41 #2
A new group of girls comes into the room. When they see me, they start whispering and throwing glances in our direction.
“Okay.” My voice is barely loud enough to be considered audible, but Huxley pats my thigh, indicating he heard me.
“I’m gonna tell my friends I’m heading home.”
“I’ll come with you,” he offers, his hand gripping the back of my dress.
I shake my head. “It will take two seconds.” I lean up on my toes and kiss his cheek. “I’ll be right back.”
He hesitates, then nods and reluctantly lets go of my dress.
I head down the hallway toward the kitchen, hoping to find Birdie there, but she’s nowhere to be seen.
Turning back, I spot Ava, but she’s talking to a guy I know she’s been eyeing for the past few weeks, so I head back in search of Birdie.
Down the hallway, I pass a closet that doesn’t spark my interest until I hear Birdie say, “I don’t care.”
Weird.
I knock on the door. “Birdie,” I call out, but don’t hear anything after. I know I heard her voice, so I knock again. “Birdie, are you okay?”
Faint mumbling comes through the door, and then it sounds like someone slaps someone else. I reach for the doorknob when the door pushes open.
“Hey, Valentina,” Birdie says slowly, shifting on her feet.
“Are you okay?” I try to look around her into the closet. “It sounded like someone hit you.”
Birdie pulls on the door, so I can’t see inside. “No, I’m fine.”
I stare at her, suddenly realizing, “You’re out of breath.”
“Am I?”
Oh. I see.
I control my smile and shrug. “Doesn’t matter. Actually, I was looking for Collin. Do you know where he is?”
Birdie glares, clenching her teeth. “No.”
I bite my lip so my smile doesn’t get wider. “Well, if you see him, tell him I don’t think he’d make a good Senator.”
“I actually dropped my political science major,” Collin says casually, coming out from behind Birdie.
“For fucks sake, Collin,” she groans.
I try not to laugh as I turn to leave. “Have fun, you two.”
Collin gestures to me. “See, she approves.”
“Jesus Collin.” Birdie pulls the door shut, but I can still hear them yelling at each other. I quickly move from the door, because they may be yelling now, but they won’t be yelling for long.
At least someone’s having fun at this party.
I head back down the hallway I came from, but get stopped by a girl wearing a skimpy bikini and a sash that says Miss USA. Clever.
“Hi, Valentina. How are you?” Miss USA’s smile looks like it hurts her.
I give her the same one back. “Wonderful. How are you?”
“Well, you see. I was great. But then,” she shoves her finger into my chest, pushing me back a step, “you decided to tie Huxley down for yourself.”
Of course, this is about Huxley. “He asked me out,” I say simply—the truth.
“Oh, please,” she scoffs. “Like that would ever happen. He probably felt sorry for your ass somehow.”
A stabbing pain attacks my chest, but I push it back before it completely takes over.
“You’re just upset that he didn’t ask you out,” I fire back.
Miss USA laughs. “Please. Date him?” She almost sounds disgusted, and my hands shake with the sudden urge to slap her.
“I just wanted sex. Toe-curling, sheet-gripping sex. But now with you in the way, I don’t get that. Although,” she looks me over, “I would probably be able to seduce him from you. Shouldn’t be too hard.”
I hate that Huxley was right about what girls wanted from him.
But I hate this girl even more for admitting that she wouldn’t date Huxley.
Does she even know him? Does she even know how amazing of a person he is?
How gentle and kind and sweet he is? Even if she does, I’m not sticking around to listen to this.
I try to push past the pageant queen, but she grabs my arm. “I’m not done with you.”
“Too bad.” I rip my arm from her. “I don’t feel like talking to a slut that wants my boyfriend to fuck her.”
God, I must be pissed if I’m calling a girl a slut.
Before I slip up and apologize, I turn away from her. I only make it a few steps when someone moves in front of me.
“There you are.” The drunk guy from earlier, who offered his lap to me, puts his hands on my waist. I try to shove him off again, but this time he doesn’t budge.
“Get off of me.”
He starts pulling my dress up. “Did you wear this cute little dress for me?” His smile seems a lot less drunk than before.
“Fuck no.” I shove at his chest, but his grip is strong, which doesn’t help my fear.
Carson suddenly comes to mind, and how that night almost ended. I look around for Huxley, but he isn’t here, and my mind circles back to where he was that night.
No. He’s not doing that again. He just doesn’t know what’s going on.
I shove against the drunk guy's chest again. “Let go of me.”
He doesn’t listen. Instead, he reaches around me and grabs my ass.
“Stop!”
I fumble out of his grip, but when I turn back around, Miss USA dumps her cup over me.
“Oops,” Miss Whatever says with a smile that I want to rip off her face.
People start laughing as the drink drips down my face, and mortification fills my lungs. My breathing jumps into an uneven pattern, but I remain frozen in place.
I have to get out of here. I have to find Huxley. But I can’t move.
The laughter gives way to people complaining, filling me with enough hope to move again. I search the crowd, watching people get shoved out of the way. New air fills my lungs when I see Huxley pushing his way towards me.
Fury fills his eyes as he slips his jacket off and wraps it around my shoulders, pulling me into him.
“Let’s get you out of here,” he says with a calmness that doesn’t match the glares he’s sending to the people around us. I bury my face into his shirt and will myself not to cry as he guides me out of yet another disaster of a party.