It stings in a way that I don’t care for. I try to catch Alex’s gaze, but she won’t look at me. I tuck in beside Chloe instead, pressing my arm against hers like a lifeline.
“Alex told me you both like eighties music,” Trinity says and leans into Alex’s side.
Chloe rolls her eyes. “That’s an understatement.”
“Our parents used to play eighties all the time. It just kind of stuck,” I explain. It’s a simple answer, and she nods like she understands, but there’s no way she can. There’s no way she could know how many times our sad eighties playlist got us through our grayest days. Or about all the songs we blasted in the car with the windows down or our curated playlists for trips we’ve taken together. She doesn’t know how we used to sing along to Roxette using our hairbrushes as microphones. Or how we’d belt Bon Jovi at the pool during the summer before jumping off the diving board to try to impress the lifeguards. It isn’t just a common interest. It’s something that’s been woven so deep into our relationship that it’s become a solid part of our friendship. So, no, there’s no way she can understand.
“Do you have a favorite singer?”
“Bruce,” Alex and I say at the same time.
Finally, Alex looks at me.
“We used to go into the bathroom and turn off the lights and dance around to ‘Dancing in the Dark.’ ” Her gaze remains locked on mine, and I swear, her eyes start to sparkle. And suddenly, we’re ten againon a rainy day, hidden away in her bathroom with the doors closed and music blaring.
“Remember when you stubbed your toe on the base of the toilet?” I ask her, the noise of the club fading away.
Her lips stretch into a slow smile. “I thought I broke it.”
“You made Mason give you piggyback rides for days.”
We both chuckle. And for a brief moment, things go back to the way they were before. Before we walked a blurred line of best friends and the possibility of something more. Before we started pulling away from each other.
At least until Trinity says, “That’s really cute.”
It’s not condescending or mocking, but it’s enough for Alex to put her mask back up. To fall back into the present day and to redraw those metaphorical lines between us.
“So…” Chloe must also notice the switch in mood because she drags the word out in order to keep the conversation going. “You met at the gym?”
As much as I don’t want to know the details, I’m kind of dying to know them, too. The bits and pieces I managed to get out of Alex weren’t enough to paint a full picture. And I haven’t pushed because Alex keeps her dating life close, and I wanted to respect that. But Chloe thrives on details. And if Alex won’t give them, maybe Trinity will.
Now I’m not so sure I want to hear them.
“Yeah, I was there a few times a week, and then one night, I saw her. She looked so cute in her polo, and I just couldn’t stay away.” She grins and steals a kiss. I clench my jaw.
“Alex said your latest gig is for a start-up lingerie company,” Chloe presses.
Trinity gets excited and launches into facts about the company and the contract she just signed with them. But I’m not really listening. Instead, I watch as Alex slips her arm back around Trinity’s waist as if she’s proud. Her hand moves higher and stops along Trinity’s ribs, and her fingers press into her side somewhat possessively. Like she wants everyone to know they’re together.
The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach twists into something else. Something that feels a lot like jealousy.
“You play field hockey, right?”
It takes me a moment to realize the conversation has shifted back to me.
“She’s really good,” Chloe answers on my behalf. “She got into Penn on a scholarship. Academicandsports.”
Trinity nods. “Oh, that’s right, I remember Alex telling me that. High school valedictorian. Very impressive.”
Alex has told me so little about Trinity that it surprises me to learn that Alex has been telling Trinity aboutme. I wonder what else she’s told her. If Trinity knows anything about our night at the hotel.
Whitney Houston’s “How Will I Know” comes on, and Alex and I share the same wide-eyed, excited look, everything else forgotten.
“Whitney.” We both say her name like she’s a siren calling us to the dance floor.
Alex’s hand drops from Trinity’s side, and she whispers something in her ear, then ushers me out to dance, leaving her startled girlfriend behind.
About four songs later, we take a water break, but next thing I know, Trinity is pulling Alex back out on the dance floor and taking my place. My heart sinks when Alex doesn’t look back.
