Apparently forgetting our deal, I get him to remain in the crowd of dancers for a full fifteen minutes before he stages a retreat. I go to follow him, but he waves me back.
“I have to pee,” he shouts, loud enough to be heard over the music. Several girls give him sideways glances and back away, leaving room for him to make his escape. “You stay here, I’ll be back.”
“You’re sure?” I shout back, still rocking my hips to the beat. It’s not as though Micky needs me to hold his dick while he takes a piss, but bro-code clearly states that I can’t abandon him when I’m the one who dragged him here in the first place.
“I’ll be back!” He waves his hand at me, before turning and heading off through the crowd. Almost immediately, a thin arm snakes around me from behind and I turn to find a pretty brunette girl smiling up at me.
Energy zips through my body. I feel like I drank an entire bottle of whiskey instead of the two shots I actually consumed. I love coming to parties like this, letting loose and dancing a little bit; maybe finding someone to hook up with. I’m already feeling great, and then a country song comes on. Itip my head back and laugh. I love this song. I love this song, and this party, and these people.
“I fucking love you guys!” I shout, and laugh when there is an answering roar in return. Grinning, I grab on to the closest body next to mine, lift my drink in the air, and dance.
After three bangers, a dud comes over the loudspeaker. I abandon my dance partner, and head off in search of a fresh drink and my friend. It’s hot in here, and the beer is sitting a little uncomfortable in my stomach. Probably time to switch to water.
The party is really crowded now, and is starting to feel like the simmer before the boil. I need to find Micky, and head out before that happens. It’s a delicate line between having fun and getting out of control, and I’m always cognizant of heeding it. Too many times already I’ve been on the receiving end of a lecture from Coach Mackenzie, and I’m in no rush to sign myself up for another. Besides, getting caught underage drinking is a sure way to lose scholarships, and if I lose that, I lose the ability to be here at all.
Definitely time to switch to water.
After wading through what feels like the entire student body of the school, I make it to the edge of the room. I start walking toward the kitchen, and only stop when my eyes snag on a guy leaned against the wall. My heart, already beating a little erratically from the alcohol and the dancing, kicks up another notch.
It’s pretty dark in here, but he’s somehow managed to find a sliver of light to stand in. It gives him an almost angelic look, like a spotlight is shining down on him and making him glow. I’ve never seen the guy before, and I’m pretty certain I would remember if I had. He’s…pretty. He has the sort of rich brown skin that can’t be achieved with only the sun, and dark, beautifully dark, hair. Perhaps it’s only that he’s wearing a light-colored shirt, but the contrast is astounding. He’s literally glowing.
I look at him and think,yes.My body thrums at the sudden spike of desire, like I stuck my finger into a light socket. Huh. Changing direction, I walk over to him.
“Hello,” I say cheerfully, when I’m near enough to not have to shout.
“Hi,” he says, after his eyes barely flick my direction. I wait, one palm on the wall and eyes firmly on his profile. When I don’t move on, he looks at me again, this time letting his gaze linger. “What?”
“What’s your name?”
“Marcos,” he tells me. “Go away.”
“Marcos,” I repeat. What an oddly fitting name. Going away seems like a terrible idea, so I stay and give his name another whirl. “Marcos.”
He sighs so loudly I can hear it over the thump of the music. It makes me smile. Standing as close as I am, I can smell him over the sweaty, stinky bodies in the room. He smells good, like clean laundry or an air freshener. Inappropriately, my dick starts to plump up as I look at him. I shift, not really sure what to think about that happening.
“I’m Nathan,” I tell him, attempting to make my own name sound as cool as his. I fail. Only my uncle calls me Nathan. “Nate, for short. Nate Basset.”
There, that sounds better. Marcos looks like he doesn’t give a damn one way or the other, because he’s not going to call me anything at all. He’s got hard features, not helped by the stony, almost vacant expression on his face. He’s not having a lick of fun at this party, I would bet my life on that.
“What are you doing?” I ask, because he’s watching thecrowd of people with an almost uncomfortable intensity. I wonder if he’s here with someone, and watching them dance. The thought brings with it a small, strange twinge of jealousy. I want him to be here alone.
“What areyoudoing?” he fires back testily. Excellent question.
“Do you want something to drink? I was going to go to the kitchen for some water.”
He waves a hand as though indicating the way I might walk off and complete that mission, but doesn’t answer my question.
“You’re really pretty,” I hear myself say, completely unbidden. “Like my horse.”
Marcos gives me a flat, incredulous look, which I deserve. Why the flying fuck did I just say that? I rush to talk, desperate to keep those dark eyes on mine.
“I own horses. They’re really beautiful,” I tell him, leaning down a little bit so I don’t have to shout. And then, because bad can always get worse, I add, “I like to look at them.”
“What,” Marcos replies in a way that makes the word not precisely a question. He probably thinks I’m nuts.
“Sorry,” I apologize, because the horse thing truly was an unhinged thing to say, even for me.
“You’re drunk.”
