rattling around as I search for my favorite mug. Behind me, both of them are quiet, and I wonder what kind of looks they’re exchanging. How worried about me they are today.
Orchid doesn’t bother worrying often. But I know she does, on occasion.
“Let’s go out,” she says abruptly.
I hesitate, looking at her, and she smirks. “James has been trying to drag me to a club downtown. We should go. It could be fun.”
A club is the last place I want to go, but I also don’t want to sit here, dwelling on my own thoughts and wondering what the hell to do about Peter. So I nod and reach for my phone. I thumb a quick message to my brother. Micah won't care that I'm not at dinner—he might even be relieved—but I can't just vanish without telling him. He would worry.
I put the phone down and look at Orchid. She's staring at James, who is busy rifling through my closet. I lean over to her and murmur, "Are we sure he's straight?"
Orchid's lips twitch, almost a smile. From the closet, James says, "I heard that, Gwen." He rummages for a few minutes longer and finally emerges with a dress I bought online. One that I've never had the guts or occasion to wear.
"If you’re going to go out with me, ladies," he says, "you'll have to lose the yoga pants and t-shirts."
I lick my lips and start to form a protest, but something stops me. Maybe it was Peter, echoing the Boy's words, or maybe it's the flicker of curiosity in James’ eyes as he holds the dress out like a challenge. But whatever it is, I take a step forward and pull the dress from him. "What about Orchid?"
His smile grows, a tiny bit more predatory and dangerous, as he looks at my roommate. "Don't worry. I'll take care of both of you."
The words lick along my nerves and spark a tingle of something I haven’t felt in years. Excitement.
An hour later, I tug at my skirt. The electric blue corset is laced tight enough that I’m not sure breathing is possible, much less drinking, and the tiny ruffled skirt of blue and black seems much shorter now that it did in my room. James took one look and tossed the fishnet stockings aside. My hair hangs around my face in messy waves, and I can feel people watching as we enter the club. “I really think I should have worn leggings,” I mutter.
James hooks an arm around my neck, pulling me into him. “You’re perfect. Now. Go with Orchid. I’ll get us a round of drinks.”
The club is dark, with flashing lights that illuminate the crowded dance floor. Music pounds, a steady beat as I teeter after Orchid in the dark club.
There are flashes of people, faces. I can see them talking, but there’s a disconnect, their words lost to the pound of the music. It’s eerie, and a hush of solitude falls over me, even here, in the large crowd, in the constant noise.
Someone collides with my back, and the feeling shatters, falling away as I stumble, tripping over my heels. Orchid gives an angry sounding shout as I fall.
An arm, hard as steel, jerks me upright, and I swallow my shriek. Lights spin around me, and I land hard against a solid chest.
The scent of wild things and the ocean fills my senses. The chest rumbles and then he touches my arms, pulling back to stare at me.
Why on earth did it have to be Peter? I swallow hard and pull back. Peter’s hand drops, wrapping around my waist and holding me close to him. “Get that asshole out of here,” he says sharply, and three of the guys surrounding him jerk into motion. I have a single heartbeat to wonder what the hell is happening, and then he’s taking me by the hand and pulling me through the crowd.
I yelp, stumbling in my heels, and Peter makes a disgruntled noise, stopping abruptly. There is a moment to wonder what he will do before I feel the world tilt as he scoops me into his arms.
I go still in my shock. Distantly, I can hear James and Orchid yelling, but Peter's frat brothers hold them away from us as he carries me through the club and into a dark, blessedly
Orchid doesn’t bother worrying often. But I know she does, on occasion.
“Let’s go out,” she says abruptly.
I hesitate, looking at her, and she smirks. “James has been trying to drag me to a club downtown. We should go. It could be fun.”
A club is the last place I want to go, but I also don’t want to sit here, dwelling on my own thoughts and wondering what the hell to do about Peter. So I nod and reach for my phone. I thumb a quick message to my brother. Micah won't care that I'm not at dinner—he might even be relieved—but I can't just vanish without telling him. He would worry.
I put the phone down and look at Orchid. She's staring at James, who is busy rifling through my closet. I lean over to her and murmur, "Are we sure he's straight?"
Orchid's lips twitch, almost a smile. From the closet, James says, "I heard that, Gwen." He rummages for a few minutes longer and finally emerges with a dress I bought online. One that I've never had the guts or occasion to wear.
"If you’re going to go out with me, ladies," he says, "you'll have to lose the yoga pants and t-shirts."
I lick my lips and start to form a protest, but something stops me. Maybe it was Peter, echoing the Boy's words, or maybe it's the flicker of curiosity in James’ eyes as he holds the dress out like a challenge. But whatever it is, I take a step forward and pull the dress from him. "What about Orchid?"
His smile grows, a tiny bit more predatory and dangerous, as he looks at my roommate. "Don't worry. I'll take care of both of you."
The words lick along my nerves and spark a tingle of something I haven’t felt in years. Excitement.
An hour later, I tug at my skirt. The electric blue corset is laced tight enough that I’m not sure breathing is possible, much less drinking, and the tiny ruffled skirt of blue and black seems much shorter now that it did in my room. James took one look and tossed the fishnet stockings aside. My hair hangs around my face in messy waves, and I can feel people watching as we enter the club. “I really think I should have worn leggings,” I mutter.
James hooks an arm around my neck, pulling me into him. “You’re perfect. Now. Go with Orchid. I’ll get us a round of drinks.”
The club is dark, with flashing lights that illuminate the crowded dance floor. Music pounds, a steady beat as I teeter after Orchid in the dark club.
There are flashes of people, faces. I can see them talking, but there’s a disconnect, their words lost to the pound of the music. It’s eerie, and a hush of solitude falls over me, even here, in the large crowd, in the constant noise.
Someone collides with my back, and the feeling shatters, falling away as I stumble, tripping over my heels. Orchid gives an angry sounding shout as I fall.
An arm, hard as steel, jerks me upright, and I swallow my shriek. Lights spin around me, and I land hard against a solid chest.
The scent of wild things and the ocean fills my senses. The chest rumbles and then he touches my arms, pulling back to stare at me.
Why on earth did it have to be Peter? I swallow hard and pull back. Peter’s hand drops, wrapping around my waist and holding me close to him. “Get that asshole out of here,” he says sharply, and three of the guys surrounding him jerk into motion. I have a single heartbeat to wonder what the hell is happening, and then he’s taking me by the hand and pulling me through the crowd.
I yelp, stumbling in my heels, and Peter makes a disgruntled noise, stopping abruptly. There is a moment to wonder what he will do before I feel the world tilt as he scoops me into his arms.
I go still in my shock. Distantly, I can hear James and Orchid yelling, but Peter's frat brothers hold them away from us as he carries me through the club and into a dark, blessedly
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