Chapter 3
Tuesday
“Oh. No more,” I tell Grace, pushing away the tray of sushi. “It’s so good. I could eat all of them by myself.”
“Don’t do that. You won’t have room for ice cream later.”
“All of us can’t eat whatever we want and maintain a perfect figure like you.” I give her a playful jab. I take in the coffee table in Ricky’s apartment and chuckle. “We’re pathetic. Most twenty-year-olds who managed a girls’ weekend in their brother’s apartment would be treating themselves to drinks and painting each other’s nails. We’re doing homework, eating vegetables, and watching Pride and Prejudice for about the one-hundredth time.”
“Okay, don’t mock it. It’s the best movie ever made,” Grace declares, lifting her hand and awaiting my high-five. “Besides. We’re mature, responsible girls. If we want to go to that squad party at Vincent’s house on Saturday night, we better knock out the homework now. ’Cause Sunday, we’re going to be useless.”
This is where the ‘mice will play,’ as Grace so eloquently put it.
My life at the rescue squad is more akin to the blue-haired volunteers who man the phones than the rest of the EMTs. While constant parties are happening, it’s pointless attending one if my brother is within a sixty-mile radius. I’d be forced into a corner, like being assigned to the children’s table at a holiday function. Watched, guarded, and practically branded as if wearing an “off limits” sign around my neck.
Grace understands the dilemma. She’s seen Ricky’s domineering behavior when we’ve been out with him and his girlfriend, Julia. I’ve given up pushing back against it. He’s the self-appointed family bodyguard against men ‘on the prowl.’ But we’re young and deserve the chance to have fun and meet someone attractive.
“So, what are we wearing tomorrow night?” I admit this line of questioning may be to ensure she doesn’t have some new thrift store find she’s dying to try out. I don’t want us to stand out. The whole point of going to these parties is to have fun, blend in, and enjoy this time of my life.
“Don’t worry, T. I’m just wearing jeans and a T-shirt.” She laughs. “The real question is, what are you wearing?” She waggles her brows at me. We both know we’re hoping we can attract some handsome, eligible mates, preferably with date potential. But, honestly, I’d settle for one evening of feeling admired.
“Something to show off my assets.” I giggle, stretching my sleep shirt tight against my breasts. They’re a C cup, one of my best features, and I admit I’m not ashamed to flaunt them.
Okay, when Ricky’s away.
* * *
We arrive at the party in full swing. Vincent’s house reminds me of something you’d see on Greek Row. But it’s in the burbs. The house is shared with three roommates, and the yard and interior look every bit the frat house. As we cross the threshold, the stench of stale beer hits me in the face, and there’s a sticky sensation beneath my shoes when I walk.
Leaning into Grace, I ask, “Remind me why we’ve been dying to go to one of these again.”
“Think of it as a rite of passage.” She laughs. “And if that doesn’t do it for ya, then think of it as a department store. You just need to try on a few men and see which one fits.”
“Oh, lord.” I giggle.
We make our way toward the kitchen and attempt to locate a drink that appears safe. I haven’t acquired a taste for beer, so the keg is out. We agree to avoid anything that’s already open or strong enough to cloud our judgment. I don’t need to hear any ‘I told you so’s’ from Ricky once he returns.
“Score!” Grace squeals. My eyes flick to her and find her holding two wine coolers that she’s retrieved from the back of the fridge. Popping the caps with ease, she hands me one, and we quickly clink our bottles. Looking down at the beverage, it appears to be some overly fruity concoction. But it sure beats beer.
Grace does the same and shrugs her shoulders. “Let’s get pineappled.” We both laugh.
Moving into the other room, I grab ahold of the back of Grace’s shirt in an effort not to get separated. It’s a lot more crowded than I expected. Occasionally we stop to greet the faces we recognize but continue pushing through the sea of warm bodies until we can reach the other side of the room.
“Whew. That was a workout,” Grace yells over the heavy base pounding under our feet. We both nurse our drinks, pointing at various people we recognize and questioning who their dance partners might be.
“Hey, Tuesday. Fancy seeing you here. I didn’t think you ever came to these.”
Trying to think fast, I respond, “I do. Sometimes it’s so crowded I probably just blend in.” I can practically feel Grace’s chuckle tickle my side at my absurd statement. As if.
Xane gives me a deliberate once-over, letting his eyes roam from my head to my toes. “I doubt you could ever blend, babe.” He drags his tongue across his lower lip, and my heart rate picks up. I wasn’t expecting anything like this to happen so quickly. All right, let’s be real. I wasn’t expecting anything like this to happen at all.
“I’m going to go back for a few more drinks,” Grace says, nudging me with her elbow. Lifting my bottle, I’m shocked I finished mine so quickly. I guess I wasn’t nursing this after all. Nerves probably.
“So, you want to dance?” Xane asks.
“Sure.”
He takes my hand and leads me a few steps into the crowd before pulling me into him and swaying to the sounds of Flo Rida singing “Wild Ones.” Xane is cute. He’s got sandy blond hair that gives him a surfer vibe. I’m not clueless about his exploits. He’s been paired with many girls in this room. But I’m only dancing with him.
What’s the harm in that?