Chapter 29
chapter
twenty-nine
SHAY
Utah wasn’t exactly known for its nightlife. We had a bunch of weird rules around alcohol, which made getting wild a little difficult. Like bartenders could pour only a certain amount of alcohol, and we definitely couldn’t do things like doubles.
There were only a few genuinely good places to go if you wanted to get drunk and dance. One of them, Church, was a rooftop bar built inside an old church. The vaulted ceiling had been retrofitted—instead of wood, clear glass hung between the spines. In the summer, the glass opened to the night sky.
“What about him?” Olly pointed to a man leaning against a window, the Salt Lake City skyline twinkling at his back.
“Or him!” Eames said, pointing to a shorter man that waited for a drink by the bar. “He’s cute. He’s giving Tom Holland.”
They were cute, but they weren’t Calder.
“I’m fucking losing it.” I groaned, putting my head in my hands.
I wasn’t an obsessive person.
But I couldn’t help wondering if what we had was special, or if he did this with everyone.
It was too early to be thinking about him this much, but it was like he was tugging on some invisible string inside me.
“We need more reinforcements,” Lithie said, and in a few short minutes the next round of shots came.
“Lemon drops?” Eames groaned. “You are determined to get everyone white-girl wasted.”
I quickly downed the sugary lemon cookie-like drink and ordered another.
Because I’m not doing this.
I’m not spending my nights wishing he’d text me, wondering where he is or who he’s with. Calder made it clear that he’s looking for something casual and short. He’s moving and he stalked me. And after my last relationship, I couldn’t want something different.
I will find someone here tonight.
I will not get attached to Calder.
After a weirdly delicious shot that combined hot sauce and pickle juice, Lithie and Eames dragged me off the couch and to the dance floor.
The DJ was a fucking sadist.
He cut off every song right before the chorus. We valiantly powered through six of these abominations. But when he played the first part of “TiK ToK” by Kesha and then once again cut it off before the drop, we called it quits.
I fell back into the velvet couch, deliciously sweaty and tipsy.
“That DJ is a psychopath,” Olly said, glaring toward his booth.
“Who does that?” Eames asked. “I feel like I’m being edged and not in a fun way.”
Lithie came over, carrying a tray of glowing shots. “Shots. Shots. Shots,” she singsonged, handing a neon-green shot to Eames.
He arched a brow. “It looks radioactive.”
I grabbed mine and together we downed them in one gulp. It tasted like sour apple Warheads.
I swiped the tang from my lips. “I got fingered.”
“Just now?” Olly looked out to the dance floor, as if she’d find the culprit.
“No,” I said. “On my date.”
They fell quiet. The thump of the club replaced their chatter with some Ariana Grande song that the DJ was dutifully trying to destroy.
“I thought you said nothing happened?” Lithie asked, honey eyes narrowed and suspicious, like when we were younger and I swore her Barbie broke its leg spontaneously.
I bit the skin of my thumb, thinking. "Technically, nothing did happen…with my date.”
Olly exhaled, annoyed. “I am too musically frustrated to play twenty questions.” As if on cue, the DJ switched songs before the chorus again. This time, there was an audible groan from the crowd.
“It was Calder,” I said. “He was there. He followed me into the bathroom—”
“Hot,” Lithie interrupted. “But also…” She tilted her head, placing one finger against her lips, the acrylic manicure she got monthly catching the light. “Concerning. Because how did he know where you were?”
All three of them turned to me, waiting.
Oh, well, see Calder is actually Void, and he’s been stalking me from day one.
Also, I’m kinda into it.
No, I’m way into it.
“It, uh…” I raised my hands, gesturing like I was looking for the answer in the air. “It kinda just happened. He was there already and he saw me and…yeah, just kinda happened…”
It wasn’t totally a lie. Calder was there—he was just Void. And they didn’t need to know I got finger fucked by a man in a mask with his leather gloves still on.
“I can’t believe you sat on this for over a week,” Eames said.
“I shared a hotel room with you,” Olly said, offended. “I want details.”
I rubbed the center of my palm.
“Oh, you don’t get to be fucking shy now,” Lithie said. “Spill. How did it happen? How many fingers—”
“Uh…sorry to interrupt.”
All four of us turned in unison to the voice: a man holding a neon-green shot. “I was wondering if I could buy you a drink,” he continued, eyes on me.
Before I could respond, Lithie shot her hand out, blocking him. “You can have that, and feel free to order another round for us.”
She offered a saccharine smile.
He drank it down and ordered with the waitress, which was the green light Lithie needed to allow him to sit with us.
I did another shot, then another, until my legs felt gooey. Somewhere between shot three and four the guy shifted interest to my sister—which, honestly, was fine. Lithie was starting to get more and more annoyed with his attention, though.
And then he said the five words guaranteed to make my sister hate you.
“You’re not like other girls,” he said, laughing at some joke she’d said.
My sister’s face closed off. “I can’t believe you would insult me to my face.”
“I—” He sputtered. “It was a compliment. You’re not like other girls—”
“Other girls are dope.” Lithie leaned forward, tilting her head in a way I imagine she does with particularly obtuse clients. “They’re awesome. They’re hot and smart and fucking princesses. So are you calling me an ugly, dumb troll?”
“What? No!”
He looked between us and, realizing that we were all one hundred percent on my sister’s side, stood up and left, muttering something under his breath that I should probably be grateful I didn’t catch.
I wished I had one-tenth of my sister’s confidence. She knew who she was and she didn’t give a fuck if anyone didn’t like her.
“That’s why we don’t go for straight boys,” my sister said, eyes on me. “A pansexual prince would never.”
I laughed, then leaned back into the couch. The velvet felt so good. I’d reached that level of drunk where everything had a rosy Instagram filter applied.
“I could really go for a burger,” I said.
All three of them froze like I’d just said I was joining the NRA.
“Oh no,” Eames said. “We let her get too drunk.”
“I am not drunk.”
“Oh yeah?” Olly said. “Stand up.”
As I was currently trying to fuse into the couch, that seemed like the worst choice. But I wasn’t going to let them win.
I pushed off the couch and stood.
“Ta-da.” Oof, the room started to spin. But again, not going to let them win. “I’m going to check on the meter.”
“You’re not going out alone,” Lithie said.
I stepped back before they could grab me. “I’ll be fine, Mom. It’s just outside the club. And also, not drunk. Remember?”
Before they could stop me, I skipped out of the club and down the stairs. I was feeling pretty good about myself, too, when on the last step, I tripped. Falling face-first onto the cold winter pavement.
I narrowly avoided smashing my face, landing on my hands and knees. My palms pressed against the winter-cold pavement. I stared at the cracks in the sidewalk, vaguely registering my knee hurt. Had I scraped it?
“Shit,” I said aloud.
Maybe I was drunk.
Someone bent in front of me, hand coming to my elbow. Terror seized my lungs.
“I know jujitsu,” I lied. “I will break your bones.”
“Terrifying.”
I froze at the voice. Deep. Cragged. Icy waves crashing against ancient rocks.
I blinked up into deep, ocean-blue eyes.
“You have terrible social skills,” I said. “Have you ever thought of calling in place of stalking? You could say something like, ‘Hey Shay, wanna go out Friday? We could get drunk and touch each other.’”
“You’re hurt.” He gripped my chin, eyes narrowing on mine. “And drunk.”
Before I could respond, he picked me up, throwing me over his arm. With his free hand, he covered my panties, carrying me farther from the club.