But even the thought of having to ask Elise if I can crash at her dorm tonight doesn’t rock my resolve. I don’t freak out, or run away. And I don’t go borderline catatonic like I did after Brian approached me at the bar a few weeks ago. No; instead, I keep my composure tight and my head level. Because it may not always come easily, but I’m stronger than I was, and that’s not nothing.
I suck in one last settling breath and gingerly open my eyes, desperately trying to retain one modicum of self-respect and not to look in David’s direction.
I fail, immediately and epically, because my eyes go straight to the booths, now completely empty, and if the sight of him alone with that girl gutted me before, the sight of their abandoned foreplay-site—and that it means they’ve likely found someplace more private to play—threatens to send those last two sugary shots of liquor back up my throat.
So I take another deep, calming breath.
And then something happens.
A lifetime of longing and unrequited love evolves into something else entirely. Something new…
Anger.
My hands curl into fists at my sides and my eyes narrow at no one in particular. Because this isn’t even unrequited love. I don’t love David. I’ve never loved him. I loved Brian…I think—or used to think. And I survived losing him. I survived the devastating aftermath, even if only barely. But I did—I survived. All of it. The rejection and despair, the secrets and the fear…and the truth I alone couldn’t hide from. And this—this pathetic fucking jealousy, induced by the remnants of a childhood crush I should have outgrown years ago? This is fucking nothing.
A massive pair of fake boobs passes lazily by, and just below them, another tray of shots. I catch the pair of eyes attached to their owner, and gesture for two, handing her the cash I’d had tucked under my bra strap. I down the shots in quick succession, ignoring her judging eyes as I set the empty glasses back on her tray.
I turn my back on her and spot Elise making out with some guy, who, as it happens, is not the one she was grinding all over just minutes ago. Lani is dancing and scream-talking with a group of girls she appears to have befriended.
Normally this is when I would take a bathroom break, whether or not I actually had to use the bathroom. I’d make my escape, take my refuge, and then use it to decide whether to try and stick it out or flee.
But I’m here to dance. So that’s what I do.
I let the music soothe and lift me, giving my body over to it, leaving room for nothing else—no demons, no whispers. I see Steven approach through the figures on the dance floor, and I catch his gaze just as the judgey shot-girl reaches him. He raises his eyebrows to ask if I want one and judgey follows his line of sight. I grin sweetly, defiantly, and nod. Steven’s googly-eyed amusement reflects each of the many drinks he’s consumed tonight, and I doubt he has any idea what he even finds amusing right now.
Steven brings me my shot, we take them in unison, and I’m lost in the music again. I wonder if David sent him over to babysit me while he gets himself some action in a dark corner somewhere.
David may have refused to dance with me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t find a guy to dance with, and if Steven is going to babysit me, I might as well get something out of it. I eye him up and down. Sure, he’s cute, but he does nothing for me. I shrug inwardly. I’m only here to dance, after all.
I start moving a little more seductively, meeting his eyes as I move gradually closer to him. He’s drunker than I realized, and it takes him an extra beat to process my wordless invitation—dance with me.
His response is also delayed, and I laugh at his brief show of surprise followed immediately by an almost predatory smile. Men.
His arm comes around my waist and he pulls me into his body, bending at the knees and moving sloppily and a little off-beat. I don’t even care. I ignore his rhythm, close my eyes, and let the music lead us.
The heavy scent of vodka invades my nostrils, and my stomach rolls. I open my eyes to find Steven’s face too close, looking down at me a little too intently. Those candy shots we just took definitely weren’t vodka-based, or I wouldn’t have gone anywhere near them, and I wonder just how much he’s drunk tonight.
I take a half-step back and place my palm on his chest, which Steven seems to like. He pouts when I deny his attempt to turn me around, and the music swallows my laughter. Steven is kind of adorable—in a drunken, foolish, self-deprecating sort of way. But I’m still not about to turn around so he can grind himself into my ass and call it dancing. Fortunately he takes the rejection in stride, but it doesn’t stop him from trying again thirty seconds later.
I pull back and smile apologetically, shaking my head again. The room spins suddenly, and I don’t even realize I’ve stumbled until Steven’s hands are catching me around my waist and he’s asking if I’m all right—which is surprisingly considerate of him. I insist that I am, even as, inwardly, I think I probably shouldn’t have taken that last shot. Or the two before it.
But screw it. I’m out, and drunk, and dancing, and I can deal with the consequences tomorrow.
We’re barely halfway into the third song when I stumble again, nearly falling this time before I’m saved by Steven’s grip on my elbow.
No—not Steven, actually. Because Steven is about four feet in front of me, ass-down on the stained-concrete dance floor, his wide, glazed eyes blinking in consternation.
My gaze swings to David, who seems to have appeared from out of nowhere. I stare up at him in shock as he squeezes my elbow once, in some silent message that goes right over my head. He spares me a glance to make sure I’m steady before releasing me, but mostly his glare is fixated on the spot where his friend is splayed out on the floor, surrounded by strange, gaping faces.
It takes my inebriated and stunned brain another moment to realize that David just shoved his own fraternity president down to the ground, in the middle of the crowded dance floor of the town’s most popular club.
When he steps in front of me, toward Steven, my heart stops. For a second I think he might attack him or something—though I’m completely lost as to what the hell David’s problem even is, especially if he sent Steven over to babysit me in the first place. And even if he didn’t, it’s not like Steven was touching me inappropriately or anything—or not for a guy dancing with a girl in a club, anyway.
I’m just about ready to launch myself between them when David leans down and holds his hand out to his friend. Idly I’m aware of Reeve in the not-so-distant background, intently observing the situation unfold, as if prepared to jump in at any moment—whether to break it up or back up David, I’m not sure.
Steven warily eyes David’s hand for one tense moment before he takes it. He lets David help him to his feet, their glares locked in some silent standoff until, finally, Steven apologizes.
Steven apologizes. Even though David is the one who basically just assaulted him.
