Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Len
I might be tipsy—and I am—but Zaiah dances like a dancing queen. No, that’s not right. Like Channing Tatum in Magic Mike . Or maybe a mix between the two. Whatever, I mean, Zaiah’s hips should definitely not be pressed this close to mine, but I can’t push him away.
It feels too good.
Like we’re in sync.
Like it’s only the two of us as a rainbow of bubbles cascade from the ceiling. The bubbles hit my arms and pop, making me giggle.
“This is fun,” I sigh.
He moves his lips to my ear. “How much did you drink, sweetie?”
I shrug, not wanting to tell him. I know exactly how many I’ve had. I needed a couple as soon as we arrived to muster up the courage to not keep pulling on Trish’s dress. The same dress that caught Zaiah’s attention in the first place. Then, I drank a couple more because Clark kept saying he’d never seen me wear anything like this, and even though it sounded like a compliment, he never actually complimented me.
“Do you—” I stop myself. Pretty sure fishing for compliments is not a good look.
“What?” he asks, pulling away, his hips still moving against mine, making mine sway.
I bite my tongue, and he touches the corner of my mouth. An electric shock moves through me. I blink up at him, lips buzzing. “Sorry.”
“Don’t say sorry. Tell me what’s up.”
I move closer, hugging him as I whisper-yell, “Does this dress look okay?”
He reaches up, holding the back of my head to say into my ear, “I think I heard wrong. I thought I heard you ask if you looked okay in that dress, but that can’t be doubt in your voice. Not when you are owning that dress like you are.”
“Really?”
“Really. It hugs every part of you in the best ways, Lenore.”
The husky tone in his voice sends a shiver through me, but that could also be the alcohol making me hear what I want to.
Do I want him to want me? No, I’m here with Clark. Right? Right.
“Clark didn’t compliment me.”
Zaiah steps back, and suddenly, my whole front is like a frigid iceberg. My body moves toward him, trying to recapture everything, but he holds me back with two arms. “Then he’s a clown, and you don’t need his approval.”
I give him a small smile, but he looks away.
My stomach drops. “Are you done dancing?”
Just as I pose the question the song stops, and my shoulders deflate. The moment is gone, stolen away like the few bass notes that end the song.
Without answering, Zaiah leads me through a throng of people that have moved in around us. When I fall against a few of them, he puts me in front of him and holds my hips.
“I’m fine.”
“Said every drunk person ever.”
“I’m feeling good,” I tell him. “I’m okay.”
Peering up, I spot our table and move that way. The closer we get, even darker clouds descend across Clark’s face. He’s been miserable since he picked me up. First, it was that Zaiah was coming. Second, it was that he hated the place I picked out. Who knows what it is this time.
“You got some moves, Len,” Adam says.
“Nah, it was all Zaiah.” I put an exclamation point on that comment when I trip over my own two feet. “ Oops .” I giggle, embarrassment ringing through me. “Not used to heels.”
“She’s fun,” Adam says as I sit back in the booth, making Clark scoot in.
Clark puts his arm around me, and I sink into it. It’s the first time he’s done that. We’ve kissed a little, still trying to perfect it like Zaiah said, but it’s not improving much. Or at all.
Zaiah takes one look at us and stands. “I’m going to get another drink.”
I pop up. “I’ll go with you.”
Both he and Clark help me sit back down. “Not this time,” Zaiah says, then spins and walks away.
“I’m perfectly capable,” I murmur.
Clark puts a hand on my bicep. “You’re drunk, Len.”
“So?”
He leans over. “It’s kind of embarrassing.”
I sit back, deflated, the area behind my eyes heating. “Sorry.”
“Hey,” Adam’s snap of a voice sounds from across the table. “She’s not embarrassing.”
Next to me, Clark stills. He waves his hand dismissively in the hockey player’s direction, and I watch as Adam’s eyes turn cold.
Clark leans in closer so he can speak into my ear. “You were all over him.”
“I…” Swallowing, I stop there. Maybe I was all over him. It certainly felt like it. I should probably apologize. “We’re just friends.”
“Are you sure about that?”
My answer, “Positively,” is shadowed by Adam jumping to his feet.
He eyes us, jaw working. “She’s fine.”
Clark sighs. “You don’t know her.”
Adam’s hands clench at his sides, and for a moment, I think we might have an issue, but then he pulls out his phone and turns his back, walking a few feet away.
How fucking embarrassing. Maybe I was acting stupid? Then Clark calling me out was even worse.
I turn toward him. “Are you going to dance with me?”
“With your instability?” he scoffs. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“But you wouldn’t dance with me when I was sober either.”
“Why are you being combative? It’s hard for me to dance when I don’t drink, and I have to drive us home.”
He’s right. I’m drunk and he can’t let loose with me because he’s being responsible. “I was celebrating,” I explain, less bitchy now.
“I know,” he says, patting my back. “The article was great. The poll, your resolution, it was fantastic, Len. You should be proud of yourself. Maybe, you know, you went a little too hard. You’re not used to drinking, right?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s okay.” He moves my head to his shoulder, and I take a deep breath. My body is jumpy, like it doesn’t want to sit still. It wants to do the first thing that pops into my head. It wants to say the first thing that dangles on the tip of my tongue.
I probably have been acting strangely. Freer than I normally do, so I should rein it in.
Adam comes back to the table holding his hand out. “Want to dance, Len?”
“I’m acting strange, I can’t.”
He gives me a weird look. “You’re one hundred percent fine. I want to see those moves.”
Clark pats my shoulder. “Actually, we’re going to head out.”
I sit up. “We are? I was having fun.”
He gives me a hard stare, and I shut my mouth.
“If she wants to stay, Z and I can take her back.”
Most of me wants to do that, but that seems inappropriate, doesn’t it? I second guess myself. I came here with Clark. Staying with two hockey players is a bad idea.
Two hockey players. Ugh, what am I doing?
Clark’s my date and he said I’m drunk, so we should get going if he wants to. It’s only right. Natural. Normal, even.
How many more adjectives can I come up with for natural?
I giggle, and now two guys are looking at me like I’ve lost it.
Scooting down the booth, I stand, grabbing the table so I don’t look like I’m drunk and do something extra embarrassing like fall over in front of everyone. I don’t need to be showing everyone my hoo-ha in this tight dress.
“Drunk Lenore Bares All” would make a funny headline, though.
I smile but hold back a little so I don’t have to spout the inner workings of my mind.
“We can take care of her,” Adam offers, moving in front of us and effectively blocking the exit.
“It’s cool,” Clark states, this time a little more forcefully.
I pat Adam’s arm. “Rain check on that dance. Then maybe I can convince you to burn that photo you have of me.”
“It’s digital. You can’t burn it,” Clark states.
Irritation slithers up my spine. “Metaphorically.”
Ignoring Adam altogether, Clark grabs my elbow and helps maneuver me through the crowd, but it’s not as stable as when Zaiah had my hips. Now that felt good. I can still feel his steady hands on me.
“Should we say bye to Zaiah?” I shout.
“I’m sure his pal will tell him.”
I laugh. “You said his pal .”
Despite Clark’s words, I search for him, and I’m pretty sure I spot him dancing with a girl.
Immediately, I turn away, swallowing. For some reason, my steps are more confident as I walk toward the exit.
The ride from Longville back to my dorm goes by in a blur. Clark isn’t talkative at all, so I keep replaying everything that happened over and over. First, through my eyes. Then, through Clark’s. Then finally, through Zaiah’s.
He had no problem dropping me for someone else. Which he should, really. But that probably means Clark was right. I was too drunk. I was embarrassing.
Clark pulls up to the curb by the front door and doesn’t even put the car in Park. I freeze for a moment. He’s not going to walk me up to the suite?
“My parents are coming to visit in the morning, so…”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say, fiddling with the doorknob. “What time should I be ready?”
“For?”
“To meet your parents.”
“Oh. Um…”
Oh shit. He wasn’t going to invite me. Jesus. I should throw myself off a bridge right now. Of course he doesn’t want me there.
“You know what? I’m going to bed,” I tell him, pushing the car door open. “See you.”
I nearly trip over the curb, but luckily save face before closing the door and walking up to the building. Clark pulls away and is out of sight when I get to the door and search for my key. I dig all through my little purse and don’t see anything but my ID, credit card, a few dollars, and my phone.
Maybe it dropped in Clark’s car? No way am I calling him now. Not when I just put my foot in my mouth.
I hug my arms around myself and brace against the cold wind before looking through my contacts for Zaiah and pressing his name, my stomach churning. He’s half an hour away, and I don’t want to pull him from having a good time, but another burst of cold air rushes past me, and I run my hands up and down my arms.
“Len, are you okay?”
“Hey.” I nibble on my lip.
“Hey, are you okay? Where are you?”
The concern in his voice makes my voice crack. “I’m locked out.”
“Sweetie, where are you?”
“Outside Knightley.” An entire body shiver sends my teeth chattering.
“Where’s Clark?”
“He dropped me off. Are you in the vicinity to come let me in?”
A tinny voice in the background that must be Adam asks, “He dropped her off? Dick.”
“Oh wait, here comes someone,” I tell them. Ugh, could this day get any worse? I wave at the person coming up to the door. “Lost my key.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen you around. I’ll let you in.”
“Lenore?” A pause. “Lenore?”
“Yeah, I’m here,” I respond as another shiver runs through me. “I’m in the vestibule now.”
“Okay, I’m coming. I should be there in ten.”
“No, stay. I can ask someone here to let me in.”
“Sweetie, I’m already in the car heading your way. Be there in ten.”
That same tinny voice says, “You’re a—” before the line goes dead.
I peer at the screen to confirm he’s not there anymore, then call out thank you to the person who let me in.
Warmth wraps around me, but I still keep my arms folded in front of me. This is exactly what I didn’t want when I decided to wear this dress. The harsh florescent lights spotlight me. At least at the club, I could hide in the dark, in the brief respites between the strobe and laser beams.
I’m halfway up the stairs when I realize I should’ve taken the elevator. The banister is my lifeline, and I cling to it before getting to the second floor. Then I realize I went the wrong way down the hallway. Not because I’m drunk, but because my legs are pale. Too pale, and it’s all I can look at as I make my way around.
I look ridiculous.
Our room number is like a beacon, and I finally get to it and lean against the door. My knees want to give way, but I can’t sit on the floor in my dress or I’ll definitely be showing off my hoo-ha to anyone who walks by.
I stare at my phone, checking for the time I called Zaiah. I simultaneously regret and can’t wait for him to get here. Crawling into my bed right now sounds like a good plan. How am I going to face Clark the next time I see him? And I’m definitely going to have to see him because I’m pretty sure he has my key. Plus, there’s work and all that.
I’ll blame it on the alcohol.
Hey, isn’t that a song?
Blame it on the a-a-a-a-alcohol.
I’ve only sung the chorus more than a dozen times, since I don’t know any of the other words, before loud thumps echo on the steps.
Zaiah moves into view, and I have to press my lips together. Half relief, half this icky feeling I can’t shake fills me.
“Hi,” I start.
His face is grim, his lips a straight line.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t say sorry.”
“Well, I am.”
He slides his key into the lock and peers at me. “You’re going to have to step away so I can open the door.”
“Not until you say it’s okay.”
He tilts his head, confusion etching into his perfect features.
“Say it’s okay, and you’re not mad at me.”
He cups my face. “Lenore, I’m not mad at you. I’m worried about you. There’s a difference.”
Maybe that’s worse. My skin tingles where he touches me, and I wrap my arms tighter around my front, feeling more than exposed in this outfit.
I step aside, breaking the connection, and he opens the door. After it swings out, he grabs my hips like he did at Bubbles and guides me backward. “I’ll get you some water.”
The way he’s staring is unnerving, and I can’t help but gaze right back, noticing for the first time that gold flecks dot his brown eyes. Immediately, I look away. He’s so handsome it hurts. Before today, it was easier to think of him as only my roommate. My stomach squeezes with the thought that I’m screwing all of this up. “I’m not sure I’m feeling good anymore. The cold breeze stole it away.”
“The cold breeze, huh? You’re definitely a writer.” He leads me to the couch and helps me sit, lingering to make sure I’m okay before going into the kitchen.
A cupboard slams, and I jump. Whirling to peer over my shoulder, I spot Zaiah there, hands gripping the countertops with a furious look on his face. I am screwing this up, and the thought is sobering. “See. I knew you were mad.”
“I’m not mad at you.”
“Well, that’s obviously a lie because I’m the only one here.”
I sit back on the couch with my arms folded over my chest. I must look like a petulant child, so I let my arms slide down, but my pout remains. This night was supposed to be a celebration, but it has turned into a nightmare. Clark ditched me, he doesn’t want me to meet his parents, and now, Zaiah is mad at me.
I swallow. “Is it because I stole you away from dancing with that girl? Or made you come home early?”
“Girl? What girl? I only danced with you.”
“I saw—”
Suddenly, he’s in front of me, gaze in shadows with his lips a straight line, effectively cutting me off from my thought. I haven’t seen him this angry before, not even when facing down a defenseman.
He hands me the water. “I’m not mad at you, Lenore. I’m going to kill that editor, though.”
“Clark? Why?”
“You don’t leave a girl outside her dorm.”
“He didn’t know I lost my key.”
“He left without taking you safely upstairs to your room when the whole reason he wanted you to leave Bubbles is because he thought you were too drunk. Do you get that, Len? He leaves a drunk girl at the curb to fend for herself and then drives off? What kind of asshole does that?”
“He’s busy tomorrow,” I repeat Clark’s excuse on autopilot, like it’s the only justification necessary.
“I don’t care if he was prepping for the end of the fucking world, you get a girl home safely. Especially when she’s your date.”
His chest heaves, and his sharp words cut like a knife. He’s right. Embarrassment sinks its ugly claws into me. I can’t even get a guy I’m dating to treat me well, and to make matters worse, Zaiah witnessed the whole thing.
I look away. “I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying that!”
I gulp down some water, willing myself not to cry.
“None of this is your fault,” he says, voice softening.
“You’re being so nice.” I try to smile for him. “Are you sure you’re a hockey player?”
His face morphs to confusion then a slight smile. “Your brain is being funny, sweetie. I’m not sure where you’re connecting some thoughts to others, but if I was your date, no way in hell would I be leaving you outside your place. Alone. In the cold. Freezing, in that dress.”
He sweeps his gaze across me, and goose bumps sprout in its wake. “Well, you wouldn’t have to because we live together.”
“Even if we didn’t.”
Unfortunately, this scenario he’s conjuring in his head would never come to fruition. He doesn’t see me like that. I place the water on the end table. “I need your expert dating advice.”
His shoulders fall forward. “Lenore, I don’t want to be your dating coach anymore.”
My mouth opens in shock. “We had an agreement.” He studies my face, but I don’t give him a chance to back out. “He doesn’t want me to meet his parents… But you let me meet your parents.”
“Good, he’s a dick.”
I scoff, meeting his hard stare. “He is not. I wouldn’t be attracted to dicks.”
He presses his lips together, eyes glittering. I watch him until the realization of what I just said hits.
I groan in frustration. “Obviously, not what I meant. Dicks are perfectly fine. I wouldn’t call them cute or beautiful. I saw yours once. It was…”
Magnificent.
Drool-worthy.
Puckable, for sure.
He drops to his knees. Grasping my head between his large palms, he says, “Don’t finish that sentence. I’m wearing thin tonight, sweetie, and the last thing I need is for you to test my scruples.”
The warm and fuzzies swarm my stomach, and my face burns at his touch. “I like when you call me sweetie.”
“You’re killing me,” he groans, his brown eyes staring straight into mine.
A heaviness blankets us, anchoring this moment. My heart slams in my chest, the beat urging me forward. My gaze flicks to his lips. “We should kiss.”
He blinks. “What?”
Yeah, what ? My brain fires a red flag, and I pivot from my original thought. If he rejects me, the aftermath would be devastating. I must have misread everything. “You should kiss me to see if I’m a good kisser. Maybe it’s me who’s the problem, you know, with me and Clark. Maybe I kiss like a dead fish. You’ll be honest with me.”
His thumb strokes my cheek. He studies me for so long it feels like he’s read me from cover to cover. Like the book of my life is in my eyes and he’s just indulged. “I’ll kiss you because I want to, Len, and for no other reason. Do you understand?”