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I want a pair of my own.
But I'd much rather have my best friend back. How long has she been ignoring me? How long has she been into hanging out and smoking weed?
She's been different since she started seeing Carter, but she was different before that too.
Why did it take me so long to realize that Rory isn't my middle school best friend anymore?
She's nothing like the girl who used to scream over boy bands, help me study for science tests, and stay up late eating raw cookie dough and watching movies her parents/my brothers deemed inappropriate for kids our age.
I don't want to be here.
I want to leave, now. I want to call Kit. I want his voice in my ears and his arms around me.
Rory looks to me with a smile. Her face lights up.
I melt. Maybe we can still be friends, even if she's not the same as she was in middle school. It's not like I'm the same either.
Maybe this Carter thing is a phase.
I miss being her friend.
"You came." She jumps to her feet. "I miss you, Pipes. What are you drinking?"
"Whatever you're having."
She nods and pours a mix of tequila and orange juice in a cup. I look around the room for a snack and find only sour cream and onion potato chips.
I nod to the chips. "Anything else to eat?"
"I don't think so." She hands over the drink. "Let me ask Carter. Hold on."
"Sure."
She pulls me into a tight hug, and moves into the main room.
The drink isn't bad for a cocktail. I take another sip. Then another. It is Spring Break. This may be a lame party but it's still a party and I'm still a college student.
I'm supposed to be drinking and hooking up with guys. I'm supposed to be having fun.
I'm not going to sit here feeling sorry for myself, thinking about how badly I want to drive to Kit's house and demand he take me to his bed.
Okay, maybe I'll think a little about being in Kit's bed.
About his dark eyes, and his dark hair, and those strong, calloused fingers. And that tongue piercing and what it would feel like against my tongue.
Against my nipples.
Against my clit.
God, it's hot in here.
I take another sip of my drink. Then another. Then the thing is empty. The alcohol isn't helping me cool down, but it is lowering all the guardrails that usually scream you can't think about Kit like that.
This kitchen has ugly yellow tile and uglier fluorescent lights. It's like Carter, somehow average and ugly at once. I really hate Carter. And I hate him monopolizing Rory's time. And I hate the way she's ignoring me.
And that I've been taking it.
I pour another drink. This time, I nurse it more slowly. There's nothing to see outside the kitchen window but the white stucco on the house next door. There's nothing to hear but the laughs of people who are very, very stoned.
