Page 80 of Twisted Needs

Raúl nods approvingly. "Ah, ya veo. Hermosa."

“Claro.”

“Lee, where the fuck did you learn Spanish?” Malloy asks, craning his entire body around.

“Soy de Barcelona.” Lee shrugs. “I speak Spanish and Catalan and a little French. Not as good as Anders’ French, but pretty decent.”

“Bar-the-lona,” Aviva says dramatically.

“Bar-the-lona,” I echo.

Twenty minutes later, we’re cutting through the line at Crossbody while the bouncer waves Malloy and Vandy through like royalty.

The club hits all at once the second we step inside.

Bass rattles through the floor hard enough that I can feel it in my chest, flashing blue and gold lights sweeping over the crowd in uneven bursts. The air smells like expensive perfume, spilled liquor, sweat, and whatever citrus-scented cleaning product the staff used before opening. It’s warm enough that my jacket immediately feels like a stuffy, hot straightjacket.

Our booth sits upstairs overlooking the dance floor below. Aviva immediately starts ordering rounds like she’s trying to singlehandedly keep the bar in business at the expense of her boyfriend, while Malloy and Vandy get into some argument about music that Vandy very clearly loses. Lee and Fatin disappear less than ten minutes after we arrive. Nobody is surprised. Charlie also vanishes, which is even less of a shock. She’s a wanderer.

By the time Seth shows up, I’ve got enough alcohol in my system that everything feels pleasantly warm and fuzzy. The kind of drunk where everybody suddenly seems funnier than they really are, which, arguably, is the best kind of drunk.

My head feels quiet for about five whole minutes before I cave and reread the texts Parker sent me while I was in the car. I’m not quite sure which mental illness I have that makes it impossible to let any of my wounds heal, but it feels like Parker is some sort of nasty infection that refuses to go away.

Pet’ka

Can you say something?

Please

Just come home.

I leave him on read.

“Hey, gorgeous.” Seth slides into the booth beside me, throwing an arm around my shoulders before kissing my cheek. Normally I’d roll my eyes and tell him he’s embarrassing. Tonight, I let him. Actually…fuck it.

I grab his jaw and kiss him. The surprise lasts all of half a second before he’s kissing me back. His hand rests against my hip while the music pounds around us, blue light flashing across his face every few seconds. For a moment, I let myself sink into it.

What I like about Seth is that everything with him is uncomplicated. He’s not trying to change my life. He’s not trying to fix me. He’s not looking for forever…he’s just here for a fun time.

“Mm.” I pull back with a grin. “Hey, Sethie.”

“Drunk Anders missed me,” he says, brushing his nose against mine. “Drunk Anders tastes like sugary cocktails.”

I laugh. “You need to catch up,” I tell him, fisting the bottom of his shirt. “I wanna dance.”

“Since when?”

“Drunk Anders likes dancing.” I point to myself. “Drunk Anders likes to have fun.”

Seth pours himself a beer from one of the pitchers. “Good for Drunk Anders.” Some of it sloshes over the rim. Without thinking, I grab a napkin and start soaking it up. He raises his brows. “Wow. Drunk Anders is suspiciously responsible.”

“Yeah, well. I contain multitudes.”

“That’s so hot, babe. You know what—” I roll my eyes. That’s code for “let’s go fuck in the bathroom.”

“Bathroom?” he asks hopefully. There it is. I’m pretty fluent in Slutty Seth talk.

“Jesus Christ.”