Chapter 13 #2
Like it’s remarkable that someone would actually pay attention to me.
“We should probably head out,” my mom announces to the group. “We only have the bus until seven.”
Everyone starts gathering coats and bags. Rodriguez appears next to me, steadying me when I sway slightly getting up from the table. The room tilts just a fraction before settling.
“How many samples did you have?”
“I don’t know. Eight? Nine?”
“That’s like three and a half beers, JuJu.” His hand is on my elbow, solid and grounding. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. Just warm in here.”
He helps me into my coat, adjusting the blue scarf without even asking. His fingers brush the side of my neck and I try really hard not to react to the contact.
On the bus ride back, Rodriguez claims the window seat again and pulls me against his side before I can think about where to sit.
I let myself lean into him because it’s easier than sitting up straight and also because he’s warm and I’m tired and the bus is moving in that steady rhythm that makes staying awake feel impossible.
His hand finds mine again. Fingers threading together like it’s something we do all the time, like it’s natural.
I should pull away and remember this is temporary and fake and definitely not real.
But my eyes are starting to droop. My head feels too heavy for my neck and his shoulder is right there, solid and convenient.
The combination of his hand in mine and the bus vibration and the warmth of him is making everything else fade away, the conversations around us, Melissa and Garrett somewhere behind us, the fact that I should be maintaining some kind of boundary here.
I close my eyes and drift somewhere between awake and asleep while the bus carries us through the Toronto streets I used to know by heart.
“Hey,” he says quietly, his voice pulling me back. “We’re almost back.”
“Okay.” My voice is thick with sleep.
“You fell asleep on me.”
“Did not.” But I definitely did. I can feel the imprint of his shoulder on my cheek.
“You definitely did. You were drooling.”
I sit up fast, my hand going to my mouth. “I was not—”
He’s grinning. “Got you.”
“You’re terrible.”
“You love it.”
The bus pulls up to the hotel and everyone files off slowly, buzzed and content. My legs are unsteady and Rodriguez keeps a hand on my elbow until we’re inside, guiding me through the lobby like I might tip over without the support.
Back in the room, I kick off my boots and head straight for the bathroom. My makeup needs touching up and my hair is a complete mess from the wind and from falling asleep on Rodriguez’s shoulder.
Rodriguez is on his phone when I come back out, sprawled on the bed.
“So, uh, Owen got my number and just texted me,” he says. “Olivia wants to go out tonight. Some club downtown. She wants to know if we’re coming.”
“Tonight? We just spent all afternoon drinking.”
“I’m very aware. But apparently Owen’s friends are only here for a few days and they want to make the most of it.” He’s scrolling through messages. “Garrett and Melissa are going too.”
Of course they are.
“I’m exhausted,” I say, sitting on the small couch.
“I know. But...” He looks up at me. “If we don’t go, they’re going to think something’s wrong. Or that we’re not serious. Or whatever story Garrett wants to tell himself about us.”
He’s right. Missing tonight would be weird and raise questions I don’t want to answer.
“What kind of club?”
“The kind with bottle service and a DJ, apparently. Owen’s friend knows a guy or something.
” Rodriguez stands, stretching, and I watch the strip of skin that shows when his shirt rides up before forcing myself to look away.
“Look, if you really don’t want to go, we won’t.
But I’m pretty good at this kind of thing.
Clubs, parties, keeping drunk people entertained.
I can run interference so you don’t have to deal with anyone you don’t want to. ”
“You’re good at clubs?”
“JuJu. I’m a professional hockey player in my twenties. I’ve been to more clubs than I can count.” He grins. “I know how to have a good time. And more importantly, I know how to make sure you have a good time.”
I should say no. Should claim exhaustion or a headache or literally any excuse that gets me out of this.
But the thought of Garrett and Melissa out celebrating while I hide in a hotel room makes my stomach turn.
“Fine. But if it’s terrible, we’re leaving early.”
“Deal.” He’s already pulling out clothes from his new pile. “You should wear that black dress. The one you brought in case the girls decided to go out.”
“How do you know what I brought?”
“I saw you unpacking, remember? And that dress is going to look incredible.” He pauses. “Plus Garrett’s going to lose his mind when he sees you in it.”
“This isn’t about Garrett.”
“Fine. The truth is that I’m going to lose my mind when I see you in it. I was just using Garrett as an excuse.”
My face gets hot and I grab the dress from my suitcase before he can see my reaction.
An hour later, I’m in the fitted black dress that hits mid-thigh, the kind of thing I bought specifically for going out but never actually thought I’d wear.
Definitely not considering it would be Rodriguez seeing me in it.
He’s in dark jeans and a black button-up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and when he sees me he stops.
His jaw actually drops slightly before he catches himself.
His fingers flex at his sides like he’s stopping himself from reaching for me.
“What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.
“Nothing. You just—” He shakes his head. “You look amazing.”
“Thanks.” I tug down the hem of the dress, it’s shorter than I wear most things. “You look good too.”
“I know.” The grin is back, but there’s something underneath it. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
“Hey.” He catches my hand, and I’m getting used to that now, the way he just reaches for me without any hesitation. “You look amazing and we’re going to have fun tonight. I promise.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“Watch me.”
And through everything, the exhaustion, the anxiety about seeing Garrett and Melissa, the confusion about what’s real and what’s performance, I actually believe him.