Chapter Five – Wren
Staring at myself in the mirror, I don’t even look like me. My long, brown hair is wavy thanks to Sloane’s careful styling, and my face wears a layer of makeup—again thanks to Sloane. My brown eyes have that smoky look, and my lips actually look full with some matte lipstick.
And my clothes? My clothes actually hug my body and show off my curves.
Normally said curves are hidden beneath oversized t-shirts and hoodies that could fit someone double my size.
I’m definitely not used to the tightness, that’s for sure.
The fabric of the sparkly shirt Sloane loaned me clings to my body every time I inhale.
I wear black leggings and flats to complete the look. Literally, the only thing that’s mine are the flats. Everything else is borrowed from my roommate, who took it upon herself to style me for tonight’s impromptu clubbing.
Clubbing. I never thought I’d go clubbing.
Heck, I didn’t even know about any of the clubs around here.
Makes sense, since the area around a college campus is probably the best area to own clubs like that.
Needless to say, I don’t tell my parents I’m going out.
I can only imagine what they’d say if they knew their precious daughter was going to the clubs on a Wednesday night.
Sloane pops into my room, her hair and makeup completed. The girl looks killer, even more so than usual. She wears a tight dress that shows off her legs, and she grins at me, her lips wearing a bright red stain—something she can pull off.
“Look at you,” she purrs out. “Such a hottie. I don’t think you’ll have any trouble attracting guys tonight. Might have to get Elias to fend some off you.” Her boyfriend who, much to his chagrin, was being forced to come tonight, to keep watch over both me and Sloane.
I don’t think he’d ever let Sloane go to the clubs by herself, anyway, regardless of me being there.
I look back at myself in the mirror in the corner of my room. It’s just a cheap mirror, the kind that’s meant to hang on the back side of a door. I have it leaning against the wall, so it’s kind of at an awkward angle, but it serves its purpose all the same.
“I don’t know,” I say, running my hands down my sides.
Already, my palms are sweaty. How bad am I going to be once in the club?
Heck, I’ve never even been to a club before; the closest thing to a club I’ve been to is prom, and that obviously doesn’t count.
“Are you sure you want to go out? Maybe we should just stay in—”
She crosses the length of my room and stands beside me, checking me out in the mirror with me.
Her blond hair is a little shorter than mine, with the same kind of kinky waves, and her blue eyes look brighter than usual thanks to the makeup surrounding them.
“Hell no. We’re going out. This kind of hotness you can’t contain to the house.
” She gestures to us in the mirror, and I hear a grunt in the hallway—Elias responding to that comment.
Sloane glances over her shoulder and gives her boyfriend a grin, while I say, “It doesn’t sound like he wants to go.”
“He can kiss my ass. We’re going.” I’ve learned my roomie is not one to play nice, not even with her boyfriend—but I don’t think he minds, strangely, because anytime I see them in the same room together, they’re all over each other.
They’ve been together for over a year and a half, and yet they act like they can’t get enough of each other.
Mike and I were never like that, and it makes me wonder if our whole relationship was just both of us pretending… and that makes me feel terrible.
“Are you ready?” she asks me.
I meet my gaze in the mirror, take myself in one last time, and then—even though it’s the last thing I want to do—I tell her, “Yeah. Let’s go.”
Elias drives us there even though it isn’t too far away.
It’s just before ten, the world dark, and even though classes haven’t started yet, the nightlife is hopping.
You can tell who’s local, who lives in houses around the campus and not in the dorms; those are the people who are out now, people like us.
People having fun before next week and the fall semester begins.
I don’t know what to expect. This is all new to me.
Honestly, I don’t know that I want to hook up with some random guy, but…
I don’t know that I don’t want to do that, either.
I’m confused. I’m hurt. I feel like I’m not good enough, so why not try to have fun?
What I’ve done in the past clearly didn’t work, so maybe it’s time to change courses.
What if I’m bad? What if I’m even more awkward than I usually am?
See, this is where being an overthinker is a detriment, although at this point in my life, I can’t say being an overthinker has ever been a good thing. I don’t think it’s ever helped me out. No, the only thing it’s given me is loads and loads of anxiety.
Since we’re under twenty-one, we get stamps on the back of our hands before we enter the club, so the bartender doesn’t sell us any alcohol.
I imagine the stamps are easy enough to wash off, but maybe not.
Maybe I’ll be scrubbing this stamp so hard off my skin tomorrow that I’ll rub the back of my hand raw.
We walk into the club, and instantly we’re hit with loud, pounding music. Seriously, the music is so loud that I can barely hear myself think. A group of people already dance near the speakers, where I imagine the music is even louder.
How on earth do they not have pounding headaches?
“Well?” Sloane stands next to me, giving me a smile. “What do you think?” She’s got to kind of yell the question so I can hear her over the music.
“It’s loud,” I say back.
“Yeah. That’s the point. Less talking, more dancing.” She takes me by the wrist and leads me closer to the dance floor, where she slips between a group of dancing girls, dragging me with her—and behind me, Elias follows, a glower on his face.
Sloane only lets me go once we’re in the middle of the throng of people, and she starts swaying her body with the fast beat. Elias naturally moves behind her, and his hands find her hips within seconds, pulling her backside closer to him as he wordlessly stakes his claim on his girl.
It’s… sweet, in a strange way, being so possessive of someone. Mike was never like that, although now I can’t help but wonder if he was never like that because he was never fully in the relationship to begin with. A terrible thing to think.
I went to school dances with Mike, and we danced together, but not at all like how Sloane is grinding and twerking on Elias.
I don’t even know if I can move my body the way she’s moving hers.
I stand there for a good minute, watching her and trying to mimic her, before I give up and sway to the beat in a way that’s probably boring as heck.
But, hey, I guess I’m a boring as heck person, so that fits.
I don’t know how long it is before someone slips behind me and pulls my backside against him, but it’s at least five or more songs. It’s hard to keep track. I’m so focused on not looking like a fool that I can’t help but widen my eyes when I feel the stranger’s hands on me.
Sloane watches with a smirk, and then she leans into me—and though I don’t hear her well at all, I’m pretty sure she shouts something along the lines of “He’s cute.” He being the man behind me, I guess.
I flush and don’t respond, although I might only be flushing because it’s hot as heck here, surrounded by all these people. The air on the dance floor is thick with sweat and tension, to the point where it’s difficult to breathe.
Though my first instinct is to pull away from the guy behind me, I resist. Barely. I stay right where I am even though his hands on me make me feel like I want to crawl out of my skin, go home, and throw on a hoodie, dive underneath a mountain of blankets and never be seen again.
Oh, what I wouldn’t give to be home underneath a few blankets. There’s no cozier feeling. The weight, the warmth; it helps calm me down, as silly as it is.
After a while, I get tired. I don’t know how anyone does this for hours and hours on end. How and why do people think this is fun? I’m exhausted already, and unless I’m mistaken, I actually see a few girls around in heels.
Heels. Heck no. No thanks to that. I’d never wear heels on a good day, let alone to a club. Are they crazy?
I make a sipping motion to Sloane, hoping to tell her I need a break to grab something to drink. She gives me a nod and then turns her back to me, grinding her front on Elias now, and just like that, it’s like I don’t exist to them. Those two are in their own reality together.
I don’t look back at the guy behind me as I pull away and slip through the crowd of dancing people.
He doesn’t try to stop me. Whoever he is, he’ll probably find some other girl to dance with.
Whatever. Tonight is about forcing myself out of my comfort zone, doing things I wouldn’t normally do.
Dancing with a stranger is definitely one of them.
I finally make it through the crowd and head for the bartender.
The counter is a little too high for me to lean on it, so I have to stand there, waiting to catch the guy’s attention.
He’s currently mixing drinks for a pair of girls on the far side of the bar, girls who are apparently old enough to get fun-looking, alcohol-infused drinks.
Hmm. I wonder if I’ll have to pay for water here.
I wait for what must be a minute before I sigh. The bartender is now deep in what looks to be a riveting conversation with the pair of girls—girls who are all giggly and flirty.
Is that what guys want? Smiles and batting of eyelashes?
The person next to me at the bar, a guy drinking what looks like a beer, takes a sip before he says, “You’ll be waiting a long time if you don’t call him over.” He doesn’t look at me when he says it, but I know he’s not wrong, so I sigh again.
The guy beside me turns his head, and after I’m finished sighing, we meet eyes. Though it’s dark in here, the strobing lights are more than enough, and I think the recognition dawns in both of us at exactly the same time.
“Wait,” he says, eyeing me up and down. “The nerd from the bookstore.”
Yep. Somehow, out of everybody who could possibly be standing at the bar at this exact moment, I’m beside the jerk I met earlier today in the student union, the one who made the comment that he’s glad he didn’t know me.
And, I hate to report, he’s just as hot as I remember him being. Maybe even more so with the way his black hair is a bit messier than it was then.
“I’m not a nerd,” I tell him as forcefully as I can, not letting the cat take my tongue this time.
He chuckles and turns his body toward mine, taking me in yet again—this time, I can tell he’s taking his time in checking me out, undoubtedly a side effect of the clothes I’m wearing. “Just because you clean up nicely doesn’t make you not a nerd,” he finally says, giving me a lazy half smirk.
I roll my eyes at him. “You…” I grind my jaw and glare at him with what I hope is a defiant expression. “You’re a jerk. I don’t like you.” Hmm I probably could’ve put that in better terms, but whatever.
The guy laughs, like it’s genuinely amusing to him. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before. Most people don’t like me, so.” He shrugs, and it’s then I realize just how wide those shoulders of his are. He wears all black, but beneath that shirt is what must be a well-muscled body.
I end up moving my eyes off him, not wanting to stare at him too much. I go back to waiting for the bartender to notice me.
The guy, whoever he is, doesn’t get the picture. He says, “So what’s a nerd like you doing dressed up in a place like this? This can’t be your normal scene.”
I hold back a groan. “I came here to have fun, not that it’s any of your business.” To have fun and maybe hook up with someone, but I’m still hesitant on that part. I built myself up for so long, and where did it bring me? Where did it leave me? Here, with nothing but heartache.
“Are you?”
I blink and meet his eyes. “Am I what?”
“Are you having fun?”
Oh, right. What I told him about coming here to have fun. See? It’s too easy to get lost in my head.
I hold onto the edge of the counter as I shrug, and he laughs at me.
The jerk actually laughs at me. “Yeah,” he says, pausing to take another sip out of his beer, “that’s kind of what I thought.
I bet someone like you would have more fun chilling at home by yourself.
” The way he says it makes it sound like an insult.
I pucker my lips and glare at him as I demand, “And what’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, I guess.”
“No,” I say, my argumentative side peeking through. “Obviously you said that to insult me. You’re judging me.” I flip my hair over my shoulder and give him my best whatever expression. “But that’s fine, because I’m judging you right back.”
That makes him chuckle and cock a brow at me, and I hate how attractive that look on him is. “Judging me? How exactly are you judging me?”
“Well, based off what I know about you: you’re rude, you’re mean, you’re entitled—”
“Whoa. I might be rude and mean, but I am not entitled.”
I keep going, ignoring his outburst: “You think you’re better than everybody else.”
He flashes me a smile—a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
A practiced smile, rehearsed, like he knows what the world wants to see but he doesn’t quite know how to make it fully believable.
He steps closer to me and leans down, until his face is six inches away from mine. “I am better than everybody else.”
I shrug. “I doubt that.”
If I have to guess, I’d say he doesn’t like that.
The look he gives me tells me as much… although, the longer he stares down at me, the more I feel like he’s somehow turning the tables without saying a single word.
Like, somehow, he’s wordlessly proving to me he’s better than everybody else by just a look, a look that makes me warm up in unfamiliar places.
Apparently it’s hard for me to stand this close to such an attractive guy while playing it cool. It’s not like I have much experience in this field. I’m clearly an amateur in every way.
Finally, the man speaks, his voice an octave lower than it was mere moments ago: “If you stick around long enough, maybe I’ll show you exactly how much better than everyone else I am.
” His words are a challenge, one I should ignore, but standing there so close to him, practically pinned in place by his vividly green eyes, all I can say is a single word.
“Okay.”