Unspoken(55)

Despite the sweat streaking down my back and the press of the bodies on the dance floor generating enough heat to warm the entire apartment complex, I suddenly felt cold. Chills warred with the sweat and dizziness hit me. I stumbled off the floor toward the table holding our clutches and drinks.

I looked around me. Everyone was laughing and shouting at each other, throwing back drinks and designing black-light illuminated tattoos on each other. I tried once more to enter the fray on the dance floor, but after one song, I knew I had to go home because the crowd was only accentuating the stinging ache of loneliness.

I grabbed at Sasha to let her know I was leaving. If I told Ellie, she’d demand to go with me, and I didn’t want to ruin her night. Sasha waved me off and said she’d make sure Ellie got home safely.

Out in the entryway, I retrieved my coat and shrugged it on, the cotton canvas sticking to my sweaty body. I plucked at it, knowing that in a moment the material would be a worthless barrier to the chill of the winter night.

“Need a cab?” the bouncer queried.

I nodded my head. He picked up a phone and made a call. “Ten minutes,” he told me, hanging up his cell phone and tucking it into his pocket.

“I’ll wait outside.” I needed a few moments of alone time. He gave me a dismissive nod, his head turning back to ogle the crowd inside.

I took a step outside and inhaled the crisp night air. Initially the cold felt good. It cleared my head, and the quiet of the night, as opposed to the loud pounding of bass from the dance music, was a huge relief.

Only the relief and clearheadedness didn’t last. The ache of being alone crept in again, insidiously, like smoke curling in and around the base of the floor and climbing the walls, silently and menacingly. I wanted Ellie and Ryan to work out because as tired of being ostracized as I felt, I didn’t want Ellie to feel that way. I needed to stop relying on her so heavily, to push her back onto campus and not allow her to regret that her college years were spent in exile with me.

I rubbed my hands along my face. Feeling sorry for myself was worse than feeling lonely.





Chapter Seventeen



BO

THE SITUATION WITH AM WAS confounding me. Given her past, I knew I had to let her make the first move, but exchanging lighthearted banter when I wanted to peel her clothing off with my teeth was wearing what little self-control I had down to a nub. Noah suggested heading down to the old zipper factory. A group of guys met to fight on Wednesday nights—a hump day celebration or something.

There were no crowds there, and if you showed up, the expectation was that you wanted to fight. There were around ten of us there. We could have done this down at the Spartan Gym, but I supposed that Paulie wouldn’t want it to get around that we were trying to beat the shit out of each other instead of “training” or “working out.” But none of us wanted to be the best at exercising. We just wanted the opportunity to whale on each other for five minutes without interruption or judgment. I never asked why any of the other guys were there, and they didn’t ask me. It was bare knuckle fighting. Not everyone was even in very good shape. One guy had a tub in his belly but an iron jaw. My knuckles bore witness to his immovable facade.

Regardless, my two-hour stint there left me feeling relaxed and good-humored, even if my ribs did ache from the blow delivered by the Pillsbury Doughboy. Who knew those guys were so hardy?

I slowed down on East Second as a couple of guys clad only in what appeared to be jocks and jackets skipped across the street and disappeared into a bar. On the sidewalk, next to the entrance, I saw a dark-haired girl who looked somewhat like AM. I shook my head a little, knowing I had her on my mind, but when she moved to the side and her face was illuminated by the light, I realized it was AM.

I slammed the brakes on, grateful I was almost at a stop and didn’t ram into anyone. I deployed the down button on the passenger window and leaned across the center console.

“AM,” I yelled. She looked startled and came over to stand next to the car.

“Bo?” She leaned down to peer inside.

I reached over, pulled the door handle, and gave the passenger door a push. She gripped it indecisively for a moment and climbed in, but didn’t shut the door.

“I was going to take a cab home,” she said, biting the side of her mouth.

“You don’t need one now,” I declared. She shot me another glance and looked at the empty street.

“Guess not.” She swung her legs inside and shut the door. I engaged the locks and took off.

“What are you wearing under there?” I tilted my head toward her trench coat. A trench coat seemed an odd choice for club attire. Even in the dead of winter, girls seemed to be impervious to the cold with their miniskirts, high heels, and see-through tops. No one wore jackets. It was like she was on a top-secret mission smuggling booze.