Jetta is a good driver. She has mastered the art of making small talk and actually paying attention to the road, through years of practice and an interest in keeping the attention of the boys she plays with.

It's remarkable how many of them she drives around; she has a slight habit to pick up the younger, (presumably) more impressionable boys. Thus the designation boys, instead of men.

She doesn't mind men, though. They're different, and require different methods, though.

They arrive at Faded without any mishaps, and she's parking the car.

"We're he-ere," she singsongs, turning off the engine with a brilliant smile.

Keye blinked. He'd never been here before. He frequented the smoke-smelling dingy basement clubs, with pounding beats and sweating, molding walls. He got out of the car, looking slightly confused.
"That we are."
He offered her his arm.
"Shall we go in, then?"

Jetta doesn't do that sort of place, of course. She's into classy.

Faded is definitely classy.

"That's what we're here for," she answered, taking his arm. Another point. Old fashioned gallantry was cute, but it didn't fit with the sexy/rebel/eccentric image presented by his outfit.

It was a puzzle. Jetta liked puzzles, until she figured them out.

He looked a little furtive when they stepped inside, like he knew he didn't belong here and was afraid someone might notice.
"S-so...you wanna sit down? Dance? ...?"
Her wish is his command. But while he's waiting for her decision, some conversation...
"So. You believe in the butterfly effect?"
There's a point to the question, actually. Keye's been noticing things, as he always does.

At least he isn't refusing adamantly to enter, like he had with Alexander and the apartment complex.

"Drink first, then dance." She likes to be 'loosened up' before she actually gets out on the floor. Though of course, she likes to avoid getting too far drunk; never know what might happen when she's out of control...

Also, she's the driver.

"No, not really. Why?"

"You don't? I was just wondering. I couldn't think of any other reason for someone to think so intently about their every action."
Like Violet said: Sherlock effing Holmes.
"What would you like to drink, then?"

Observant little guy. Well, strike the 'little.'

"Just wait 'til you get me drunk, honey." Like that's ever going to happen, but it's just an answer. It doesn't matter, in the scheme of things. This is probably going to be a one time event, even.

"I'll just have a margarita, I think."

Can't get actually drunk, you know. Not a good idea, when she's the only one who can drive.

And she wouldn't let Keye drive her car anyway.

"Suuuure. Margarita."
He bought her one and returned from the bar, holding it away from him as if it smelled bad.
"Here you go. Start getting drunk, so I can start dancing."
He doesn't mean that she should really get drunk either. And he means 'so I can start dancing with you.'
We'll find out momentarily whether those omittances are earning him points for humor or losing them for not being totally and obviously centered on her.

The latter, of course. He's supposed to be thinking entirely about her, you know.

Of course, the points he's losing are more than offset by the solicitious way he bought her drink and brought it to her--even if he apparently doesn't care for margaritas, by the way he's holding it.

A few sips.

"Patience, honey. Good things come to those who wait."

No, there's no innuendo in that. Really.

"I'm always willing to wait if something's worth waiting for."
And he's just talking about a dance.
He smiles at her, because she's pretty. An endearing smile, if a little young-looking. He has dimples.

He's cute. He makes Jetta almost want to keep him for a long time. Please note the 'almost.'

The margarita disappears a little faster than is probably entirely healthy--you get the feeling that she drinks these on a semi-regular basis. (She does; she goes out most weekends, unless she has more work than she really can afford to blow off.)

"There."

She sets the empty cup down on a random empty table, and smiles winsomely at him.

"Let's dance."

She's willing to follow his lead, for the moment.

The dance floor was moderately crowded, but not packed. Keye threaded his way in expertly, making sure that there was enough room for Jetta to follow.
And he danced. The author won't go into much detail, not having much knowledge on the subject, but in a nutshell, he danced well.
One is supposed to make eye contact with one's partner, be engaging...but that's just not happening. Not with Keye.
But you knew that already.

Keye's just racking up the points, isn't he. Jetta is pleased.

Keye is not the only one who dances well, it must be noted, however. Jetta had quite enough experience for the both of them...

As for the eye contact thing? Well, she just assumed he was looking at slightly more interesting (to a guy) portions of her anatomy, and she wasn't going to argue with that, too much.

Not yet, anyway.

Yep. He's unabashedly staring at her...
Collarbones.
Awkward. Not entirely normal.

Well, the direction is close enough that the assumption makes sense.

"You want to look up here, honey?"

It's phrased as a gentle suggestion, but we all know that it's really an order. Flattering it might be--if the assumption were true, and Jetta being the sort of girl who likes to be looked at--but it gets tiresome.

Gulp.
This is the part where Keye starts screwing up.
"No."
He said it quickly, so that his voice wouldn't shake.
Finally, he did as he was told, looking up, but no further than her shapely lips, and her cute nose.

Whoops.

That just cost him a good number of points; you just don't say 'No' to Jetta, no matter whether you have a good reason or not. It simply isn't done. (She didn't hear it often enough in her younger years, you see.)

He earned back half a point by looking at her face.

"That's better."

Suddenly the velvet of her voice has become just a little less soft and gentle. She's slightly annoyed.

"S-sorry."
His head was still facing slightly downward. He was unhappy.
Why did it always seem to end up this way?
She was starting to remind him of Fortuna, and that wasn't good.

It probably didn't help that at this point, Jetta ran one of her absurdly long nails along his jawline, smiling. (Still.)

"You're forgiven, honey."

'Only you better not tell me 'No' again.'

If she knew she was reminding him of Fortuna, that would make her rather maliciously pleased. It's always flattering to be compared to a goddess, you know?

"Don't!"
He did it again. If he keeps up this way, he'll end up in negatives.
He pulled his face away from her.
If only she knew how his heart was pounding, how scared he was. He hadn't figured out yet that she wouldn't really care.

And now a real frown. Yes, Jetta stopped smiling. This means that she's very annoyed.

"What is your problem?" she demanded, drawing back from him in a huff and not really caring that other dancers were coming close to running into her.

... you know... she looks good when angry. Eyes flashing, hands on hips, chest, er, heaving...

Wonder how much of that is contrived. Since everything else about her is fake.

"N-nothing..."
Want to go home.
"N-no problem."
Just don't touch me. Not there. Not like that.
"Sorry."
He took a step back from her as well, one arm crossing his chest self-protectively.

Way to ruin the evening, Keye. (Or should we blame Jetta for her ignorance?)

"Well." You get the feeling she's working up to a nice, long, shrieked tirade by the expression in her eyes and the wicked curve of her lips... but she doesn't even say anything for a moment.

And then the smile's back. (Is this good or bad?)

"Why don't we start over?"

She doesn't want to lose a cute boy like this one...

"You forgive me?"
He looks so contrite and so endearing (and so convinced that it was him that did wrong) that it would be hard not to forgive him.
He smiled slightly, tentatively.

Aw. He's just like a little puppy--and he thinks he's the one at fault, which means that she doesn't have to drop him before he starts in with accusations of how horrible she was. She disliked having that sort of thing thrown in her face.

"Yes." Again.

"Let's dance."

And she takes that step forward again.

(By the way, she is still faintly irritated, but the sheer contrition on his face is rapidly mollifying her. Boys are usually so confident in themselves, it's nice to meet one who admits immediately that he messed up.)

He closed the distance, but this time his movements were awkward, hesitant, nervous. Painfully so.
Luckily for him, a song that he knew came on; perhaps not the best of dancing songs, but it did wonders for his confidence...and for his movement.

Hey, little sister, what have you done?
Hey, little sister, who's the only one?

Softly, he sang along. It would be juvenile to play air guitar, so he resisted the urge.

"It's a nice day for a white wedding
It's a nice day to start again..."

Well, now she was impressed with his singing voice. How nice; that was something you didn't often see with the sorts of guys that she kept. (They tended towards the rich and doting, but not necessarily talented.)

"Mmm... I should drag you off somewhere and have you sing just for me..."

That means that he really is forgiven. She'll overlook his major faux pas for now, though they may come back to haunt him, eventually.

Grin. Keye knew he sang all right. (Not well, of course. He was always sparing with self-praise.)
"I wouldn't mind. I know lots of...good songs."
He'd almost said 'love songs.' How embarrassing. He blushed slightly.
Oh, and he was taking her literally. He's like that.

Aw, he blushed! How unutterably cute of him.

"Well then," she purred, leaning close enough that she could have given him a peck on the cheek (if he weren't so tall), "Why don't we?"

There are too many people in here anyway. This is supposed to be a date, isn't it?

"Okay. Wherever you want to go."
He knows a couple of very nice secluded spots, but he doesn't think she'd like them. They're pretty, in their own way, but not exactly high-end.

Good boy. Back to doing whatever she tells him to, without argument. That's what she likes in a boy... (Today, anyway. Tomorrow it might be different, and she'll want a rough edged, Marlboro man type. Or maybe something else. She isn't very consistant, except in the bitch aspect.)

She pulled on his hands, pulling him out of the crowd and out of the club.

Guess where she's planning to take him now.

I can't guess. I have no idea.
Neither does Keye, but he's happy to be going there. He's easy to please, really. If you're happy, he is.
Thus, he followed without resistance, still smiling.

A quick peck on the cheek (from tiptoe) as she led him out into the cooling night air and a tilt of her head towards her car.

Since you can't guess, I'll tell you.

She was taking him home; to her apartment. This is probably a good thing, if being in her favor is a good thing. This was probably even more so a bad thing, because her favor is easy to lose.

And the higher you get, the further you have to come crashing down.
And as we've all observed, when Keye crashes down, he crashes down hard.
For now, though, he's blissfully oblivious.

Oh, and more blushing--a lot more--just because of that little kiss.