In This Moment(23)

I move my head sharply to one side. “Naw, I think I’m going to call it. I’ll get myself a cab or see if I can catch a ride back to the house with Adam.”

“What the fuck? The night’s still young!” He chants, throwing back his head and howling toward the ceiling.

“It’s almost two in the morning.” I take a final swig of my beer and signal to the bartender that I’m ready to close out my tab. “Anyway, I’m just not feeling it anymore, and don’t forget that we have an early practice tomorrow.”

Nate laughs, his white teeth flashing against his dark skin. “I never thought I’d see the day that you’d be the one reminding me about a morning practice.” He jabs his elbow harshly into my ribs. “Before you go, at least tell me where I can find that pretty little number that was wrapped around your leg earlier.”

“Ahhh, I’m pretty sure that Daniel’s got his hand halfway up her skirt by now but you’re certainly welcome to go for his sloppy seconds.”

I sign the credit card slip the bartender sends my way and I push off from the bar. That’s when I see her. Perched on a chair at a corner table with her long, slender legs crisscrossed beneath her and her head propped up on her upturned palm. She’s with another dark-haired girl. The other girl leans in and whispers something in Aimee’s ear and they both smile.

My eyes trace the outline of her body—over the shiny skin of her bare shoulder, down the soft curve of her breasts, all the way to the valley of her waist—and everything inside of me amps into overdrive. My heart starts pumping blood faster, my fucking pores get all tingly, and I feel like the club just got a couple degrees hotter. Damn it. I need to get my dick and my pulse in check or this girl is going to think I’m some kind of deranged creep. It’s already becoming apparent that I’m going to need to go home and take the longest cold shower of my life.

Before I can think too much or talk myself out of it, my feet eat the distance separating us and I’m tapping my fingers on the corner of her table, waiting for her to notice me.

Four agonizing seconds later, Aimee’s head comes up and it’s like watching an entire film reel of reactions play across her features. First her eyelids widen a fraction and her jaw drops open, and then this small, barely-there smile plays on her lips. I have to shove my hands deep in my pockets to keep from reaching out and brushing my thumb along the pink skin that lines her mouth.

I say the first thing that pops in my head. “I thought you said that you had plans with your parents tonight.”

With half-mast, unfocused eyes, she studies me for a long moment. Then she tips her face to one side and says, “And I thought that you said that I should have more fun. Maybe I’m just taking your advice.”





Aimee



Cole. Everly.

God.

I ignore the ripple of chills moving over my skin and the slosh of the alcohol churning fiercely in my stomach, and I lift the short glass tumbler and take another sip from the thin red straw. Swallowing hard as the vodka burns my throat, I straighten my shoulders and narrow my eyes at Cole. “Are you following me around or something? You keep showing up everywhere that I go like a stalker. I’m starting to wonder if I should be worried.”

“Me? A stalker?” He laughs and folds his arms across his chest. I will myself not to stare at the prominent biceps straining against the sleeves of his shirt. Don’t stare. Don’t stare.

“If the shoe fits…”

“I think you might be the one doing the stalking, Aimee. I just happened to be out with my friends and I looked over and here you were. Either you’re stalking me or it’s a crazy coincidence.” He smiles. “The third option is that fate is playing a hand.”

I let my head loll back. “I don’t believe in fate. It’s stupid.”

Cole watches me for a long moment while he works out what to say. Mara uses the pause in our conversation to pipe up and flash her sorority-worthy smile. She extends her hand to Cole like they’re being introduced at a political mixer instead of under a set of pulsing purplish strobe lights at a loud club. He laughs at something she says and I want to punch him in the face. Or maybe I want to punch my sister in the face. I don’t know.

The house music is a strange mixture of synthetic pop and garage rock. It’s loud and fast and the beats sizzle down my neck and slice under my skin. My eyes start to turn fuzzy so I close them and duck my head to my bent arm.

I don’t want to listen to what Mara is saying to Cole. I don’t want to hear about how much they have in common and how they’re both fun and alive and everything that I’m not. I don’t want to stare at his full mouth or wonder what it would be like to run my fingers through the strands of sunny hair falling into his green eyes. I don’t want to think about my parents, or about Jilly, or about school, or that night back in June when it all slipped away from me.