One hour into the party, I’m reminded why I don’t like attending them.
The music and chatter is too loud. The place smells like cheap alcohol. The air is warm, almost suffocating, and I resist the urge to run away when a linebacker sinks his big body next to mine on the sofa. Now I’m squished between him and another football player on my other side.
I’m miserable.
Somehow, I got roped into joining a game of spin the bottle. I thought we stopped playing this after middle school—high school, at the latest? My cheer mates and the guys from the football team, all gathered in a circle around a spinning beer bottle, seem to be having the time of their life.
Addie is somewhere to my far left. She’s not playing this game, too occupied exchanging spits with a fellow music student, grinding away in his lap like they’re seconds from actually screwing.
Michaela and Brayden—another football player—just finished spending seven minutes in heaven, except they’ve come out looking frustrated at each other.
I don’t like the expression that my best friend is sporting. I start to get up to follow after her when people around me start to laugh. “Marlow and Hank! Your turn!”
I freeze.
The two ends of the beer bottle landed on me and Hank, a wide receiver on the team. He shoots me a wink. I practically curdle. It’s not that Hank is unattractive or a jackass…it’s just…I like his coach. His older, hotter, dirty-mouthed coach.
I should have never sat down in this circle despite their insistence. I should have never come to this party, period. On top of being miserable, now I’m uncomfortable. I don’t want to be stuck in a closet with Hank for seven minutes. I don’t want to kiss or talk to him.
I spring up from my seat like my butt caught fire. “S-Sorry, guys. I don’t feel like playing anymore.”
Their disappointing calls follow me as I skirt out of the expansive living room and head towards the hallway where I saw Michaela and Brayden heading.
There’s a lot of people present tonight. I push past a few gyrating bodies dancing to the beat before spotting the tail end of Michaela’s lilac skirt…
As she and Brayden head up the staircase?
“Michaela!” I holler, fastening on them. “Wait up!”
My best friend startles and whirls around to stare at me, surprised and face flush. Her lip-gloss is smeared at the edges of her mouth, letting me know her and Brayden did in fact kiss. Huh. Interesting considering I thought these two couldn’t stand each other.
Michaela swallows nervously and darts a glance at Brayden, who’s already stepped up the staircase. He hangs back patiently,shoving his hands in his varsity jacket, his gaze cool and pinned on my best friend.
“Hey, Marlow,” she says. “What’s up?”
I pause when I reach her. “Are you okay?”
“Y-Yeah.” She darts another glance at Brayden and blushes even more. “We were just going upstairs to, um, talk some more.”
Ah. They were planning on hooking up and I’m essentially cock-blocking them. “Oh, I see.” I inhale sharply. “Listen, I think I’m going to leave.”
She sputters, swaying towards me. “Wait, what? Already?”
“Yeah.” I shrug to appear casual. “I’m not really feeling it and I’d rather just head back to yours.” So I grab my belongings, find a motel to stay, and finish off the night with herbal tea and reruns of Gilmore Girls. I ignore the sliver of guilt at the thought of leaving Thane and Michaela’s home without at least telling her, but it overrides all the emotions I’m currently experiencing. “Addie’s busy and well, you also look like you’re, uh—” My gaze bounces between her and Brayden. “—going to be busy so yeah. I’m just going to leave.”
Michaela’s face falls. “Okay. I’ll come with you.”
“No!” I rush out. “You don’t have to leave with me. Please stay. I know you want to.” Michaela and Brayden exchange another glance and it’s clear they both have plans. “Look, I’ll just catch a cab and see you back at your place later, all right?”
That seems to pacify her. “Okay, but instead of a cab, please call Thane.”
Yeah, that’s not happening.
“Please, Marlow. I’ll feel better knowing you’re going home with him than a random cab driver at this time of the night.” She fumbles with her phone. “Here, let me give you his number?—”
“No need,” I interject swiftly, waving my own cell. “He gave me his number before we left.”
She gives me a quizzical look.
