There's a faraway look in his gray eyes. His absent tone makes it clear he's not interested in making conversation, so I fall silent and try hard not to let his overpowering masculinity affect me.
But every time his cheek grazes my face, the goose bumps get worse. And every time his breath puffs on my jaw, a flurry of shivers skitters through me. The heat of his body sears into me, his scent surrounds me, and I'm excruciatingly aware of his warm hand clutching mine. Before I can stop myself, I rub my thumb over the center of his palm.
Garrett's breath hitches.
Yep, it has to be the alcohol. There's no other explanation for the sensations coursing through my body. The ache in my breasts, the tight clenching of my thighs and the strange emptiness in my core.
When the song ends, I exhale a relieved breath and take a much-needed step back.
"Thanks for the dance," Garrett mumbles.
I might be tipsy, but I'm not drunk, and I instantly pick up on the sadness radiating from his broad chest.
"Hey," I say in concern. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." His throat dips as he swallows. "It's just … that song … "
"What about it?"
"Brings back memories, that's all." He pauses for so long I don't think he's going to continue, but then he does. "It was my mom's favorite song. They played it at her funeral."
My breath catches in surprise. "Oh. Oh, Garrett, I'm sorry."
He shrugs as if he has no care in the world.
"Garrett … "
"Look, it was either dance to it, or bawl my eyes out, okay? So yeah, thanks for the dance." He sidesteps me as I reach for his arm. "I've gotta take a leak. Will you be okay here for a few minutes?"
"Yeah, but-"
He stalks off before I can finish.
I watch him go, battling a wave of sorrow that constricts my throat. I'm torn as I stand there staring at his retreating back. I want to go after him and force him to talk about it.
No, I should go after him.
I square my shoulders and hurry forward-only to freeze as I come face to face with my ex-boyfriend.
"Devon!" I squeak.
"Hannah … hey." Devon is visibly uncomfortable as our gazes lock.
It takes me a second to register that he's not alone. A tall, pretty redhead stands beside him … and they're holding hands.
My pulse speeds up because I haven't seen Devon since we broke up last winter. He's a political science major, so we're not in any of the same classes, and our social circles don't usually intersect. We probably wouldn't have even met if Allie hadn't dragged me to that concert in Boston last year. It was a small venue, just a few local bands playing, and Devon happened to be the drummer in one of the bands. We spent the whole night talking, discovered that we both went to Briar, and he ended up driving Allie and me back to campus that night.
After that, he and I were inseparable. We were together for eight months, and I was wildly and unequivocally in love with him. He told me he loved me, too, but after he dumped me, a part of me wondered if maybe he'd only been with me out of pity.
Don't think that way.
The stern voice in my head belongs to Carole, and suddenly I long to hear it in person. Our therapy sessions ended once I left for college, and although we've had a few phone chats here and there, it's not the same as sitting in that cozy leather armchair in Carole's office, breathing in her soothing lavender scent and hearing her warm, reassuring voice. I no longer need Carole the way I used to, but right now, as I face off with Devon and his gorgeous new girlfriend, all the old insecurities come rushing back.
"How've you been?" he asks.
"Good. No, I'm great," I amend hastily. "How are you?"
"Can't complain." The smile he gives me looks forced. "Uh … the band broke up."
"Oh, shit. I'm sorry to hear that. What happened?"
He absently rubs the silver hoop in his left eyebrow, and I'm reminded of all the times I used to kiss that piercing when we were lying in bed together.
"Brad happened," Devon admits. "You know how he was always threatening to go solo? Well, he finally decided he didn't need us. He landed a record deal with this hot new indie label, and when they said they wanted their house band to back him, Brad didn't fight for us."
I'm not surprised to hear it. I always thought Brad was the most pompous asshole on the planet. Actually, he'd probably get along splendidly with Cass.
"I know it sucks, but I think you're better off," I tell Devon. "Brad would've screwed you over eventually. At least it happened now, before you signed anything, you know?"
"That's what I keep telling him," the redhead pipes up, then turns to Devon. "See, someone else agrees with me."
Someone else. Is that what I am? Not Devon's ex-girlfriend, not his friend, not even an acquaintance. I'm simply … someone else.
The way she diminishes my position in Devon's life makes my heart squeeze painfully.
"I'm Emily, by the way," the redhead says.
"It's nice to meet you," I reply awkwardly.
Devon looks as awkward as I feel. "So, uh, you've got the winter showcase coming up, huh?"
"Yep. I'm performing a duet with Cass Donovan." I sigh. "Which is beginning to look like a huge mistake."
Devon nods. "Well, you always did work better alone."
My stomach goes rigid. For some reason, it feels like he's making a jab at me. Like he's insinuating something. Like what he's really saying is you have no problem getting YOURSELF off, right, Hannah? But you can't do it with a partner, can you?
I know that's just my insecurities talking. Devon's not that cruel. And he tried. He tried so hard.
But insinuation or not, it still hurts.
"Anyway, it was nice to see you, but I'm here with friends, so … "
I nod toward the booth where Tucker, Simms and Logan are holed up, which brings a crease of confusion to Devon's forehead. "Since when do you hang out with the hockey crowd?"
"I'm tutoring one of the players, and … uh, yeah, we hang out sometimes."
"Oh. Cool. Okay, well … see you around."
"It was nice to meet you!" Emily chirps.
My throat closes up as they saunter off hand-in-hand. I swallow hard, then twirl in the opposite direction. I duck into the corridor that leads to the restroom, blinking away the hot tears that have welled up in my eyes.
God, why am I crying?
I quickly run through all the reasons why I shouldn't be crying.
Devon and I are over.
I don't want him anymore.
I've been fantasizing about someone else for months.
I'm going on a date with Justin Kohl this weekend.
But the reminders achieve nothing, and my eyes sting harder. Because who the fuck am I kidding? What chance do Justin and I possibly have? Even if we go out, even if we get close enough to be intimate, what happens when we have sex? What if all the issues I had with Devon sprout up again, like some annoying rash you can't get rid of?
What if there really is something wrong with me and I can never, ever have a normal sex life like a normal frickin' woman?
I blink rapidly to try to stop the flow of tears. I refuse to cry in public. I refuse to.
"Wellsy?"
Garrett emerges from the men's bathroom and frowns the moment he sees me. "Hey," he says urgently, cupping my chin. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing," I mumble.
"You're lying." His grip stays firm on my chin as he sweeps his thumbs underneath my eyes. "Why are you crying?"
"I'm not crying."
"I'm wiping away your tears right now, Wellsy. Ergo, you're crying. Now tell me what's wrong." His face suddenly pales. "Oh shit, did someone harass you or something? I was only gone a few minutes. I'm so sorry-"
"No, it's not that," I cut in. "I promise."
Garrett's features relax. But only slightly. "Then why are you upset?"
I choke back the lump in my throat. "I bumped into my ex out there."
"Oh." He looks startled. "The guy you were dating last year?"
I nod weakly. "He was with his new girlfriend."
"Shit. That must have been awkward."
"I guess." Hostility crawls through me like an army of tiny ants. "She's gorgeous, by the way. Like, really gorgeous." The bitter feeling intensifies, twisting my insides and hardening my jaw. "I bet she has orgasms that last for hours and probably screams out I'm coming! when she's in the throes of passion."
Alarm flickers through Garrett's eyes. "Uh. Yeah. Okay. I don't really understand that, but okay."
But it's not okay. It's not.
Why did I ever think I could be a normal college student? I'm not normal. I'm broken. I keep telling myself that the rape didn't destroy me, but it did. A piece of shit didn't just steal my virginity-he stole my ability to have sex and feel pleasure like a healthy, red-blooded woman.
So how the hell can I ever have a real relationship? With Devon, with Justin, with anyone, when I can't …
I abruptly shrug Garrett's hands off my face. "Forget it. I'm being stupid." Lifting my chin, I take a step toward the doorway. "Come on, I want another drink."