“Dwight told me your plan to find a man for the night. If all you wanted was a fuck, all you had to do is ask.”
“I... What?”
“You and me, we could make magic, baby.”
My breath hitches.
Is he seriously suggesting we sleep together?
I have to blink a couple times to make sure I’m not dreaming, or the drink isn’t making me hallucinate.
He leans down, his lips only millimetres away from mine. I can smell the whiskey on his breath, that, paired with the scent of his musky cologne, fill my senses.
My heart is in my throat, thundering inside me as I hold my breath, eagerly awaiting for the moment that his lips touch mine.
This is it. My first kiss.
With Logan.
Just as his lips brush mine, he’s forced sideways, stumbling a little to remain on his feet as a group of six or so guys take over the dancefloor, barging everyone out of the way.
And just like that, the spell is broken, and the moment has passed.
Logan retracts his hand and rubs the nape of his neck, putting a little distance between our bodies.
“We should head back to the table,” he suggests, and my heart sinks.
“Yeah... okay.” I hope he can’t hear the disappointment in my voice over the music because it’s there.
When we get back to the booth, Dwight and Quinn are there, eyeing the two of us suspiciously. They obviously saw what almost happened but neither of them say anything.
I grab my bag and find my phone. I have six missed calls from my mom and a string of text messages, all of them telling me to call her immediately.
“What’s wrong?” Quinn asks.
“My mom, she’s tried calling me like six times and there’s a bunch of messages.” I sling my bag over my shoulder and reach for my jacket before heading out of the club into the cool night air.
It’s not until I’m outside that I realise that Quinn, Dwight and Logan have all followed me out of the club.
I press on my mom’s name and wait for the dial tone. She answers on the second ring.
“Mom? Is everything okay?”
“Why haven’t you been answering? I’ve called and called…”
“Sorry, I’m with Quinn, we were dancing. What’s going on?”
“Oh, sweetheart…” I hear my mom’s sharp intake of breath and a stifled sob.
“Mom? What’s going on?” I ask again. My heart is pounding in my chest as worry overwhelms me.
“Amelia… it’s… it’s your dad…” her voice breaks.
“What about dad?”
“He’s been shot.”
“What? Oh my God! Is he okay? Are you at the hospital with him now? What’s going on? How bad is it?” I’m rambling. Panicking. Frantic.
