Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
NOW
I know I should’ve slowed down after the third tequila shot. In all honesty, I’d probably reached my limit after number two.
But Riley was handing me another one, yelling, laughing, singing along to the music, everything about her so magnetic, her mood so contagious… how could I say no? The decision was basically made for me when she gave me the cup.
Plus, I had almost completely forgotten about the man currently stood on the other side of the room.
Henry was propped against the back of the couch when we’d arrived, arms crossed in that way that made them strain against the confinements of his sleeves. His brown hair parted down the middle, and he was talking to someone female who wasn’t me.
Which made me remember I shouldn’t notice— didn’t have any right to notice—who he was or wasn’t talking to, and made me down that first Tequila shot so fast I almost coughed it all back up.
Now, I tipped my head back with the fourth one, liquor burning down my throat, soothing the unjustified jealousy still burning in the pit of my stomach.
Involuntarily , I might add. The girls cheered, and Maeve threw her arm around my shoulder, swaying us to the sound of a mediocre Abba remix blaring through the frat house.
It would be fine , I told myself.
Although I couldn’t count the number of times I’d stumbled, stepped on a foot, or reached for an arm for balance, and although my ex-boyfriend was somewhere in this room—most likely heavily flirting with a girl whose name I didn’t know—I’d be fine. Right?
I had my girls, my cat… and before I got the chance to ponder how pathetic I sounded, Riley handed me an empty cup. Just in time.
She filled it to the brim with some kind of alcohol concoction that could probably kill someone, and we all drank it anyway.
Really , I was just looking for a clock on the wall the next time my eyes involuntarily searched the room.
And surely, the way my stomach dropped was because I couldn’t find the time, not because I couldn’t find him. Henry was nowhere to be seen.
Not that I wanted to. See him , I mean.
“Girls,” I… panted? Dios mío , was the alcohol catching up with me that quickly? “I’m just gonna go to the bathroom.”
Laila jumped into Mom-Mode, concern riddling her tone, blue eyes wide in worry. “Do you need us? Are you going to throw up?”
She was the only one who had refused the second shot, instead opting for a sweet mixer that would let her wake up without a booming headache tomorrow. I was already way past that point.
My head shook, and unfortunately the world began spinning around me. “No.” Maybe . “Peeing.”
Apparently, I couldn’t muster more than one-word answers.
Although the bathroom upstairs put a steep staircase between me and release (in whichever form it came), I climbed it heroically to avoid the queue that had formed in front of the guest toilet downstairs.
Taking the last step, I let go of the banister reluctantly, already reaching for the opposite wall for the support I definitely needed.
Pretty sure I was feeling the world spinning on its axis right then, which reminded me we were on a ball in space in the first place. And we were spinning with it. And I honestly never quite understood how that worked. The thought made me feel sick.
“Fuck,” I groaned again, resting my forehead against my arm on the wall for… more support? I wasn’t quite sure, but with my eyes closed, I noticed less of that spinning globe we were all trapped on doing its thing.
Out of the void around me, someone asked if I was alright. I nodded as fast as I could, already muttering multiple variations of yes against the wall that were only answered with an amused snort, the beginning of a laugh that just sounded so, so, so … familiar.
My eyes snapped open.
Wide and horrified, I held steady eye contact with the wall I was still facing. The wall my forehead still pressed against. All to avoid looking at Henry Parker Pressley. Right next to me.
I could feel his presence now.
Low and behold—a single, cautious glance out of the corner of my eye later—and there he was. Opposite the bathroom, right next to me, Henry stood with his hands in his pockets, leaning against the wall as he waited.
For the bathroom door to open or for me to acknowledge him, I wasn’t sure.
I huffed into my arm, eyes closing again in frustration. And maybe some relief that he hadn’t left with the beautiful brunette after all.
I kept my eyes from dragging back to him as best as I could, still facing the wall to avoid whatever this was— could become . But as much as I tried to ignore him, I felt Henry’s gaze on me. Taking me in, raking up and down my body, the dress I wore. Maybe my bare legs.
And it was driving me mad.
“Mierda,” I cursed between gritted teeth, finally turning toward him. “ What? ”
Henry blinked at me. His eyes flicked up to mine, their piercing green a little disorienting. He seemed as confused, surprised, taken aback by my tone as I was.
I hadn’t expected whatever emotions were simmering in the pit of my stomach to make it to the surface either, but now that they were out, it felt kind of… great. And this was good! Wasn’t it?
If I just focused on how much I hated him instead of how good he looked tonight. If I reminded myself of all the reasons why I should hate him, instead of the fact we hadn’t been this close to each other since our breakup, and I’d almost forgotten those few freckles across his nose, then maybe this could work.
Henry Parker Pressley’s ego was big enough on its own. I didn’t need to inflate it more by making the fact I hadn’t quite moved on (yet) obvious, when he clearly had (e.?g., beautiful brunette from earlier). I think I might’ve flinched at the reminder.
When I doubled down, I was, again, surprised by my tone. “Spit it out, Henry.”
He swallowed thickly, brows twitching before whatever hesitancy he had blew out of his features. When he huffed in amusement, there was no humor in the sound.
“Nothing,” he said smoothly. “Simply concerned you might fall down the stairs just by standing too close to them.”
I wanted to roll my eyes at the (accurate) observation, throw some remark his way that proved him wrong, showed that I wasn’t half as drunk as I actually was. That I could stand straight and still.
Unfortunately, as if on cue, when I let go of the wall I’d been holding onto for support, I swayed. Probably just a step or two, I wasn’t sure because I caught my footing quickly, kind of proving him wrong? Somehow?
A proud smile sneaked onto my lips when I looked at him again. See , I wanted to say. I can stand upright .
Which was when I noticed his hand around my wrist.
A second ticked by, then another. My eyes slowly drifted to where he held me, right above my pulse point, and I hoped to God he couldn’t feel it kicking into overdrive underneath his touch.
I hadn’t caught my footing at all. Henry had simply caught me.
What I thought might’ve been actual concern drew his brows together when I looked back at him. Our gazes held for a moment, but whatever he was searching my eyes for, he came up short.
Henry cleared his throat, cautiously letting go of my arm, making sure I could stand on my own two feet without falling over like a baby giraffe. Great .
“Are you sure you’re fine, Paula?”
I scoffed. “Yes. Thank—” Angry , I remembered. I was supposed to be angry. Or at least not pleasant. “No.” There would be no such thing as gratitude. I was failing operation No Contact badly enough already. “Not thank you. In fact…” In fact what? “Nothing at all.”
Before I could stop the rambling of my own accord, the door to the bathroom unlocked, and a girl rushed out, leaving it empty for the next person. Which was Henry. “Would you just get in there, p—??”
“Don’t say please .” Henry was clearly holding back a smile when he interrupted me. “You might regret your manners, Paula.” Before I could say Don’t say my name like that, it’s doing things to me! he stepped aside, gestured to the bathroom. “It seems you need to get in there more urgently.”
He was right. The second I locked the door behind me, I hurled into the bowl. Very glad the girl before left the lid up, and even more glad I’d made it this far—that it hadn’t been Henry’s shoes—I stayed on the floor of the bathroom for…a while. And as I hung there (head over the toilet, surroundings spinning, contemplating the last twenty minutes), I decided not to tell my friends about this encounter.
Which wasn’t the easy way out: I loved oversharing. Though if Maeve considered even looking at Henry a breach of our No Contact Agreement (NCA), talking to him— touching him! —would be a federal offense.
Luckily enough, I wouldn’t have to go against it again, because when I left the bathroom, Henry was gone. Perhaps he considered his odds downstairs better; with how analytical he was, I wouldn’t be surprised. Or maybe he just didn’t want to see me again.
The painful thump in my chest propelled me downstairs, where Maeve patiently held my drink, covering the top with her palm.
Freshly thrown up, I felt ready for another sip and accidentally emptied the cup.
My best friend eyed me curiously, gaze flicking between me and the staircase. And I knew that look. Psychic Maeve was back, and my plan not to tell her about what had just happened became significantly less likely to succeed. The redhead gave me a conspiratorial smile, took a big gulp.
“What took you so long?” she asked.
She knows , was my first thought. She’d probably seen Henry come downstairs, put two and two together. Maeve inconspicuously swayed to the music.
I shrugged. “I threw up.”
Laila bumped my shoulder with her own, mouth open in a soundless gasp. “You should’ve said something!” she squeaked. “Girls should never have to throw up alone! Who held your hair, Paula?” The blonde looked genuinely concerned, maybe even distressed, and I couldn’t help the giggle that fled my lips.
Maeve snickered in an equal display of amusement, though her gaze didn’t waver from mine as she emptied her drink. “Yeah, Paula,” she sighed. “Who could’ve possibly been up there to hold your hair?”
There it was.
I decided to ignore her knowing smile, instead turned back to Laila.
“I’m sorry, Lil,” I said, one hand on my heart, the other on her shoulder. “Next time, you can hold my hair.”
She huffed, though a smile replaced the frown on her lips. “Good.” She nodded, taking another sip of her mixer. “Thank you.”
One last time, Maeve’s attention drifted to the staircase before she seemed to drop her suspicions. For now, she didn’t have much of a choice, because Riley dragged us onto the makeshift dance floor a second later.