“It’s your funeral, dude,” Will replied.
What were they talking about, and why did every ounce of drama revolve around Amy? I was so over all of her bullshit. I turned back towards the door to open it, but somehow, James had made it across the balcony and was right behind me. When I turned back around, he was staring at me with eyes that said ‘stay.’
“Where are you going? I hoped you’d stay out here to keep us company.” He said, as he took another drag of the cigarette and blew the smoke over his shoulder, then he reached up to brush the sweaty bangs from his eyes. The beautiful sight of him made me choke on my reply.
“I’m not going to stand out here and watch you two give yourselves lung cancer,” I said, as I turned to leave. Then I decided to be brave and spun back around. “What were you two talking about?”
“Nothing,” he said, with a roll of his eyes, but before I could reply, he extinguished his barely smoked cigarette on the brick wall, grabbed my hand, gave Will some look, and led me back inside. As he opened the doors, the band began a faster salsa-style song. “Finally something I can dance to,” he said as he turned around to face me, and he moved his hips to the beat. His eyes widened as I came in close and did my best to move against him. “You can Salsa?” he said, as he took my hip in one hand and laced his fingers through mine.
“Nope.”
Just as the alcohol took me to a place of feeling warm and fuzzy, searing pain coursed through my foot. Another guest had stepped back onto the top of me in her stiletto heel. Thankfully, I was too drunk to realize just how bad it was, but James saw that I was beginning to limp, and he slid his arms under mine to hold me up.
“This isn’t how I want to spend my time with you. Let’s leave. I’ll take you back to your house,” he said, as he walked to the valet and asked them to call us a cab since his car was still back at the church.
Once we got in, he reached across to help me buckle my seat belt. ”I can do it!” I told him impatiently. I was drunk enough that simple tasks were difficult, but not so drunk that I’d lost my edge.
The cab let us out at my house, but once I realized that I was locked out, we walked around to the back and gazed up at the roof with defeat.
“How am I going to climb up the trellis in heels?”
“Take your heels off, dummy.”
Once we were up on the roof, I leaned my head back onto the shingles and closed my eyes. My brain was spinning from the alcohol.
“Allie?” James said as I felt his fingertips touch my cheek.
“Yeah?” I said as I snapped my eyes open at his touch. He quickly slid his fingers around the back of my neck and pulled me closer.
Quietly, he says, “I can’t stand the thought of you naked under that skin-tight dress; it’s been torturing me all night.”
Unapologetically, I replied, “Sorry.” It was all I could muster with his eyes locked on mine. Then he pulled me in close enough to see the longing in his blue eyes just before his lips met mine. His lips were full and soft, just like I had imagined, and they moved in a way that showed experience, but as he reached up to run his fingers through my hair, my mind drifted to Chris, and I pulled away.
“I’m sorry, I can’t do this. I think you should go.”
33
On Christmas morning, as we were opening presents, someone knocked on our front door loudly. When I opened it, I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was Chris, and he stepped through the front door without an invitation.
“Hey. I really have to talk to you,” he said. “I drove by your house last night and saw you and James on the roof.” He looked like he was going to throw up.
“Merry Christmas to you, too,” I said, trying to keep my emotions in check.
“Sorry, Merry Christmas. I’ve been up all night, sick to my stomach over the idea of you being with James.
“You made me a promise and you broke it. I’m moving on.”
“I know. And I hate myself for that.” He looked down at the floor, then back at me. “I never should have let you go. I should have stayed with you for doing what was right. I should have stood up for you when everyone else didn’t. I let you down. I fell victim to peer pressure,” he said, then he stood there, just waiting for me to say something.
“It’s too late. I think you should leave.” Then I put my hand on the door and just waited for him to go, but on the inside, I was crying out for him to touch me, to hug me, to keep fighting for me. Instead, he didn’t. He walked back out the door with his head hung low and left without saying another word.
When I shut the door, the phone rang, and I ran to the kitchen to answer it.
“Hello?” I said. It was Isabelle.
“Merry Christmas, Allie! Okay, I’m tired of waiting. You’re coming to the farm today for a trail ride,” she demanded.
“Fine. Tell your mom I’ll be there! What time?”
