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He huffs a short laugh. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”
Feeling my face heat, I shake my head. “I just meant thank you for being cool with…this.” I wave a hand at our surroundings, not that he can probably see it. “I know first times are supposed to be like…a big deal, romantic, or-or?—”
He laughs, and I try not to bristle.
Easy… It’s not a mean laugh.
His hand moves to my shoulder. “Babe, your hetero upbringing is showing.”
I snort at that.
“It’s okay to still want that stuff,” he murmurs, talking right against my ear, his breaths hot against my skin. “But it’s also perfectly okay to not want that.”
Throat tight, I nod.
I feel him about to say something, when my phone lights up as it starts ringing again.
Growling under my breath, I hit End.
“Ah, so that’s why.”
I frown, and step back.
“Let me guess, straight?”
“Yeah…” I say faintly. He probably doesn’t even hear me.
He’s also still in love with my dead sister, whose birthday just so happens to be today as well… and he’s likely losing his shit just like every year, and I’m…
Fine.
Totally, a-okay, fine.
But of course, I say none of that.
I clear my throat, and pocket my phone. “Come on, I need a drink.”
Sam chuckles under his breath, and crowds my back. This time, I can’t help but stiffen. He senses it, and gives me space. If he’s offended, he doesn’t let on. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking, because when we get back to the table, he quickly, quietly makes his escape.
Oops.
Trying not to let it get to me, I drown all my doubts and second-guesses in more shots. More cocktails. It’s my twenty-first birthday. Mine, just mine…
The one time I fucking hate that word, and all it carries.
It’s what you wanted, isn’t it? a voice slithers up from somewhere deep inside me. All yours, all yours, all yours…
Squeezing my eyes shut, I pound down another shot of tequila. I don’t even grab a lime wedge this time. I welcome the burn. Wiping my runny nose with the back of my hand, I blink rapidly as the world around me tilts…and keeps tilting.
The DJ spins one song into another, and my lip crooks up when a guy starts singing and I instantly recognize the lyrics. Avril’s Lavigne’s “I’m With You.” Some remix or cover from the sounds of it. My entire body seems to vibrate with the pulse-pounding beat.
Slumped against someone—or maybe just the curved edge of the booth—I fumble around my pockets for my phone when I realize it’s not just me vibrating. But my phone too.
This time, whatever fucks I had that kept me from answering before, are gone.
Slamming my thumb on Answer, I bring it to my ear, and say loudly, “Yes?”
There’s a long quiet pause—long enough to make me wonder if I even actually hit Answer at all. I’m just about to throw my phone, when he speaks.
