“Last year,” he shrugs.
“Sam!”
“I could’ve sworn I’d renewed them, but I guess I forgot.”
“Jesus,” I mutter. “Yeah, let’s just take my car. I don’t even want to know what that ticket would look like.”
“Neither do I,” he chuckles.
I quickly navigate through the crowded Seattle streets. Clearly, everyone else had similar ideas—get your partying out of your system before visiting Mom and Dad for a turkey dinner.
I park my car in a parking garage a few blocks from the club and pay an exorbitant fee for the evening. Derek pats my back and smiles at me. “First round’s on me, second round’s on Sam, since you just paid for parking.”
“Deal,” I say gratefully.
We walk to the club, and I’m already regretting not wearing pants. I rub my arms through my jacket as goosebumps break out across my skin, and I mentally curse Sam for forcing me to change.
We’re assaulted by thumping bass and blinding lights as we enter the club. We flash our IDs at the doorman and receive smudged stamps on the backs of our hands. The club is fullof writhing, sweating bodies, and Sam has to shoulder his way through the crowd, holding Derek’s hand, who in turn has a hold of me. We make it to the bar, and I cringe when I hear the cost of a single drink.
Alright, so this was a bad idea.
I knew I wasn’t going to have as much fun out at a club as I would at The Pour House, but I thought I would at least muster up some small form of excitement. Not sure if that’ll happen.
After we have our drinks in hand, Sam bulldozes through the crowd a second time to an empty standing table. Derek yells something about the dance floor, gesturing wildly at the bright lights before taking off.
“Okay, so what’s the deal?” Sam yells over the music. “Why are we out at this loud-ass club instead of our favorite bar?”
I shrug. “I just wanted a change of scenery,” I say, starting to sound like a broken record.
He raises a skeptical eyebrow at me, clearly not believing a single word out of my mouth. “You can tell me, Summer,” he says seriously. “Whatever it is… you can tell me.”
“I know,” I respond, so quietly it’s nearly a whisper. Sam waits patiently for me to continue, sipping on his margarita. “I did something… bad.”
“I do bad things daily, I’m going to need more context here.”
I take a large sip of my apple martini and resist the urge to rub my temples; a headache is starting to throb behind my eyes. Derek waves wildly at us from the dance floor, and out of the corner of my eye, I catch Sam sharply shaking his head at him and waving him off.
“I made out with our professor,” I let out in a rush.
Sam blinks at me. “Which one?”
I roll my eyes. “Seriously?”
“Professor Stirling?” he shouts in disbelief.
“Shut up,” I hiss, though I doubt anyone can hear anything over the thumping music.
“Uh, I’m sorry, when did this happen?”
“Halloween.”
“You were with us on Halloween.”
“It was in the bathroom.”
“Summer!” he gasps. “You got nasty with our Counseling Theories professor in a bar bathroom?”
“It was not my finest moment,” I grumble.
