Party Girl: A Novel Read Online Free PDF

“boobies,” or have to accept the fact that “braless” was just not going to be a part of their vocabulary, even at age twelve. Is it so wrong that my boobs want a little validation now? My stomach, however, is absolutely from hell. No amount of treadmill time or crunches seems to have an impact on this potbelly of mine. I’m sort of drunkenly pondering all of this, as well as the fact that I never really related to that book Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret , even though I probably read it close to fifty times, when I notice that Adam—who’s been a somewhat reticent participant in all the Truth or Dare shenanigans—is watching me. I grow horrifically self-conscious, feeling suddenly like any buzz I possibly had has definitely evaporated, and quickly slide my shirt back on.
    “Show’s over,” I say to him with probably more hostility than he deserves, seeing as I was the one performing the spontaneous striptease at a party. But he doesn’t respond and just smiles at me. The smile makes me feel bizarrely comforted, and I find myself flopping onto the pillow next to him and lying down on my back.
    “What are you smiling about?” I ask him.
    “I was thinking about this.” He reaches out and pats my tummy, still smiling, and I’m horrified and offended by the fact that he’s noticing and calling out my most shameful body part, rather than praising my two most revered.
    I sit up quickly. “And what were you thinking about it?” I ask coldly.
    He doesn’t seem remotely thrown by my cold tone, and I like that he’s not backing down the way I thought he might. “I was just thinking how much I’d love to sit and rub it—away from all this. I was thinking how wonderful you’d probably be, completely sober, without all this insanity, by a fireplace, and how much I’d like to be there with you, rubbing your stomach.” As he’s talking, he’s slowly trailing his fingers over my tummy, and for once the stomach from hell doesn’t feel enormous and omnipresent, but sweet and somehow sexy. I wait for Adam to apologize for being so forward, or for me to ask him to take his goddamned hand off me.
    “Hey, wait a minute,” I say, suddenly sitting up when I remember how he seemed to know exactly where I lived when he dropped me off that night. “How did you know my address?”
    He smiles, looking embarrassed. “Oh, God. Here’s where you become thoroughly convinced that I’m a stalker.”
    Suddenly, I’m very intrigued. “What are you talking about?”
    “It’s nothing, really. Just a few days after I met you, Gus and I were driving around West Hollywood and he mentioned that you lived nearby. I asked him where and we drove by your place. But I swear I’m not a bunny boiler—in fact, I had one myself as a kid.”
    I laugh. “You have a good memory,” I say.
    He smiles again. “For some things.” He pulls a pillow under his head and lies down, then grabs another pillow and motions for me to lie next to him. I do and he smiles confidently, reaching his hand back to my tummy and starts slowly caressing it again.
    Such surreal things happen during crazy, drunken nights that I often wake up the next morning not quite sure what really occurred and what I’ve dreamt. I must be dreaming , I think as I smile at him while he rubs my stomach, because I abhor sentimentality and this is definitely verging on sentimental.
     
    I guess I fall asleep for a little while because the next thing I know, Stephanie is shaking me awake and telling me that we’re leaving.
    “Leaving?” I croak. “Christ, what time is it?” I sit up quickly and see Gus and Adam playing cards across the completely trashed room. Adam smiles at me shyly, and as he does, I realize I was dreaming about him, only he was my best male friend from college and we were in love but also flying—and, well, you know how crazy dreams are.
    “It’s four,” Stephanie says, sounding so sober that I immediately know I can’t convince her she