Page 1 of Out of Place

CHAPTER 1

Olivia

The vodka should burn as it trails down my throat, but I’m already too numb to feel it.

The room is spinning when I finally open my eyes, either from the multi-colored lights flashing in this club or the copious amount of alcohol I’ve consumed tonight. Either way, it makes my stomach churn, but I swallow it down.

My best friend, Serena, lets out a loud “Whoop!” as she slams her shot glass down on the bar.

The group of people surrounding us plays off her energy and chants for us to do one more. And we’ve never turned down a challenge, so I smile at the bartender and mouth, “One more.”

He shakes his head, probably worried that we’re going to throw up on his bar, but still slides us two more shots of vodka across the sticky bar.

Serena and I grab a glass, smile at each other, and clink them together before throwing them back. It slides down easy.

Another round of cheers from the random people around us.

We stumble away from the bar, leaning on each other for support. We’re both sticky and sweaty, and I’m sure my mascara looks just as bad as hers. Her formerly styled, bleach-blonde hair is now matted to her head. I pulled my hair back into a tight ponytail to avoid that. I tried to tell her, but she wouldn’t listen to me.

A guy I was talking to earlier—Brad? Bailey? Bartholomew?—wraps his arm around my waist.

“Are you guys celebrating something tonight?” he yells into my ear. The music from the club is pounding in my head. It feels like it gets louder as the night goes on.

“Celebrating?” I ask, confused. “No. Why?”

His eyes widen. “Oh. That was just a lot of shots. . .” He trails off.

I close one eye and squint the other to get him to stop spinning. “What’s your name again?”

“Mason.” Mason? Huh. That doesn’t sound familiar at all. I could’ve sworn it was Brad. He looks like a Brad. Mid. And probably boring as hell. I can’t imagine he’d be any fun in bed, either.

“Well, Mason,” I draw his name out, still not sure if I believe it’s his real name. “Are you here to judge me on my drinking habits or dance with me?”

He smiles. I think. Everything is blurry.

“Dance. Definitely dance.”

He takes my hand and pulls me out to the dance floor. Serena has already wandered off with whatever guy she’s had her eye on. Her only type is male and breathing, and I can’t say I’m much better.

Brad-Mason puts his hands on my hips and helps me sway to the music. I have no idea what song it is. It’s all just loud and pounding. We stay like that for several songs, I think. Or maybe it’s only one. Time is irrelevant at this point of the night.

“Do you need to sit down?” Brad- Mason asks.

“No. ’M fine.” The night is young. It’s not time to sit down yet.

“You’re just looking a little pale. And your eyes are closed,” he informs me.

“I’m just moving. Being one with the music, Brad.” Geez, why is he so judgy? If he plans on being a buzzkill all night, he can leave me alone. Thank you very much.

“My name is Mason.” Oh, right.

“’Nother drink,” I tell him, grabbing his hand and pulling him back toward the bar. I always feel naked without a drink in my hand while I’m partying.

“How much have you had to drink tonight?” he asks, condescension lacing his tone.

I groan. “Dunno. Does it matter?” We started drinking at Serena’s place while we got ready. We were going to stop for pizza on our way to the club, but the line at our favorite place was too long, so we agreed to a liquid-only diet tonight. We did two shots when we got here, and then at least three people bought me a drink. I did a few more shots. Another drink. It was a cycle that brought me right here to Daddy Brad-Mason telling me I’ve drunk too much.

“Who are you here with? Can they get you home?” Jesus Christ, this man is killing my vibe.