Page 26 of Fame & Rhythm

I know this is wrong.

But I can’t bring myself to care.

At the bar, Caleb is still trying to charm the heiress, and when she sets her champagne down to touch his chest, I get an idea. This one will take a bit more finesse, since Caleb might actually spot me. So I circle behind her, pretending to study a menu while really watching her and Caleb. She bursts into this loud, ridiculous laugh at something he says, and when he glances away like even he’s embarrassed by it, I slide my hand across the bar and lift her champagne without either of them noticing. Then I duck behind a decorative partition and watch her turn back for her drink.

The confusion on her face is instant.

And I slap a hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh, but a giggle escapes anyway.

Her eyes go wide. Then she frowns and starts scanning the bar, then the floor, as if the glass might have magically vanished into thin air. She says something to Caleb, and he rolls his eyes before motioning for the bartender to bring her another.

That only makes me laugh harder.

I take a sip of the champagne, and this one is the best yet. Crisp, bubbly, and far easier to drink than the others. I finish it quickly and watch Caleb lead the heiress outside with her replacement glass.

A little pout tugs at my mouth.

Well, there goes that game.

The thought makes me laugh out loud, which turns into a hiccup, which somehow makes me laugh even more. I feel fantastic, light and floaty, like nothing in the world can touch me.

So maybe alcohol really does work.

I abandon the empty glass on the nearest table and head off in search of something else.

As I pass a small crowd, I bump into someone. “Oops, excuse me,” I say, though my words come out a little strange.

I shrug it off and keep going.

At another table, a rapper is too busy talking to notice when I swipe his beer and duck away behind yet another partition. I take a cautious sip and blink in surprise.

I actually like this one.

It’s cold and frothy and, somehow, better than the rest, so I drink it down faster than I should. A second later, a burp rumbles up from my chest and bursts out before I can stop it.

My hand flies to my mouth.

I glance around wildly, but no one has heard over the music.

Thank God.

I start laughing again, but before I can go hunting for another drink, my stomach gives an ugly twist. The room sways around me, and suddenly I’m far too hot. Heat floods through me, thick and stifling, while my stomach creeps up toward my throat.

Okay, maybe another drink can wait.

My first instinct is to find Aston, but the second his name pops into my head, I remember exactly why I started drinking in the first place.

No. Not Aston.

The heat crawling over my skin is unbearable now, and I tug at the neckline of my dress, trying to fan air against my chest, but it’s useless. Sweat beads along my forehead, and my legs start to feel strangely heavy.

I need to sit down.

Or get outside.

Or both.

I start moving, though it feels like I’m wading through mud. This is all happening really fast, isn’t it? I only started drinking, like, fifteen minutes ago. This can’t be normal.