Our thighs brush against each other, the cloud of her perfume shrouding the two of us and making my stomach flip on itself. While she is certainly smaller than Noah, it doesn’t seem to make a difference to the space as she presses as tightly to me as possible. Part of me wonders if it is on purpose, but then the thought of that sparks my heart rate higher than I knew it could go. I have to shut it down immediately, downing my glass and focusing on what I can see, hear and feel in the moment at hand.
‘I’m so glad you came!’ she says. ‘You had to experience a Rotterdam house party while you were here.’
‘Are they a cultural staple?’ I ask.
‘As much as they are anywhere else.’ She shrugs. ‘I guess, what I really mean, is that you had to experience one withme.’
Her stare grows deeper, arm effortlessly swooping over so she can place her hand on my knee. She squeezes it slightly, lightly smoothing over the area. It sends a tingle up my spine that I try my best to hide, but judging by the smirk on her face I can tell that she sees it.
‘I’m glad I came.’ I swallow down the saliva pooling in my mouth.
She can see that I’m nervous – anyone could, I am not good at hiding it – but somehow it is only making her stronger. Her hand on my knee grows more confident as it traces patterns in its spot.
‘What are you drinking?’ she asks.
‘It was once wine,’ I say, showing her the now empty glass.
She shakes her head. ‘That won’t do. Do a shot with me.’
‘I shouldn’t.’
I learnt the hard way that shots and I are not, and will never be, friends. And that’s on a good night, let alone a night where I’ve already ‘shared’ three bottles of wine. And I use the term ‘shared’ loosely... Noah barely stood a chance with the way I was nervous-drinking. But then she pouts and tosses her hair, and I worry that I may have just let all our momentum slip away. So, I garner some bravado and throw on my best mischievous smile.
‘I will, for you,’ I say.
She practically squeals with excitement as she shoots out of her seat, grabs my hand and drags me towards the kitchen. I watch, mesmerised, as she shouts some things at her friends in Dutch and three of them rummage around the collection of liquor bottles before settling on one scary-looking clear one. Five shot glasses appear out of nowhere, lined up on the counter as she sloppily fills them up. She slams the bottle down and hands me a glass, a devilish glint in her eye.
‘Proost!’she says.
Her friends join in what I assume was meant to be unison, and they all throw back their shots without blinking. She looks to me, my glass still full, and raises an eyebrow. I hold it in salute and repeat after her before backing it in one. It tastes foul. Worse than foul. Gin-like in nature, but stronger and sharper and such a stark contrast to the wine. I look up urgently, hoping she hasn’t noticed my disgust. She hasn’t, because she’s too busy pouring shot number two.
‘Proost!’The crowd cheers again.
‘To new friends,’ she says, clinking her shot glass against mine.
She purrs the word ‘friends’ in a tone that’s clearly more than friendly, giving me no choice but to back this one and keep the mood going. I down this second one quicker, swallowing the fear and all of my body’s pleas to reject it.
‘One more?’ she asks me.
The crowd has now moved on, backs turned as they leave the two of us to our own devices. I fear for what will happen to me if I do one more shot, but the way she looks at me convinces me I can. I nod.
She pours two more, passing one over. We down them silently, our eyes never leaving each other. I feel my head grow hot, heat creeping through my entire body and getting stronger at each spot her wandering eyes touch.
‘Do you smoke?’
I shake my head.
‘Mind if I do? We can go to the balcony.’
Fresh air. That’s what I need. That’s a sure-fire way to put a stop to the waves in my stomach. She grabs my hand, leading the way through the crowd, out the back door and onto the balcony.
It’s calmed down out here now, the flowing crowd of earlier having retreated inside as the temperature dropped. Now it’s just the two of us, made more evident as she closes the door, muting the party behind us. It’s beautiful out here, still andserene, the night air filling my lungs and bringing a welcome chill. Her lighter clicks, the soft fire latching onto the paper and starting to crawl its way slowly up her cigarette. She looks out at the stars as she takes her first drag. They’re so apparent, so bright. You don’t get that in London. I stare, transfixed, as she creeps closer towards me.
‘You want some?’ she asks, holding her cigarette my way.
I nod, taking it cautiously in my hands. I’ve never smoked before – never cared to and frankly don’t care to now – but I also don’t want to ruin the moment. I focus carefully, trying to coolly mimic the same action she did a mere few seconds ago. The smoke shoots down my throat. I attempt to bite back a cough, but it bites me first before I get the chance. I choke and splutter, accidentally dropping the cigarette to the floor. She rushes over.
‘I’m so sorry!’ I manage to say between coughs.
