It’s not that I’ve accepted that I’m into dudes, because I haven’t. Not even close. It’s just that all this alcohol I’m consuming is making me not really care about it. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? That was the problem in Vegas, and if things keep going the way they’re going, it may be a serious problem tonight.
I can’t keep my eyes off Alex, and my body is not trying to stop it either. Even when he looks at me, I don’t pull away. He holds my gaze, almost like he expects me to hide the fact I’m staring. I never do. He’s the one who looks away each time, going back to whatever it is he’s doing.
Talking to someone. Getting a drink. Dancing. Just being a fucking goofball. Something I thought I hated about him, but right now I find endearing, which is just gross. What the fuck is wrong with me?
The only thing stopping me from going to him is all these people. Witnesses.
My head is mostly calm over this entire thing, again, thanks to the alcohol, but I have enough of my mind to not slam Alex against a wall and make out with him the way I keep imagining. There’s a perfect spot by the bar that’s empty. No party-goers, no tables, nothing. Just a good open wall that would fit his body perfectly.
I know he’d love it, too. It’s what he wants. He’s a brat looking for attention, even if it’s negative. I give him a hell of a lot of negative attention, and he always comes back for more.
The sharp clink of silverware on glass has the room going quiet, save for the music. Austen and Savannah must kiss because I hear everyone laughing and clapping, but I don’t pull my gaze from Alex to look. I shift my stance and lean against the bar, sipping my drink as I watch him talk to one of his cousins. I’ve never met her before, but she’s older than them with a husband and a handful of kids.
He leans in to give her a one-handed hug, since his other is holding a glass of champagne. He kisses her on the cheek, then turns toward me, his eyes meeting mine. He takes long, confident steps toward me, and my heart skips a beat at the serious look on his face. It’s kind of hot.
Alex never looks serious, and for a second, I think he’s mad. But he’s never mad, so what would he be mad about?
“What the fuck are you doing?” he hisses when he reaches me.
I hold his gaze, sipping my drink and I don’t say a word.
“Are you trying to piss me off? Because it’s working,” he adds.
Still, I don’t say anything.
“Hello? What is wrong with you? Are you that drunk?”
I blink, bringing the glass to my lips again. Alex pulls it from my hand and slams it down on the bar.
“Jordan, what the fuck are you doing?” he growls.
A smirk tilts the side of my mouth, his eyes blazing with fury and annoyance.
I love it.
“You’re cute when you’re mad,” I say.
Those green eyes of his widen and he takes a step closer, lowering his voice and asking, “What the fuck did you just say?”
I reach to the side to grab my drink, draining it. “I said you’re cute when you’re mad.”
I gesture to the bartender for another drink.
“Don’t fuck with me, Jordan,” he says, his voice trembling.
Grabbing the new drink from the bartender, I give Alex all of my attention.
“I’m not fucking with you,” I say quietly.
He gives a small shake of his head. “You’re drunk.”
“Yeah, and?”
“I’m not doing this with you again.”
“Doing what, exactly?” I taunt, wanting to hear him say it.
I know he still thinks about it, but I want to hear the words. I want him to say it.
