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She’s made for it.
Not me, though. A few people compliment my tattoos, though the thrumming of the bass and the loudness of the house make me regret coming here all the more. I leave Juniper’s side and she barely spares me a glance. It’s been a long time since we refused to let go of each other at these things. As seniors, one would hope we’re old enough not to get into trouble.
My steps take me through the house, and I glance into rooms I haven’t seen in over a year. Not that I expect them to havechanged. They haven’t, and the same pictures line the walls. The same badly built bar in the large living room stands against the wall, looking like it’s going to fall over if one more person leans against it while they’re served warm beer.
I watch and finally make my way over. Beer is beer, no matter how much it sucks, and I trade a five for a plastic cup filled with the stuff.
“What is it?” I yell, leaning over the bar to the frat boy standing behind it who’s pouring another one.
“No idea!” he replies just as loudly, beaming. Of course he doesn’t have any idea. Why would he? I roll my eyes but thank him anyway, extracting myself from the crowd and walking toward the front end of the house, which has always been the quietest.
Is it to keep a semblance of quiet? I’ve never known if it’s a rule to keep your loudness to the back of this house, but it feels like that might be the case. But I’m not loud, and no one stops me as I sit down at the bottom of a staircase that looks at the front door. If anyone’s upstairs, I can’t hear them. But then again, I can’t hear much over the sound of the music and the way my heart pounds in my ears in response.
It’s not that I hate people, or something so dramatic as that. As a freshman, I’d loved coming to parties like this. I’d had a bigger friend group then, as I’d wanted to fit in with the people that came from places much more exciting than I had. I’d tried weed, and drank all kinds of alcohol, and it wasn’t until I’d ended up on someone’s yard with vomit all over my face and shirt that I’d realized I was trying to fit in with people that weren’t what I wanted in life.
Though even since then, I haven’t discovered what those people are. Except for Jun, of course. She’s been the one constant since I’d started college. Maybe she’ll be the oneconstant after it, too. At least until she lands her dream marketing job and leaves me.
I frown at the empty cup of beer in my hand, and realize it’s my third as I tip it over to watch the amber drops run down the plastic inside of it. My head swims a little, though not enough to set off the blaring warning signs of being drunk. Tipsy? Barely. This is a pathetic attempt at it, at best, and I’m sure it’ll wear off in the next hour or so. Well before the time Juniper actuallywantsto go home.
Pushing to my feet again, I move just as someone comes around the corner. A yelp of surprise fills the air as I collide into them, and belatedly my brain recognizes the spicy-sweet scent of Oliver’s cologne.
“Whoa, I’m sorry. Are you…” he trails off when I look up at him, feeling as if my feet are glued to the floor. “Blair?” His lips curl into a delighted smile, and his hands rest on my hips without moving.
“What are you doing here?” I ask directly, hoping I don’t slur my words or anything else so embarrassing in front of him. His hands are warm where they brush my exposed skin, and I find that I can’t look away from him.
“This is a party,” he reminds me, the half-smile still curling his lips upward. “I think it’s obvious what I’m doing here.”
I want to ask if he isn’t a little old to be here, until I remember that this is a frat house and some of them are probably a little older too, thanks to our college offering multiple masters programs. Surely some of them stay, right? Or, well, there could also be members that just stick around, or started late, or justdon’t graduate.Who am I to judge why Oliver’s here?
“Oh.” Is all I can think to say, when staring at his face is a much better use of my time.
His eyes search mine and I canfeelhis hands slide millimeters higher on my skin, causing a small shiver to gothrough me. “You’re drunk,” he accuses, eyeing the cup in my hands even as I shake my head.
“I’m barely tipsy,” I correct, but it does seem that I might be a little more thanbarelywith the way my head swims. At least I’m not staggering or falling over yet.
“I believe you.” Oliver reaches out and extracts the plastic cup from my hands, only to set it down on the stairs before straightening once more. “Let’s go outside? It’s kind of gross in here, and you could probably use the fresh air.” I don’t argue with him as he pushes open the front door and leads me out onto the porch. There’s no one here, and the only movement I see comes from two girls in the shadow of a large tree in the yard who aren’t as hidden as they think they are. When I glance their way, however, they seem to realize it and, with a giggle, duck further into cover before continuing whatever they were doing.
Oliver eases down onto a porch step and looks up at me expectantly. Not needing any convincing, I follow with a less graceful movement that still ends up with my ass planted on the concrete beside him, so it’s still a win for me. He chuckles, and before I can say anything, throws an arm over my shoulders. “I didn’t think you came to places like this,” he admits. “You seem too classy for college parties.”
“I only come to them when Juniper wants to go,” I admit, not stopping myself from leaning into his warmth. The air is warm in St. Augustine, and muggy with the promise of rain by morning. But Oliver’s warmth isn’t overwhelming. In fact, it’s perfect. But what else do I expect of him, when he’s—
I close my eyes hard, hating the guilt that floods me. I still haven’t told him, and when I straighten, he turns and looks at me with raised brows.
“Sorry,” I murmur, meeting his eyes in the darkness illuminated by streetlights and the porch light behind us. “I am a little drunk.”
“Don’t apologize. Are you all right?” Tenderly, he pushes my hair back behind my ear, his eyes never leaving mine. “Do you want to leave? I can drive you home—”
“No,” I say quickly, hating the thought of leaving Oliver. We’ve never done anything outside of stolen minutes before Professor Solomon’s class, and it’s great to not havehimhovering like the world’s most toxic helicopter.
The thought of Solomon in a helicopter and glaring down at us swims into my brain, causing me to giggle. My hand darts up, and I cover my face before I can embarrass myself further. But Oliver tilts his head and asks, “What are you laughing at, wonder girl?”
Wonder girl.I know he’s called me that before, but I have no idea why.
“I was just thinking that this is the first time we’re together without our dear professor glaring at us or threatening us with the aura of his presence,” I point out. “And it’s nice.”
His grin widens as he leans back on one hand, his other arm still around me. His hand readjusts, knuckles brushing against my tee as I take in a breath to try to get a hold of myself. It isn’t just the beer that’s making me like this, and that’s the problem. For three weeks, I’ve tried to ignore my attraction to Oliver and his voracious, overly friendly attitude that’s so different from what I normally want in a friend.
But the beer makes it easier to stare at him and wish he were mine. “Why do you call me wonder girl?” I ask after a few moments, breaking the silence before he can.
