Not Enough Glue

 Gia has a captivating smile. When she truly smiles, her eyes sparkle, the years fall from her face, and she has a youthful innocence. Gia has been in Michigan for a month and is getting homesick. As the weather shifts to summer, the club is slowing down.

Gia: I may leave sooner. Work is getting annoying. A lot of cheap dudes, and I'm tired of spending money on a rental car. 

Bathwater: How soon are you thinking?

Gia: I don't know. Pretty soon, honestly. I'll see how tonight goes. Maybe next time, I'll only get an Airbnb for two weeks, not a whole month.

Bathwater: I figured it would slow down once the weather kicked in. Today is Father's Day.

Gia: You were right. I forgot it is Father's Day :(.

Bathwater: Do you want me to come down and keep you company for a bit?

Gia: It's up to you. That's a far drive.

I drove across town to the club. An accident caused the fifty-minute drive to take an extra twenty-five minutes. I arrived at eight forty-five. It was the first time I had been to the club since April. Gia and I have been seeing each other outside the club on Fridays. 

There were more dancers than customers. I got a booth, and Gia and I camped out for most of the night between her trips to the stage. She tried approaching a few other customers without luck. 

"You have come a long way since we first met. You are less stubborn," I tell her.

Gia and I are sitting in the booth. Gia is wearing an orange micro bikini. Her legs are stretched out across my lap. 

"I have been working on that with you," she tells me. 

I wish there was more of a connection between Gia and me. There are so many differences, and there is not enough glue.