“Then what are you doing here?” he asked, not unkindly, just curious.
“I told you—”
“No, I’m asking why you didn’t run away when you figured it out.”
“Mama didn’t raise no bitch.”
That pulled the faintest smile from him. A real one, small but there.
“You don’t look that out of place,” he said.
“You’re lying.”
“I haven’t lied since I got sober,” he said, and something in his voice made me believe it.
He leaned back, studying me with those dark, heavy-lidded eyes. Everything about him was dark: the black boots, the black jeans, and the worn leather jacket that was sitting beside him. Tattoos peeked from beneath his sleeves, coiling up his arms and disappearing under his collar. Even his hands had ink covering them. His jaw was shadowed with stubble, and even sitting still, he had the energy of someone who knew how to fight and haddone it more than once. But he wasn’t trying to impress anyone. He was justbeing.
“You really a teacher?” he asked.
“Yeah. Second grade. Lots of glue sticks and glitter and hugs.”
He made a low sound in his throat that might’ve been a laugh. “That’s hard.”
“It’s worth it,” I said. “Even the tough kids. Especially them.”
Nick nodded slowly, and there was something in his eyes, like he understood more than he let on. A song changed. Something slower, bass lower. The crowd shifted slightly, and the energy in the room softened.
He glanced toward the dance floor, then back at me. “You dance?”
I opened my mouth to say no. I always said no, but something about the way he asked made me pause.
“I could try,” I said carefully. “But I’m warning you, I’m like a giraffe on ice.”
He stood without a word and offered me his hand. I hesitated, then took it. Because tonight I didn’t want to be the shy girl that let her loud thoughts get in the way. I’ve wasted enough of my life afraid to do what I wanted to do, and dammit, I really wanted to dance with this guy. Sure, he was a stranger, but that made this better. I knew after tonight, I would never see him again.
Nick grabbed my hand gently and led me to the dance floor that wasn’t full of naked people. A lot of grinding, but at least they had clothes on.
“Does telling females you’re a recovering alcoholic normally work for you?” I joked.
His face turned serious for a second, something passing through his eyes before he blinked it away and gave me a smallsmile. “I don’t… normally tell people. It’s not something I go around talking about.”
Well, if that didn’t make me feel like an asshole. “Then why did you?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Guess I’m tired of thinking I need to hide it. Maybe it’s because you’re out of place here, and I wanted to tell you how much of a fuck-up I was? Can’t really pinpoint it.”
“Do you think you’re a fuck-up?” I asked.
“Most days.”
Something about the way he said it settled deep inside me. Because I knew that feeling. The weight of it, the way it hangs on your shoulders no matter how good you try to be. I hated how familiar it felt. And I hated that he looked like he’d accepted it. Like he thought he deserved it. I stared at him for a beat, then made a decision I didn’t entirely understand myself.
“Want to get out of here?” I blurted before I could change my mind.
“What?”
“One night. We could beanyone. Spend the night doing whatever the hell we feel like. In the morning, we go our separate ways, and we never talk to each other again. But you can have a night of not feeling like a fuck-up, and I can have a night of not being scared of everything.”
“I’m in.” He smiled, and I’m not sure if I was crazy for this or onto something. But whatever it was, I wanted to see it through.
