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Chapter 17
“Who’s the handsomest boy? Who?” Allison cooed at Monty over the blast of her music.
She straightened his bowtie, awed he wasn’t nipping at it the way he did everything else. As soon as she let go, he pranced from one end of the bed to the other, paws kicked out high in front of him, as if he knew exactly how dapper he looked.
Allison faced herself in the mirror. Navy swing dress with small crochet detailing on the cap sleeves, a cream cardigan, brown knee-length boots, the crescent-moon pendant necklace Sophie had gifted her last Christmas. Hair swept up in a messy bun it had taken her half an hour to perfect, and small moon-shaped studs in her ears. A dab of mascara and a mulberry lip, as if she’d just sipped a glass of red wine.
Any other day, the stylish girl reflected back at her would have had her high on confidence, but that fight with Colin yesterday and her PMDD had teamed up to drag her down. Her hair was too flat. The cap sleeves accentuated the flab on her arms (hence the cardigan). The jersey cotton fabric of her dress clung to every lump in her midsection. Her bra was giving her uniboob. Her thighs looked like blocks of cellulite. She almost wished for her period so the body dysmorphia and spiraling thoughts that accompanied her PMS would dissipate.It was a wish she knew she’d regret as soon as her first cramps ripped through her insides.
Having a menstruating body was a real amusement park of misery sometimes.
Shaking her head, Allison crossed the room to clean up her desk. She plopped pens back into their assigned mugs (the good gel ones got the Schuyler sisters cup, the rest a plain-old floral design), straightened stacks of papers, and piled her library books in alphabetical order. Then she adjusted Mandy’s cross-stitch above her monitor. Who knew why she was cleaning when no one would be coming upstairs, but Allison couldn’t stop fidgeting.
Beside her mouse sat her own cross-stitch project. Mandy had brought the supplies to class last week, and Allison could not have been more grateful. She’d spent most of last night stabbing a needle through holes in the hatched fabric, imagining it was Colin’s face. It had been rather cathartic. And a lot less bloody.
She couldn’t wait to show Mandy her progress when she and the rest of their cohort arrived.
It was the second weekend in October, Allison’s designated week to host their gathering, and, for the sake of spontaneity (and also because Link had plans on Saturday), they’d opted for a Friday night meet-up instead. Despite her best efforts at apathy, she’d purchased far too many frozen appetizers, made two signature cocktails, and concocted a complicated murder mystery game based on famous unsolved cases she’d found online. Clearly, her need to be the best extended far beyond her academic life.
Hooking Monty under her arm, Allison snapped off her speaker and grabbed her index cards (ten, scribbled front and back with notes for the game). As she set the Corgi down on the hallway runner, she noticed that Sophie’s door was closed, with a sign readingPlease Stay Outswinging from a pushpin.This was regular party protocol for them (Allison’s sign, of course, readAbandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here), but it seemed extreme for only six guests. Hopefully, Colinwould not show his face. For too many reasons to count, he was the last thing Allison wanted to deal with tonight.
Her stomach lurched at the thought of his name. Wendy’s news about the Wales trip had dredged up so many bad feelings from Allison’s past—how she hadn’t been good enough to earn the Rising Star, how she hadn’t been worth holding on to when Colin graduated, how she’d weighed him down. The depression she’d fallen into when she hadn’t been able to get her grades back up and almost failed two classes. Those oppressive thoughts squashed whatever self-confidence she’d gained from her presentation, and holding her two sections of recitation today had been brutal. Every time she’d spoken, Allison had been sure doubt clouded her students’ gazes, and only a few of them had bothered to take any notes.
Ugh. She needed a drink.Pronto.
More music drifted up the stairs, and the front door opened and closed twice in a row, inciting a small yip from Monty before he bounded his way toward the foyer.
Allison jumped. Was everyone early? It was barely seven. A half hour ahead of schedule seemed outlandish, even for her herd of nerds.
She scooped Monty off the floor as the front door swung open again. Irritation twitched in her veins as she rallied a smile. Who walks into a house without being invited? What kind of reverse vampires was she going to school with?
Turns out, the tall guy staring down at her was less Transylvanian and more modern Viking. His sun-streaked hair was secured at the nape of his neck with an elastic, and he wore distressed jeans with a loose white linen shirt that laced up over his otherwise bare chest, the three-quarter-length sleeves straining against his biceps. Something that reminded Allison of a Wiccan symbol hung on a silver chain around his neck and leather cuffs braced both his arms. A shadow of blond stubble outlined his jaw. Really, all he needed was an ax to complete the look.
“Hey,” he greeted her. Then, still filling the doorway (and welcoming in the chilly night air), he yelled Sophie’s name so loudly the syllables rumbled through Allison’s body. Under each of his burly arms he hefted a twelve-pack of Bud Light.
Sophie burst from the kitchen, her face flushed.
“Eric!” she yelled (because, if his name wasn’t Leif, ithadto be Eric). “Thank god. We were running out of alcohol.” She yanked at the front of her halter jumpsuit. Her C-cups often tried to escape her bra when she was drunk. Her free hand gripped a plastic wineglass brimming with a candy-pink liquid that resembled too closely the watermelon sangria Allison had toiled over all afternoon.
She hugged Monty to her chest. “Who’s running out of what alcohol?”
“Allison has emerged!” Sophie threw up her arms. Her pink drink sloshed over her shoulder as she pulled Allison into a hug. “I was afraid you were going to hide in your room all night,” she slurred. Her exaggerated movements wreaked havoc on her neckline, and this time Allison had to grab her top and haul it up. Viking man licked his lips as if she’d done something hot, and Allison fought the urge to hurl all over his shiny black boots. She got a sick sense of satisfaction at the idea that his loose laces would be dragged right through it.
Turning Sophie around, she focused on tightening her friend’s straps. Allison had never understood how Sophie could date the most amazing women, but the most Neanderthal dudes. Her last girlfriend had been apoet.Leif Erickson here drank fucking Bud Light.
And why was he at the house anyway?
Sophie nodded toward the kitchen. “Everyone’s in there.”
“Everyone?”
“Janie, Sarah, and Brooks, and like ten of their friends from work. I guess Eric’s got some of his buddies on the way.”
“Great. The IQ level in the place will drop by twenty.”
Sophie smirked. “Listen, we’re going to need some kind of entertainment. We’ve already burned through all your supplies.”
Allison’s mouth fell open. “All of it?” The ingredients for the sangrias had easily cost her eighty bucks, never mind all the food.
