“Just because she doesn’t sleep with them like you would, doesn’t mean she’s the marrying kind.” Hailey’s red hair swishes back and forth as she shakes her head.
“You don’t get to talk about marriage.” Savanna points a finger at Hailey. “You got married and didn’t tell any of us for three months.”
I don’t miss the glance between Hailey and Quinn, and I fight back laughter. Nine months ago, when Savanna and Nate got married in Vegas, Hailey and Luke snuck off and got married too. Without telling anyone but Quinn. I had stayed behind to run 10-42while everyone was away, but I got to witness the epic freak out that happened on New Year’s when everyone found out about the secret wedding.
“And we did that because we didn’t want to steal your thunder,” Hailey says, a point she makes every time it’s brought up.
Which is every time Savanna has an opportunity. I think Savanna hates that Hailey and Luke weren’t celebrated like she thinks they should have been, but it wasn’t what they wanted. All they needed was each other, and after being apart for ten years, I can’t say I blame them. I think it was romantic. Intimate and sweet, just the two of them, with Quinn as their witness.
Quinn is semi-right about me. If I were in a relationship, I’d want to get married. I’d want an epic love story like my grandparents had. It won’t happen, though. I’ll never live up to my Gran and all the things my grandpa loved about her.
Zoning out from Hailey and Savanna’s playful bickering, I tune into the country music blasting through the club. Santa Rosé has two dance clubs; the one on the other side of town plays top forties remixed into the best party music, while the one we chose for the night is the country bar. A single-story dance hall with hard wooden booths not designed for comfort and tables gouged up from people carving initials into them. The seating circles the main attraction: the large dance floor packed with people. Some spinning partners, others dancing with groups of friends. All with one thing in common—everyone having the time of their lives.
Or so it seems. Looks can be deceiving. Before long, our little group will join them. I’ll smile and dance, and I know I’ll enjoy myself. But then tomorrow will come, and I’ll feel like Cinderella after the ball—alone, a forced smile on my face, and doing what needs to be done.
Without the mice. I hope.
“Earth to Bryn.” Jordan snaps her fingers in front of my face.
My head jerks back, and I shake it, blinking a few times. “Sorry, what?”
She gestures in front of me, and I look down at the shot Quinn set there, then around at the rest of the table. They’re all looking at me expectantly, and I force my lips to curve upward. Picking up my glass, I hold it out, and a chorus of cheers rings out before we knock the glasses down on the table, then throw the shots back.
The amber liquid burns all the way down my throat, deep into my belly, a warmth spreading through me from the inside out. I’m around alcohol all the time at 10-42, but I rarely drink too much of it. Since I was sixteen, I’ve had to be the responsible one. The one ready to drive if need be. Which was needed more often than not. But tonight, Gran is tucked away at home, my parents are hundreds of miles away, and we are cabbing it if the guys can’t pick us all up.
“Oh, I love this song!” Quinn jumps up from her seat, grabbing Hailey’s arm to haul her up too. “Ride” by Clayton Jenkins is playing, his voice crooning, “Come on, birthday girl, come dance with me.”
Plastering a smile on my face, I slide from my chair to join them. Maybe it’ll feel good to let loose for a while.
I can do this. I can have fun.
“I need to pee,” Jordan exclaims, popping up beside the table. I tapped out ten minutes ago, needing a break to catch my breath.
Savanna slides into one of the chairs across from me. “And Ijust went with Hailey.”
“So I thought I’d see if you needed to go.”
The alcohol swimming through my bloodstream has me feeling light on my feet, like I’m not horrible on the dance floor—but that’s probably the lack of good judgment brought on by the shots.
While I’ve probably sweated half the liquid out that I’ve consumed over these few hours, I nod my head, slipping from my seat. “Yeah, I’ll go with you.”
Jordan has had twice as many shots as me, and I’m not comfortable letting her wander off. Safety in numbers.
Taking her hand, I lead her towards the bathroom, weaving us in between the different throngs of people. It’s easy to duck and dive between bodies when you’re five-foot-one, and even with the small space I make, Jordan effortlessly sneaks through behind. There are advantages to being short, because in a crowd, people don’t always see you coming.
He definitely didn’t see me coming.
I didn’t see him either, darting between two people on our left.
“Oof.” The breath wheezes out of me as we go for the empty space at the same time, and smack into each other, his solid wall of muscle making it impossible for me to go any further. I rebound off his chest, bump backward into Jordan—who still had forward momentum in her steps—and she pushes me straight back into the man standing before us, his hand outstretched to catch my elbow as I ping pong between them.
“Apologies, Miss,” the man says, leaning close to steady me, voice rich and full over the blaring music. “I didn’t see you there.”
When our eyes meet, the breath is stolen from my lungs. Or maybe it was the collision with his chest. Intense eyes, darkened by the shadow of a cowboy hat, peer down at me, blazing withconcern.
Shaking my head, I hold up a hand, finding words. “No trouble.”
Jordan, now steady at my back, squeezes my other hand. To apologize for pushing me or because she needs the bathroom sooner than later, I’m not sure.