“Let’s all take a shot, yeah?” Cassie suggests, looking between the three of us.
Why is Grace suddenly invited? Idefinitelywantherto leave.
“Uh—” Before I can finish my thought, I’m interrupted.
“Lead the way,” Atticus says, gesturing toward the far door like he knows this house better than its owner.
Has he… has he been here before? The thought makes me nauseous.
Remember why he’s here, dumbass, my inner voice demands.
With that in mind, I follow silently as we make our way into the kitchen.
Once around the island, Cassie starts to lay out plastic shot glasses.
“What do you want to drink, Cam?” she asks, pointing to a few bottles that seem to be overflow from the bar in the living room.
“Uhm.” My eyes dart between the options.
Listen, it shouldn’t be that hard to decide what booze you’re gonna drink. Buteverythingis a hard decision for me. What I wear, what I eat, and what hobbies I partake in. Having lived a life so complicated, so overwhelming, where no one seems to care about what you do or what happens to you—you kind of start struggling with even the most mundane of things.
Like everyday decisions. Like dictating your own movements. Like what the fuck to drink at your own party.
“He’ll drink what I brought,” Atticus interjects, pouring the expensive whiskey into my shot glass.
And… and it’s nice. Not having to think, not having to wonder if I’ve made the right choice, not being alone in deciding.
“Then we all will!” Cassie shouts, lining up a few more little plastic cups.
I lift my gaze from the table to Atticus as he finishes pouring, and as we all grab our shots, his eyes meet mine.
“Cheers,” he says lowly, and my heart thunders so loudly I’m afraid that even over the music, everyone in the room will be able to hear it.
“Cheers!” the girls yell, and I give a small nod, unwilling to trust my own voice.
The whiskey doesn’t burn on the way down, but I’m unsure if that’s due to the consequence of how much I’ve already consumed or the quality of the liquor.
“Let’s dance,” Grace suggests as we throw our plastic cups in the trash, her hand snatching up mine.
Cassie giggles, making an obscene motion behind Grace’s back. One that indicates a blowjob, as she moves her fisted hand and tongues the inside of her cheek.
“Actually, I should—”
“No buts, hottie! You’re dancing.” Grace drags me out of the kitchen and into the living room, joining the few others dancing in the center.
Some R&B song is blaring through the speakers as she releases me and begins to move, rolling her hips and making eyes at me. Clearly, she’s not new to this scene.
Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes, willing myself to enjoy this. To ignore the thought of Cassie and Atticus alone in thekitchen, towantGrace’s hands on me, to desire grinding against her in Cassie’s living room.
Then, I let her place her hands on my shoulders, and I begin to move too. Not as sensuously, because I really doubt I have that in me, but dancing nonetheless.
“You know,” Grace begins, pressing her hips into me. “I’ve always thought you were very sexy.”
“Didn’t you have a boyfriend?” I ask, my hands tentatively falling to her waist.
This is what I’m supposed to do, right? At our high school grad party, I danced just like this with Cassie.
Grace just laughs. “Yep. Idid. But that doesn’t mean I was blind.”
