3. The Wrong Date #2
My eyes could not have rolled any harder to the back of my head.
I was used to girls feeding me bullshit about Jude because they felt threatened by our friendship.
That one time I wore his football jersey, Harper purposefully spilled ketchup on me because she hated that he’d given it to me.
They must have thought making up lies would somehow keep me away from him, but it never worked.
Clara was giving me that same conspiratorial look.
“Thanks for the warning, but we’re only friends. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Hey, I don’t want your man or anything. I don’t know you, but I’ve seen you around and you’ve always seemed like a sweet girl. He’s not a good dude. Not even when he’s sober.”
I gripped my clutch harder. “Does he drink a lot?”
Clara laughed. “Oh girl.” She placed a hand over mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. “High, drunk—all the time. I’m honestly shocked he’s not failing his classes right now.”
“Do you know him pretty well then?” Again, I didn’t care, I just thought if I was going to accept rumors about my date, this girl better actually know him.
Straightening, she flipped a wave of platinum blonde hair behind her shoulder, gaze lancinating once more. “He’s my cousin.”
Oh. Oh…
“Yeah,” she added, grabbing her clutch. “Just be careful, okay? He’s a jerk. And maybe have someone pick you up if you didn’t drive yourself.” Then she was gone, weaving between the crowd with a shimmy to her hips.
Picking at the hangnail at my thumb, I thought it over. What Jude said about him, or the lack thereof, and now, the warning from his cousin.
When Gabe finally found me, he slid his arm around my waist and pulled me flush against him. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere.”
He hadn’t. He’d only walked in with Joni a few seconds ago with a crazed look in his eye.
The music pulsed loudly in my ears, drowning out any reason.
I didn’t care what other people did with their bodies, or their time, but I’d grown up in a family that didn’t drink.
Or smoke. Or digest anything that wasn’t organic, actually, so I couldn’t help the tug at my lips. My arms were going heavy.
“I’ve been waiting for you.” It came out harsher than I’d meant, not that I really cared.
I wasn’t sure what I expected, really. That he’d pick me up and take me to a romantic dinner before dancing all night with our friends?
The notion was laughable. Was I that much a romantic sap, that I’d hinged all my emotional regulation on a high schooler who often mispronounced my name?
He spun me until he was pressed against my back, gravitating toward the center of the dance floor. “The night has barely started. Why didn’t you stay out there with me?” Gabe ground against me, and that was all I needed for the spell to break.
It felt like an out-of-body experience—I could see everything happening with painful clarity, holding it so tightly inside myself that I wanted to crawl out of my own skin as tears burned behind my eyes.
When we turned to face each other, his breath hit me in a wave of weed and beer and something sour underneath.
I pushed lightly. “Stop—”
His hand slid down and grabbed my ass, and something inside me snapped. I shoved him hard and bolted, pushing people aside as I escaped. I needed air. Lots of it. The lights flashed, and I looked up to see a shooting star passing overhead.
“Jesus, Solace!” he yelled after me. “You’re such a boring cunt!”
The word was a slap, but I didn’t stop. Not for him. I managed to make it to the hallway before the tears started. Cheeks slick with salty wetness, I slid down the wall, shaking, hands numb as I fumbled for my phone.
I hovered over my mom’s contact and then my dad’s. No. They would inevitably panic and drive here. Dad would insist on coming in—they’d make it a big thing, and Milo was looking forward to the arcade restaurant they were taking him to. I didn’t want to ruin that for him.
I called my best friend Bridget before remembering that she’d left last night for a weekend at her grandmother’s house. I let the call ring anyway.
Ring. Ring. Voicemail.
I was on my own.
“Damn it.” I scrubbed my eyes, and when they landed on Jude’s unanswered text, my thumb hovered over his name as I sucked in a shaky breath before pressing call.
It barely rang once.
“Sol?”
My throat closed. “Ransom,” I whispered through tears. “Will you come get me?”
“Be right there.” The line went dead.
After a few minutes, I brushed my stray hair back, wiped the smudged mascara from beneath my eyes, and pushed myself onto shaky legs. As I walked toward the foyer, I pulled up his contact again, realizing I hadn’t told him where I was—
The front doors burst open, and Jude crossed the threshold, eyes locked on the dance floor inside. He looked devastating in a dark NASA sweatshirt and jeans, his hair messy like he’d driven with the windows down. The second he spotted me, he started forward.
“God, where were you? The parking lot? That was fast.” My voice came out shaky as I wiped a hand across my face again, trying to erase the evidence.
He didn’t answer. His gaze flicked past me, scanning the room as if he was looking for someone. “Where is he?” he said. “What happened?”