Walking around the entire club, the neon lights shine, creating a glow on people in purples, reds, and white. My head tilts back, and I look up at the disco balls spinning, spinning, spinning, and I get lost in them. The twinkling lights cover the walls and dance floor.
"Riley.” August tugs me from the disco balls.
"What?" I whine.
"We're leaving.” He jerks his head toward the door. His eyes are heavy and tired, probably a combination of exhaustion and drinking.
I pull my arm out of his grasp and look back at the disco balls.
"Come on, everyone else already has their ride pulled up, and I don’t want to miss it," he says.
“No, I’m not ready to leave yet!”
“They’re waiting outside for us. We need to go.” August’s hand trails across my back and onto my waist, guiding me.
“I wanna look at the balls.” I tip my head to the ceiling and admire the sparkles.
“You can look at balls later, come on.”
"You suck," I shout, my head swiveling back and forth. "Wait, where's my jacket?"
"I have it." His voice is deep, commanding, andhot.
We get outside, the cold hitting me in the face.
"Shit," I mutter.
August pulls us against the wall. People come and go, talking and laughing. One guy trips over the sidewalk, and I smother a laugh.
"Great, they didn’t wait for us. Stay here," August says to me like I'm a dog. He pulls his phone out from his jeans pocket and types away.
I watch his fingers move. Can fingers look strong? Maybe strong is the wrong word. Masculine? I don't know. They're fucking fingers, and they look hot. I want to take one, put it in my mouth, and suck on it.
Wow, I’m incredibly drunk.
"The car will be here in three minutes," he says, stuffing his phone back in his pocket. He raises his thick eyebrows, waiting for my response.
“Kay.”
TWENTY
AUGUST
Here I am, in a car, with a drunk Riley. I’m feeling toasty, while Riley is… well she’s just drunk.
Her forehead rests on the passenger seat in front of her, eyes closed, and hands in her lap. Mumbles come from her side, and I can’t make out a single word. I’m not going to interrupt the conversation she’s having with herself.
She turns her head to look at me, and I can't read her facial expression, at all. It's a mixture of confusion, interest, and rage. And I'm a little terrified.
"Uh, are you okay?" I ask cautiously.
Riley squints at me. “You need to stop flailing around like an inflatable tube man."
A laugh escapes from me because all the years I've known Riley; I've never seen her this drunk.Ever. And yet, she's still the most beautiful woman I've laid eyes on. Even if her hair is a rumpled mess and looks at me like I've taken away her lollipop.
Holding up three fingers, I ask, "How many fingers do you see?"
Her nose scrunches. "Six," she says with confidence. "Howmany fingers do you see?" And there's her middle finger.
