Never Been Kissed(115)

My alcohol-befuddled brain looks for affection. I’m constantly hugging Katie, or Josh, or Eli and even Tommy. They hug me back and kiss the top of my head if their heights allow for it, as I’m still wearing the stilettos. Whatever pain is throbbing in the balls of my feet pales in comparison to what happened to me three weeks ago and I’m enjoying being tall far too much to take them off.

I lose Katie for a while but that’s okay since I’m having too much fun on the dance floor to really mind that she’s not clapping for me on her knees as I do a zebeikiko. I spin in time to the beat, watch my feet as I do intricate steps, even slapping the sole of my stiletto while waiting for one of the guys to put a shot on the ground for me.

Crouching down and somehow managing to keep my balance, I hold up the shot to my friends, saluting them and down it. Getting up, I keep dancing, smiling when both Alex and Eli make their way into the circle and we battle, drunken-man style.

The sadness of the song, the sorrow in the lyrics gets to me and that weight in my chest is back and the only thing I can do is dance it out. I close my eyes to the view of my friends crouched around me on their knees, clapping to the beat. I will myself deaf to the catcalls and ‘yeah, Sera!’. I’m in the quiet of my head and all I hear is the song, the saddest song ever written. I let it thrum through me, matching its rhythm to my heartbeats as I twirl and dance in my section of the dance floor.

When the music stops, my feet come to a halt and I crouch down for one more shot, holding it up again to Alex and Teresa, wishing them from the bottom of my tattered heart that they have what I lost.

I toss the shot back, letting the vodka burn down my throat, lighting its way to the pit of my stomach, already cushioned by food. While I’m fuzzy and groggy from the alcohol, I’m not drunk, just tipsy.

So I can’t really explain why my vision gets blurry when I look up from my crouch and see him standing there by the doors, looking at me with a bitter smile on his face.

I blink a few times, thinking it’s my imagination, my cracked psyche playing tricks with my eyes. Nope, he’s still there, and Katie’s standing beside him, giving me a guilty wave with a nervous smile on her mouth.

Hunter MacLaine just crashed the party.

I’m not drunk enough for this shit.





The music keeps playing but I’m in limbo and I don’t hear it. All my attention centers in and pinpoints to Hunter, standing there by the doors in a suit.

The suit is navy by the looks of it, and the light coming through the glass doors from outside halos him. I can’t seem to look away.

Why is he here? Why is he ruining everything?

I stand on numb legs; I’m not even sure how I manage it. I never told my legs to straighten out, and my brain sure isn’t the one calling the shots. I’m pretty sure I’m doing a great fish-out-of-water impression, opening and closing my mouth with words that I want to say, with words that need to be said, but nothing comes out.

So I stand there, let myself be tugged forward by Katie, Katie the traitor. Her mouth’s open and I’m sure sounds are coming out, but I can’t hear anything. I keep staring at Hunter, wondering how he got here, when, where, who? Did he freaking apparate or something? God, this can’t be happening.

I was having fun. I was dancing and having a good time. Motherducker.

Tearing my gaze away from him, refusing to take in how great he looks in his suit (hotter than Harvey Specter, that’s for sure), I stare hard at my best friend, feeling my face start to crumple, folding my features into lines of pain.

My heart has been replaced by a gaping hole that has been chain-sawed out, edges ragged and broken.

“Why? Why would you do this to me?” I look at Katie. My voice is pinched with hurt, and I keep moving forward as she coaxes me closer and closer to Hunter. I look back at him, note that his hands are in his pockets, legs spread wide. His eyes are intent on me, watching my every move, the way a predator stalks its prey. I don’t want him here, I felt safe here, like I was getting stronger.

“Why is he here? God, Katie, what did you do?”

I start to shake and my hands spasm around her fingers that are still tugging me forward, closer to the man who’s tormented me in my dreams for the past three weeks. I’m glad for my dry eyes; this pain is too great for tears. Either that, or I’ve cried so much over the past month that whatever little factory in my body that makes tears doesn’t work anymore.

Stupid, pathetic questions come to my lips, and I have to clamp my mouth shut so I don’t ask any of them. How’s Matty? Is he here, too? How are you? Do you miss me at all, like I miss you every day? Why are you here, shoving it in my face with what I’ve lost?