Yes. It matters. It matters so much I can barely breathe.
"She's probably just some random girl," Keira continues. "You know how these parties are. Everyone's drunk and friendly."
But she doesn't look random. She looks intentional. Like she knows exactly what she wants, and she's going to get it. Declan is easily the hottest guy on campus. Every girl wants him.
A lot have had him.
Not the way I had him, though. I know that. And I hate that I had to give him up.
I take another drink of the terrible punch. Then another.
"Okay, we're leaving," Keira says, grabbing my cup. "This was a bad idea. I'm sorry. Let's go."
"No." I take the cup back. "I'm fine. I need a refill."
"You're not fine."
"I think one more glass of punch ensures I will be." I force a smile that probably looks as fake as it feels. "I ended things with him, remember? He's allowed to talk to other girls. He's allowed to move on."
"I’m sorry. I didn’t think he’d come. He never comes to this house. I think he has issues with one of the guys.”
“Clearly, he’s not fighting with anyone now. Come on. I need a refill. He’s not mine to worry about. He can mess around with anyone he wants to.”
"You broke up with him because you love him. Not because you stopped caring."
"I know that."
"Then stop looking at him."
We go into the kitchen and refill our glasses. We meander around while taking a wide berth around them.
He's still talking to her. She's still touching his arm. Now she's laughing again, throwing her head back in that way that's supposed to look spontaneous but is absolutely calculated. I've done it myself. I know the game.
It’s all about getting their eyes on your throat and boobs.
Classic move.
The room is getting warmer, or maybe that's just the alcohol working its way through my system. “Pink Pony Club” comes on, and everyone starts singing way too loudly. The Pony Prance ensues, and I absolutely want to scream.
"I need air," I say.
"I'll come with you."
"No, I'm fine. Really. Just stay here. I'll be right back."
Before she can argue, I push through the crowd toward the back of the house. There has to be a door somewhere. A porch. A yard. Anywhere that's not here.
I'm halfway to what I hope is the kitchen when someone slides into the spot beside me.
"You look like you could use a distraction."
I turn. The guy is tall, maybe six feet, with sandy blond hair and green eyes. He's attractive with good bone structure. Nice smile and the kind of face that probably gets him a lot of attention. He's holding two beers and offering me one.
I don’t recognize him as a hockey player, which makes him an option right away.
The beer still has the cap on. Safe.
"I have a drink," I say, holding up my nearly empty cup.
