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Don’t get me wrong, they invite me to hang out with them all the time, but I can’t stop myself from feeling like the third wheel when it’s just the three of us, despite their reassurances.
If only I had someone…
I cut that thought off before it has a chance to finish as I round a corner and walk into the bathroom.
Two
Zoe
The alcohol has greatly improved my mood, and I really don’t want to ruin it. Tonight, I just want to let go. To forget all my worries. There will plenty of time to freak out about everything wrong with my life tomorrow.
I quickly take care of my business and then spend a minute in front of the mirror. So far, my makeup has held up pretty well. There are no black smudges around my eyes and my lipstick is still in place. My hair doesn’t look too bad either. I left it down and curled it so it flows softly down my back, and despite all my dancing it has yet to turn into a dark, frizzy mess.
I take a moment to give my lips a quick touchup and then walk out of the bathroom, eager to return to Clara on the dance floor.
I’m so eager, I end up walking right into a guy standing outside the bathroom.
“Woah, there,” he says and grabs me by the upper arms, steadying me.
I immediately recognize the voice and stiffen as I take a step back and get my balance.
What the hell is Chad doing here? We purposely kept tonight a secret so he wouldn’t show up. Well, as much as a secret you can keep between twenty people.
Still gripping me by the arms, Chad smiles down at me, and his lids lower as his eyes sweep down my body. “Well, hello there, Zoe.”
I instantly sober. Damn. There goes my night.
“Hi, Chad,” I groan.
“So, are you having a good time tonight?” he asks, not even having the tact to look up at my eyes.
No, his gaze just stops and lingers on my breasts.
I bite back the urge to tell him—my eyes are up here, asshole—and grind my teeth together instead.
“Yeah,” I grit out. “I was dancing with Clara.” I try to take a step to the side, to get around him, but he moves with me. “I should probably get back to her.”
Chad doesn’t take the hint. He never does. Even in the office, he pretends to be oblivious when I shut him down. Which really sucks, because he’s my boss.
You’d think that given he’s pushing forty he would have learned social cues by now.
“She’s dancing with her boyfriend,” he says, taking a step into me and forcing me to take a step back.
He takes another step.
My back hits the wall and I blink at him.
In the office, he’s usually not so aggressive. Sure, he can be a serious creep, but an easily avoided creep. Unless, of course, I have to report to him. Even then, he only pushes it so far… But it’s probably because in the office there are eyes everywhere.
I glance around, seeing no one I recognize.
Crap.
“Oh, well, I need to get going then,” I kind of stammer and instantly hate myself a little for it.
Every time Chad pulls this stuff, instead of growing a pair and putting him in his place, I tend to get nervous and flustered instead. I always mentally berate myself later for it, easily thinking up all the things I could have and should have said. In the heat of the moment though, I’m so focused on trying to escape I can’t think straight.
“But the night is still young,” he says as he leans into me, and I get a strong whiff of alcohol on his breath.
His hand hits the wall beside my head.
My fight-or-flight instincts kick in.
“It is, but it’s a worknight…” I try once more to step to the side and duck under his arm, but it just causes him to move in closer.
His other hand hits the wall, completely caging me in.
“You know, we’re probably going to get fired tomorrow.” His eyes finally lift up, meeting mine. They’re red and bloodshot. Just how much has he had to drink tonight?
“Yeah, but we still need to show up for that,” I point out, and once again try to duck under his arm.
Chad bobs his head as if what I just said makes perfect sense and lowers his arm to block me in. “I’ll no longer be your boss…”
Thank god for that. If there’s one upside of getting fired, it’s that I’ll no longer have to deal with him.
His head looms in closer. “We can stop fighting this thing between us.”
“What?” I blurt out in confusion.
What thing between us? There is no us, period.
“You can stop pretending, Zoe. I know you feel it too.”
“Feel what?” I ask, and immediately regret it because I really, really don’t want to know the answer to that question.
