone I heard, “Baby Girl!”
I turned around looking everywhere in the darkness of the club with the mixture of strobe lights in my face, but I didn’t see anyone. There was no way it could be possible. He was a dream. Just a dream. It wasn’t real.
Just then I heard it again, a little louder this time, “Baby Girl!”
I turned around searching through the mixture of the surrounding bodies. I still didn’t see anything. I thought I must be losing my mind. I shook my head to clear it.
But then I heard it a third time, louder than the rest, “Baby Girl!”
I turned around and that’s when I saw him.
Standing tall and lethal where people had moved back away from him to give him space was my dream guy.
He wore black jeans that fit him like a second skin just like his black wife beater. The black wife beater showed off his sleeves of tattoos. Black tennis shoes that looked expensive. A black hat that he wore backwards covering up his inky, black hair with a chunk of hair peeking through. A black right eyebrow piercing and black earring in his ear that stood out on his very pale skin without blemishes or flaws. His green eyes that were so bright and multi-colored they practically glowed in the darkness of the club. His lips were pale pink, perfect and oh so kissable with the bottom lip a little puffier than the top.
My dream man has somehow, some way, came to life, and I am going to figure out how.