I said I’d get over him. I said I’d try.
But I’m not made of steel?!
My fist, though? My fist couldfeellike steel hitting the jaw of whoever touches him.
No. No. I shouldn’t think like that. That’s wrong. That’s sick.
I need a drink. One drink. Just one.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lorenzo making out with a girl, then immediately turning to kiss the dudenextto her.
Spain, man. Fucking Spain.
Rava grabs me fast and pulls me around to face him.
"What do you wanna drink?" he asks, louder than the beat.
"What?" I shout back. He rolls his eyes and grabs me by the collar, drags my face down to his, closer than I’ve had him since… I don’t even fucking know.
Too close. Close enough that for half a second I swear he’s gonna kiss me.
My heart nearly throws itself out of my chest.
"What. Do. You. Want. To. Drink," he yells, but my heartbeat is screaming louder because the way he pulled me is lethal.
What I want to drink isn’t served in this club, baby.
At least not in a bottle.
I lean in closer, right into his neck on purpose. "Surprise me."
He nods, but his eyes drop to my neck. His hands come up again and he fixes the collar he just destroyed, slowly, focused, tilting his head.
"There," he says, looking at me.
Amazing. He broke it, then fixed it better than it was before.
Story of my life.
I thought my collar looked perfect.
Turns out he can make anything better with his touch.
"Back in five," he says and walks off.
Why the hell is he even updating me?
Why is he getting me a drink?
Why is he making everything so goddamn complicated?
I push my hair back with both hands, trying to hold my head together.
I can’t keep doing this.
If I keep going like this, Rava is actually going to put me in a psychiatric ward.
He’s going to make me sick. The nerd I used to make fun of is now the reason I need therapy.
