Track 15 #2
I turn to Brian, who’s passing me another shot of tequila. I nod a thank you and hold my glass up with the rest of the group before I toss its contents down my throat and slam my glass on the table.
I chase the shot with another beer and keep the pattern going until the faces in front of me start to blur together.
Like a perfect medicine, the gnawing anxiousness begins to subside, it's magic melting my thoughts and feelings into warm, languid puddles.
I grab a lime off the plate at the center of the table, holding it between my teeth while I suck the juices out to compliment the shot, finally relaxing for the first time in hours. In days. In fucking weeks.
I drunkenly sway in place, letting the calm settle into my veins.
In the next second, I’m being spun around, the alcohol in my stomach swirling as the world unfocuses completely. Warm lips meet mine, a tongue sweeping into my mouth and stealing the lime from my lips.
My eyes close instinctively, and my lips fall into the familiar motion of a kiss. But everything about it feels wrong. The wrong lips. The wrong tongue. My hands come forward, taking whoever it is by the shoulder and pulling them off me.
Macey smiles at me, her red nails coming up to grab the lime wedge from her lips.
Rage boils over inside me. “What the fuck, Macey!”
“What?” She shrugs with a devilish smirk. “That was the last lime.” Her sultry smile churns in my stomach, and I wipe at my lips with the tips of my fingers. My whole face twists in disapproval.
I grunt angrily as I turn to make my way to the bar. My steps are cut short, and a sharp coldness runs down my spine. Frosted blue eyes stare back at me in shock.
“Alana,” I breathe, but she’s already turning back into the crowd, swimming through the sea of people on the parquet dance floor. I try to follow her, but it’s hard to make her out through the blurred faces that pass me by.
Anxiety quivers in my gut as my eyes search fervently along the bar top’s edge.
And then I see it—that illuminated halo of golden-streaked hair shining brightly under the night’s lights.
My eyes take her in while her back is still towards me, her elbows resting on the bar.
Her navy blue sweater is tucked neatly into her leather miniskirt, and it shows every inch of her perfect curves.
One look at her has my heart beating rapidly, other parts growing eager.
I move closer to her. “Allie—”
“Two tequilas, please,” she orders loudly from the bartender, ignoring me. She’s leaning so far over the bar, I think her ass might slip out of her skirt.
I move close behind her, keeping a safe distance as I lean into her ear. “Allie, that wasn’t what it looked like.”
“Make it three,” she says louder. The bartender obliges, filling multiple small glasses with the clear liquid. She brings the first to her lips and tilts her head back, pouring it into her mouth.
“Alana.”
Then the second.
“Alana, would you look at me!”
She slams both glasses down on the bar before she turns to me slowly. Her icy cold glare finds mine, and it cuts through me like a knife, leaving all my words dead on my tongue.
“Don’t worry, Jake,” she says as she lifts the last of her shots. “We’re not even friends anymore. It was never my business who you fuck in the first place.” She pushes the glass into my chest with a twisted smile, then turns and walks away, her high ponytail whipping me in the face as she spins.
I clench my jaw, my nostrils flaring as I let out a frustrated breath. I take the shot, slamming it down beside the others and giving myself a full two minutes to reset before I make my way back to my circle.
When I get there, I’m surprised to find Nate with his arm draped around Alana’s shoulders. He introduces her to everyone as Hot Friend, and she rolls her eyes with an amused smile before shaking each of their hands and correcting her name.
Her eyes find mine, full of accusation. We need to talk, I mouth, but she just ignores me and turns her attention back to my friends.
“This song is so good!” she announces to no one in particular as she begins to dance in place. I move around the table and stand next to her, leaning over it. My jaw is set so tight, it might break.
I watch her pretend to be anything but pissed for all of thirty seconds.
“We need to talk, Alana,” I say, low enough for only her to hear.
“Ugh, I need a beer. Anyone else need—”
Before she can finish her sentence, Vince is already passing her the fresh one in his hand—an IPA.
“Here you go, darlin’,” he says with a charming smile.
I almost scoff to myself knowing she’s about to decline.
She hates heavy beers, specifically IPA’s, and is even less fond of the stereotypical guys like Vince who drink them.
Instead, she grins back in response, and my fucking blood boils.
To add insult to injury, he adds, “You just let me know if you need anything else, alright?”
Her smile deepens.
I grind my teeth to keep from saying something I’ll regret.
When Nate and Vince announce they’re going to the bar for another round, Alana offers to join them, turning her back to me as she follows them.
I grab her by the elbow, pulling her back to me before I can think about it. “Don’t,” I say into her ear.
She turns to me with an angry glare, and it lands like a punch in the gut. We stand there in a silent war, our eyes locked and loaded with the words our hearts are screaming to let out. Then she shimmies out of my grasp and moves forward through the crowd. Away from me.
I close my eyes and release a frustrated breath.
I watch her land at the bar, smiling between Nate and his scumbag friend.
Then I contemplate punching them both directly in the mouth. Vince for smiling too fucking prettily at her. Nate just for good measure.
But instead of freaking out or losing my cool, I do what I do best. I turn around and walk out the front door.
Drunken laughter erupts in the groups of smokers along the sidewalk.
The blaring music continues to pound in my head with each step I take as I march to my truck.
I fish my keys from my pocket, the metal cool against my palm, and tell myself this is what she wanted—space, distance.
She wanted me out, so that’s what I need to give her.
But if that’s what she wants, why did she come here, that voice in my head challenges. Why did she come to your place? And without Lia? There’s no way she didn’t come here for you.
I won’t deny it’s a possibility. Maybe she did come here for me. But it doesn't really matter, does it? Because she’s in there, and I’m out here.
I stare at my own reflection in the window, settling on the cold dark stare looking back at me.
Something inside of me twists hard. My chest aches like my heart is trying to claw its way out, and I know why.
For the first time in my life, walking away doesn’t feel like peace.
Letting go doesn’t feel like the right thing to do.
This? This feels like losing a part of my soul.
It feels like giving up the one thing that ever made me feel alive. And dammit, I don’t fucking want to.
I curse under my breath and slam my hand against the truck.
Then I turn back toward the noise and chaos I just escaped from, fueled with a mission I don’t care to calm.
Because I’ve never felt anything like this before—never wanted anyone like this before—and I’ll be damned if I let her walk out of my life without a fight.
If she wants distance, too fucking bad. If she wants space, she better look at the stars. She’s not getting either from me. Not anymore.
I weave through the bodies crowding the street, the bass rattling the ground beneath my boots. Every step feels electric—fast, reckless, alive.
She can be mad. She can yell and scream. She can tell me to fuck off for all I care.
But she’s not walking away thinking I didn’t fight for her.
And I’m not walking away until she kills me.
I shove the door open, the music and lights crashing over me again. My pulse is a war drum in my ears, my breath sharp and unsteady.
I don’t know what the hell I’ll do when I find her.
I just know I’m not leaving without her knowing she’s the only thing that ever made me feel like even the stars have purpose.
When I get to the table, Gerry is the only one there, typing away on his phone.
I take a look around the crowded space. I see some of the people we were with melting into other groups, some dancing along with the base that’s banging in my chest. I scan the crowd repeatedly, only looking for one girl and come up empty.
Eventually, I turn to Gerry.
“Where’s everybody else?” I yell over the heavy music.
He shrugs. “Brian’s with some football dudes at the bar. Nate followed Macey and her friends onto the dance floor. And Vince walked off with Hot Friend.”
I do a double take, nearly giving myself whiplash in the process. “Who?”
Gerry looks up from his phone. “Hot Friend.” He shrugs. “I don’t remember her name, but that’s how Nate introduced her.” He returns to his precious device.
Fuck.
I scan the crowd harder, my vision noticeably unfocused as one face morphs into another. I can’t see shit from eye level, so I move to the stairs, taking two at a time as I aim for a higher vantage point.
I look down from the second level, searching for hair that shines in the light. Anger begins to roil in my gut, climbing up my chest with heat. It’s clouding my judgement, coaxing my thoughts. I can feel the way it’s clouding my mind. But I can’t stop it.
Relief calms my nerves when I spot her, but then rage finds me. Her arms are up above her head. Her eyes are closed, her head tilted back as she sways to the beat. Vince’s hands are low on her waist as he dances with her. One hand moves to cup her face, and he pulls her into him.
Before I can see what happens next, I’m sprinting down the stairs, onto the dance floor, and pushing through the crowd until I get to them.