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I’m not a social butterfly, I’m more like the fly on the wall that watches and observes.
I don’t want to interrupt them so I try to squeeze back to Bridget but instead, get knocked into by a couple squeezing by me. Without an apology or any remorse.
My beer tips over and pours down my shirt. The lukewarm liquid seeps into the fabric and against my skin.
So gross.
This night really can’t get any worse.
I need a towel or something, but the line for the bathroom is way too long. I’ll be there for hours waiting.
There has to be another bathroom around here somewhere. Given the number of guys living here, there can't possibly be just one.
Looking up the steps, I see people standing outside another door. Probably the other bathroom.
Now, if I can find the kitchen, I can at least get a napkin. They have to have something in there.
I feel lost inside a maze. I can see the living room. I’m in a narrow hall. Or it feels narrow with the amount of people standing around me.
Where is the kitchen?
We were just in there earlier.
I look over some heads, but as tall as I am, I’m not taller than most of the guys here. I think it’s the first time I don’t feel like the giant in the room.
Suddenly, a warmth touches the small of my back right above my ass. Chills run up my spine feeling the heat from his touch against my cold skin. A flame runs through me getting ready to burst.
I know it’s him without even looking.
“Hey stranger.” Nick leans down and plants a kiss on my cheek, lingering with his lips brushing softly against me.
He smells like beer, but under that, I get a whiff of his cologne. That same cologne he wore that night. The same one that drove me crazy when he leaned over to get my bag from his backseat. The same one that is now fogging my brain.
“You look lost.” He gives me a slow once over, and his eyes widened at my chest where the beer is soaking through my white tank top.
“I uh, yeah. Beer on my shirt. Bathroom line.” I motion, without forming any kind of coherent sentence.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Come, there’s a bathroom on the third floor.” Nick leads me to the stairs, holding my hand and pulling me through the crowd that splits open for him as the Red Sea did for Moses.
I should be weary. The second floor is less congested but still has people split into groups talking and drinking. Then there’s a stairwell down the hall with a rope blocking it and a sign that reads “Do Not Enter.”
I start to turn around, but Nick undoes the rope and motions for me to follow. He then replaces the sign behind him.
When Nick Miller says to follow him, you follow.
“We don’t have a lock on the door up here, so it’s a way to keep people out. Also, it gives it a nice place to escape to,” he explains while leading the way up to the third floor.
The door at the top of the stairs opens to a large bedroom with two full size beds at either end. The room is separated down the middle with a gray sheet acting like a curtain hanging from a rope.
The left side is a mess with clothes strewn around. A beer can on the nightstand and an opened bag of chips. And the right side is spotless. The bed is made and nothing is out of place.
“Oh!” I gasp, backing up.
I didn’t realize he was taking me to a bedroom. I’m not ready for this.
I just wanted to hang out with him.
