He nods, obediently mute. When the shots come, I take mine without flinching, closing my eyes in pleasure. I’m a wine-drinker now, but once up on a time, I was something else entirely. Margot always laughed at how well I held my liquor. Lovely little Lexie—so mild and wide-eyed, but she could drink like a fucking cowboy.
At the bottom of the shot, where it tastes like pepper and fire, I graze against a memory: Liam sliding his hands over my thighs, spreading them, pressing his lips to my skin. I’m lying on the floor of the projector room, my dress spread beneath me. I know I should be afraid, or nervous, but all I am is hungry—fucking voracious. And when Liam’s tongue slides between my legs, it’s like an answer to a prayer I didn’t know I was saying.
“Lexie.Lexie.”
I shake my head, eyes fluttering open. Ramsay is watching me, wide-eyed, his hand burning on my hip.
“Another,” I tell him.
“What? Already? I—”
“Keep up,” I say, this time unable to smile to soften the words. When the bartender slides us our shots, Ramsay freezes up. I shrug and, one after the other, take both. “Snooze, you lose.”
“Maybe you should slow down.”
“Maybe you should dance with me.” I grab his hand and tug him toward the dance floor. I lead us right to the throbbing, thrusting, undulating center of the throng, turning to face Ramsay. He looks petrified, but there’s something in the set of his mouth now that looks like determination, or want. When I slide my hands over his shoulders, he doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around my waist.
The whiskey’s already hitting, smoldering at the edges of my brain. It makes my whole body loose and lit up, makes Ramsay’s body against mine feel like fire. I throw my head back and close my eyes, drawing Ramsay close.
“What changed?” His voice in my ear, hot and low.
So close, I think.God, another shot and he’d sound like Liam with all this noise.
“What do you mean?” I move with the music. I don’t know it—I don’t even know any music thatsoundslike this. All I know is it feels right, and wrong, and I need my mind away from Liam.Liam.Liam—knife-smiles and sharp words and searing eyes and his hands on my body and hiscock—
“You’re not…”
“What?”
“You’re not treating me like you usually do.” Ramsay has to raise his voice for me to hear him. “You’re not treating me like—a friend.”
Liam’s whisper in my ear: I’ll be gentle. His fingers inside of me, his lips wrapped around my nipple.This memory is forbidden. I don’t go here. If I do, I won’t come back. I’ll go crazy. I’ll go back to him.
“You’re not just a friend,” I say, but in my head I’m not saying this to Ramsay.
Ramsay, in response, presses his lips beneath my ear. “I knew you’d get over it.”
I laugh, but I don’t know what he means, and I don’t want to talk, I don’t want to hear what he has to say. I want to dance. I want to feel his body. I want someone to take control of me for once.
“You’re too good for him,” Ramsay continues, arms tightening around my waist. “He’s trash, Lexie.”
“No, he’s not.” I say it on a reflex, but don’t let the heat of anger get near me. I focus on the bass, thrumming through me.
“He is. But you’re smarter now than you were.” Ramsay is trailing kisses down my neck. “You’re not going to make that mistake again.”
Mistake.I open my eyes, my hand in Ramsay’s hair, his face nuzzled into my neck.
It’s fate, or it’s hell, or it’s karma: across the room, seated at the bar, is Liam Dunne. He’s looking right at me, eyes piercing, seeingeverything. There’s a tiny smile on his lips—total smug, confident, cruel bitterness—and he raises his beer to me in a toast.
I grit my teeth, rage striking like flint off my ribs. “I have to go to the bathroom.” I disentangle myself from Ramsay, who’s smiling faintly, like he’s half in a dream. “Grab me a drink?”
He nods, dazed, and I weave through the crowds toward the bathroom, face burning.What is he doing here?Did he know I’d be here? Is he following me?
Why?
I reach the bathrooms, but brush past them toward the back exit, where the smokers go. Before I push open the door, I shoot a look over my shoulder and meet Liam’s eyes. His face is a mask; unreadable. But he unmistakably meets my eyes, and my heart launches.
I shove out in the cold, bracing night, and let the door slam behind me.
