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Her hand flies up, but she doesn’t stop. “I got this.”
We continue walking until we reach the front of the line, and I spot a familiar face working the door. I recognize can’t-remember-his-goddamn-name because he goes to school with us. The blond doorman and Liv share a couple of classes. I’m almost positive they share more than that occasionally. When he spots Liv, his eyes widen, and roam up and down her body as he takes in her lack of clothing.
Liv squeals and throws herself at blondie. He catches her. “Andrew!”
Andrew, that’s his goddamn name. Now I remember. Just like that, with a hug and a sultry smile from Liv, Andrew lets us in without even checking out our totally fake IDs.
Being twenty kind of sucks – not a teen anymore, not quite legal. It’s like some cruel joke that we have to live an entire year of our lives wanting nothing more than for time to fly by so we can enter a club with our actual license and not worry when the bouncer stares at it for a beat too long.
Once inside, Liv and I stroll to the bar. Okay, I stroll. Liv struts, and swings her hips from side to side. She bats her lashes at any guy who looks her way. Plenty are drooling, and I’m positive I’ll be leaving here alone tonight.
Liv orders us Long Island iced teas. We carry our drinks to a table next to the dance floor and I sit down. Considering how packed the place is, we’re lucky to find this spot. When Liv attempts to sit in the headband she’s wearing for a skirt, I exhale in relief when she finally manages to do so without exposing her hoo-hoo to the entire club.
I glance around and realize how much I detest this environment. Aside from the many guys wearing I’m only here for one reason looks on their faces, it’s stuffy, the air thick with body heat and sweat. A cliché disco ball hangs from the ceiling, and although it’s not spinning, the light reflecting off its mirrored surface dots the walls with yellow circles. Strobe lights are strategically mounted in the corner, shooting various colors of neon light around the dance floor. The constant flashes strain my eyes, and I try to avoid looking in their direction.
Liv giggles, tossing her long brown locks over her shoulder. “Okay, girly, let’s see if we can’t find you a bangin’-hot guy to hook up with.”
My brow raises a little. I’m annoyed by her suggestion, and I lean across the table. “I’m not hookin’ up with some strange guy, Liv.”
Liv sighs and waves a hand at me before surveying the dance floor. “Fine! Let’s see if we can at least find one for you to talk to.” She mumbles something under her breath, which I’m certain, was a comment about what a prude she thinks I am. “Oh, how about him?” She nods toward a guy who needs a belt, or a new pair of pants at the very least. Thankfully he’s wearing boxers so I don’t have to see his hairy ass.
My lip twitches, and I make a disgusted face. “No way, he’s a total wangster.”
She swings her eyes to the right and perks up. “I got it, that one.”
“Fugly!” I laugh loudly. Truthfully, I’m not sure if he’s cute or not, because I don’t even bother to look. Provoking Liv is effortless and so enjoyable. Judging by the exasperated look on her face, she’s frustrated with me. Liv and I do not always agree on who’s hot and who’s not.
“Hello, McDreamy,” Liv practically sings. She points to a fine-looking-hunk-of-man. This one, we completely agree on. I quickly grab her hand, and shove it in her lap before the guy notices. “He’s the one, Tor.”
He’s model beautiful, with dark hair and perfectly chiseled features. After watching him briefly, I exhale half a laugh. “He’s prettier than I am. Not to mention I think he’d prefer Tony, not Tori.”
“What? No way!” she squeals.
“Totes.” As if on cue, another man approaches the sexpot, leans in close, and kisses him on the cheek. The gesture is clearly overly intimate for friendship.
Liv snaps her fingers when she sees the two of them. “Damn! Why can I never tell
and you always can?”
Chin on my palm, I shake my head. “Because you’d try to hook up with them anyway.”
She smiles confidently, clueless to my belittling. “True.”
Liv continues to suggest guys she thinks I should hook up with. I play along to appease her, although I have to admit it’s entertaining to antagonize her with my responses. There’s not a single face in this club that does anything for me. Does that make me abnormal? Am I a freak because I don’t want a boyfriend? Maybe I am, but I know what comes after a relationship peaks, and it’s nothing good.
Suddenly there’s not enough air in the club, and I can’t catch my breath. My throat closes up as I clutch my chest, and notice the accelerated pace in which it rises and falls. I lean over my Long Island iced tea, sucking on the straw until I hear slurping noises.
“Holy shit, Tor. You just drank that entire thing in, like, five seconds.” The shock is evident in her voice. Usually I have a strict rule about pacing myself when we drink.
I barely hear Liv, my eyes fixed on the unwelcome face strolling toward me. I look away, and shift uncomfortably on my stool. My palms are sweaty, and I brush them across the coarse indigo denim of my jeans.
“Hey, Victoria.”
God, why does my name have to sound so damn sexy when he says it? And why does he have to look better than he ever has? Truthfully, I’d hoped the next time I had to see him he would’ve been bit by the ugly bug. No such luck. He’s wearing a snug fitting T-shirt, showing off his chest, which is broader than I remember. Blond wisps of hair hang just above his aqua-blue eyes. He smiles and it’s enticing. I’m not sure, but I might have smiled back. I guess he’s home for the summer, too. Jake attends UCLA, and I’d planned to go with him, until the night I opened the door Brady had cunningly informed me was a bathroom.
I look down at my hands, positive if I look him in the eyes, I will cry. “Hey, Jake.”
Liv looks every bit as irate as I am, as her voice bellows above the music. “Don’t hey, Victoria her, asshole.”
