Chapter Fourteen

I do everything I’m supposed to do for the rest of the week in a grayed-out blur. I go to classes, do homework, eat food, fix things. But there’s an Eve-shaped hole in the days that I can’t ignore.

Friday, Grant calls. He never calls, and my first thought is that something’s gone wrong between him and Darryn.

“Hey, what’s up?” I answer.

“Happy pre-birthday!” Well, it sure doesn’t sound like anything’s wrong. “Put on your party shoes, Miss Thang, and get your butt over here.”

I grimace. “Never again use the phrase ‘Miss Thang’ in my range of hearing.”

Grant just laughs. “C’mon, Annie-beta-gamma. We’re having a floor party for our birthday. Somebody even went to get a cake. Come on over and feast on all the sugary, salty junk food you can stand.”

There is no way to overstate how much I do not want to go to any party, much less one that’s partly in my honor. But it’s Grant’s birthday, too, and we’ve always celebrated them together. If nothing else, maybe it’ll get me out of my head for a couple of hours.

And hey. A dose or two of alcohol wouldn’t hurt.

The hallway outside Grant and Darryn’s room is crowded with people, most of them standing around with red plastic cups in their hands, trying to talk over the pounding music that seems to be coming from everywhere.

Someone must’ve synced up a single playlist across multiple devices, which is no mean feat. I should probably find them and spend the evening talking shop.

Instead, I go looking for the bar.

I find it, and Mo, in Grant and Darryn’s room.

Mo stands next to one of the desks, where several pitchers filled with liquids in colors from green to red line the edge, looking innocent. But someone’s used a marker to add labels on the side, ranking the drinks from freshman to senior. Somehow, I doubt the categories are based on the sugar content.

I pick up a cup and hold it out, pointing at the pitcher marked “senior.” “Hit me.”

Mo glares even as she reaches for the pitcher. “Isn’t this your twentieth birthday?”

I shrug. “Like I’ll be the only one drinking underage tonight. At least I have the excuse of being one of the guests of honor.”

Mo laughs as she pours the red liquid into my cup. “Don’t worry, hon. Not going to leave you hanging.”

I drink half the cup immediately, ignoring the burn, and hold it back out. “Hit me again.”

Mo eyes me but pours again anyway. I don’t knock it back this time, instead taking just one more sip. Mo picks up her own cup, hers orange, and steps up next to me, bumping her arm against mine.

“I don’t usually recommend drowning your sorrows,” she says in a low voice. “But just this once, we’ll pretend it’s because it’s your birthday.”

I grimace and lift my cup. “Cheers.”

I keep sipping every minute or so as the warmth from that initial drink spreads through my body. I don’t want to get sloshed—I’ve never had a hangover and I don’t want to start now—but super tipsy would be a relief.

Anything to get me out of my head.

Not that it’s easy to think about anything with these noise levels. A half dozen other people are crammed into the room, jockeying for space by the haphazardly set up bar, chattering and laughing.

Some kind of bass-pulsing dance music pounds out from a speaker over by the door, and in the hallway outside, a clutch of bodies sways to the beat.

It’s not that I have anything against parties. Parties are great. I’m just not used to being at one that consists of more than cake and some presents around the dining room table at home.

Yay college life.

Grant stumbles to a stop in front of us. From the flush on his cheeks and the look in his eyes, he’s several cups into the red himself.

“Happy birthday!” He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into a hug, rocking me back and forth until I’m afraid one or both of us is going to lose our liquor.

Thankfully, he pulls back before it gets to that point. “Are you having fun yet?” He glances into my cup and raises his eyebrows. “Well, now! I guess you are!”

He holds out his cup, and I roll my eyes even as I bump mine with his. “You’re obviously having fun,” I tell him. “Where’s your better half?”

He grins. “Pace dragged him down the hall to get more fruit punch. I think.” He turns his smile to Mo. “You showin’ her a good time?”

Mo laughs and lifts her cup in a toast. “Happy birthday, Grant.”

“Thanks!” He taps his cup to hers, a little sloppily, and then tips it back. “Oh, would you look at that? All empty!” He laughs. “Time for a refill!”

I grab the cup out of his hand. “How about a break and some water first?”

Grant pouts at me. “Awww, party pooper!” Darryn appears next to him just then, and Grant turns to give him a lopsided grin. “Can you believe this girl?” he says, throwing his arm around Darryn’s shoulders. “She took my drink away!”

Darryn must not have been hitting the alcohol as hard. He just rolls his eyes. “You’ll thank her in the morning.” He points to the fridge in the corner. “Hydration. Go.”

He blows out an over-the-top sigh, but he does follow orders. I roll my eyes at Mo and Darryn as I take another sip of my drink.

Mo shakes her head. “Is he always like this when he drinks?”

I shrug a shoulder. “Only the second time I’ve seen him drink this much. The only other time was when he dragged me to that frat party freshman year.” I’d had to pour him into my bed to sleep it off, since Darryn had been home for the weekend and Grant lost the keycard to his dorm. Thankfully, Mo had been out of town that weekend, so I slept in her bed instead.

“Oh yeah, forgot about that.” Mo grimaces. “At least he made it to the trash can when he woke up.”

I shudder at the memory. “I told him never again. And to stay hydrated next time.” I wave my cup toward the refrigerator in the corner of the room. “I have no idea if he’s put that into practice since then, but we’ll see if it works this time.”

Two other people step into the room then, both laughing, and when I realize one of them is Pace Solomon, baseball star and Greek god personified, I freeze with my cup an inch from my mouth. I swallow hard, then drain my drink and turn toward Mo, putting my back to Pace.

“Don’t look now,” I murmur, “but my other crush just walked in.”

Mo, of course, looks. “Oh really? I didn’t know you had another crush.” She tilts her head. “I must say, you do have excellent taste.”

“Shhhhh.” I blink at her as if trying to send a message via Morse code. “Don’t—”

“Hey, you’re Pace, right?”

I am going to bash her in the head with her own tennis racket.

“Um, yeah.” His voice comes from just behind me. “Oh, you play tennis, right?”

“Michelle Scott,” Mo says, putting out her hand right next to my hip. “But you can call me Mo. And this is Grant’s sister Annie.”

Strike that. I’m going to bash myself in the head.

I take a deep breath and turn to face him. “Hi.” I give a dorky little wave up at him—he’s a good six inches taller than me—and immediately wish for the floor to swallow me up.

“Oh! So it’s your birthday, too?”

It’s kind of a silly question, but maybe he isn’t sure we’re twins?

“Yeah.” I duck my head in an awkward nod. “I…”

The music’s suddenly louder, pounding out a dance track I remember hearing that I think came out sometime last summer, and Pace’s face lights up. “I love this song!” He grabs my hand. “C’mon, birthday girl, dance with me!”

Before I can react, he’s dragging me toward the hallway. I stumble over my feet and shoot a desperate look over my shoulder at Mo, but she’s just smiling and waving.

Oh, hell. What in the world is going on with my life? First I sleep with the hottest girl on campus, and now I’m supposed to dance with the hottest guy without looking like a complete doofus?

I have never before wished so hard to be back in my dorm room with my stack of repair jobs. Computers do what I tell them to do and don’t expect me to do anything but fix them.

In the hallway, Pace lets go of my hand but spins to face me and starts moving his hips and waving his hands in the air.

I’ve got no clue if what he’s doing looks good or cool or anything else, but I steel myself and start copying his moves as best I can. I don’t throw my hands over my head like him, though, just lift them up to about shoulder level while I swing my hips and move my feet.

It all makes me feel ridiculous, but Pace is still smiling and I haven’t tripped or slammed into anyone so far, so I must not be doing too badly. He brings one hand down and rests it on my side, just above my left hip, not pushing or moving but just sitting there. I keep doing my thing, whatever it is, and though I don’t see many dance parties in my future, it’s kinda fun.

It would be better with Eve as a dance partner, my traitorous mind supplies, but I ignore it and smile up at Pace, who grins back and does a weird wiggle thing with his arms that has me laughing.

But then his gaze shifts to our right, and the expression on his face shifts into something softer and maybe a little confused. I glance that way and see a Black guy standing over there, the ubiquitous red cup in his hand, talking to Grant.

“Friend of yours?” I have to shout to be heard over the music.

Pace’s gaze snaps back to me. “No, just…” He glances that way again and then leans in closer to me. “Do you know that guy?”

I shake my head. “He looks kinda familiar, but no. Gymnastics team, maybe?”

Pace nods as he straightens back up. “Maybe.” He stares for another couple of seconds before he literally shakes his head and turns his attention back to me. “Sorry!” He grabs my hand with his free one. “Give me a twirl!”

Before I know what’s happening, he pushes at my hip and lifts our hands over my head, spinning me in a circle. I laugh again, but the hallway tilts around me and it’s all I can do to stay on my feet.

The alcohol in my system isn’t all that happy about the change of scenery either.

I cling onto his biceps hard. “Whoa.”

Pace grabs my shoulders, his expression now concerned. “Whoops, that might’ve been too much. You okay?”

I start to nod but think better of it. “Yeah. Just give me a second for the room to stop moving.”

Pace takes my free hand again but this time leads me back into Grant and Darryn’s room. “Here,” he says, pulling out one of the desk chairs. “Sit. I’ll get you some water.”

“You don’t have to—” But he’s already gone, so I sit. He comes back with a bottle of water, cracking the lid off before he hands it over.

“Drink up.” He squats as I take the bottle. “Sorry about that. I got a little carried away. You gonna be okay?”

I nod as I swallow a mouthful of water. “I’ll be fine,” I say. “Thanks for the dance. It was fun. Even the spinny part.”

He grins. “Anytime, birthday girl.” He slaps a hand on the desk next to me. “I probably need to knock off the alcohol anyway. We’ve got a game tomorrow.” He pushes to his feet. “You should come out and watch sometime.”

Guess that answers the question niggling at the back of my mind about whether he’s ever noticed me before tonight. Not at the ballfield, at least.

I smile at him anyway. “I’ll do that.”

“Okay, well, see you soon!” He gives a little wave almost as dorky as mine and then disappears back into the hallway.

The room’s far away enough for the music to be a non-earsplitting volume, and my ears thank me for the reprieve, so I sit there and drink my water.

Once I’m done, I stand slowly to be sure I’m on solid ground again, and when all stays stable, I drop the empty bottle into the pop-up trash bin with the recycling symbols on it and slip out into the hall.

The dancing hasn’t stopped. Grant and Darryn are in the middle of the crush, though they’re pressed close together and not paying much attention to the rhythm, as far as I can tell.

My stomach twists, not entirely from the alcohol.

They’re so happy together. I want to get to be that happy, too. Someday.

My days with Eve had been happy and our connection had felt real, but I guess we should’ve talked about expectations. Clearly, she’d only seen our time as casual and easily forgotten, while I…

I sigh.

I’m tired, tipsy, and ready to be alone, so I move down the hallway and out the door as quietly as I can. I text both Grant and Mo on the way back to my dorm, just to let them know I left and I’m fine, and once I’m back in my room, I fall asleep almost as soon as my head hits the pillow.

The next thing I’m aware of is jerking up from bed at a loud noise. It takes me a minute to figure one someone is knocking at my door. I have no idea what time it is, but I drag myself up and stumble to answer it.

Maybe it’s Mo checking up on me or the RA with some notice about a hall meeting, since no one else ever bothers me these days.

I open the door and curse under my breath, wishing with all my might for peepholes on these damn dorm room doors.

Eve stands there, looking as beautiful as ever but somehow dulled, less vibrant. Maybe that’s the filter of my own emotions graying my vision.

“Hi, Annie.”

I just stare at her.

“I owe you an apology.”

I roll my eyes. “Save it. Unless you’ve been in a coma for the past two weeks, and we both know you haven’t.”

Her smile is half its usual strength, but not enough to make me pause and give her a chance. “Not exactly,” she says. “I shouldn’t have left the way I did, but I do need to explain—”

Anger floods through me, sudden and painful. “Explain why you didn’t answer my texts? How you had me worried that something bad had happened to you? How I had to learn from my brother that you were in classes as if nothing had happened?”

Eve’s eyes are open wide and her lips are parted. “Annie, I…I didn’t mean to.”

Maybe casual is all we could be. But I can’t do casual anymore. I can’t open myself to someone like that, just to have them bail because they’re done or whatever.

Well, now I’m done.

“Thanks for showing me a good time,” I say as calmly as I can. “But please don’t come back.”

I close the door.

I don’t slam it, because the last thing I want is for doors to open up and down the hall as everyone looks for the latest gossip. I do lock it, though, and I ignore the stab in my heart when she doesn’t even try to knock again.

…

Eve vanishes from my life as suddenly as she came into it. I keep doing my daily routine, all of it on autopilot. I’ve been through it enough times to know I’m depressed, but I keep hoping it’ll pass and I’ll snap out of it.

I come home from class on Thursday to find an envelope taped to my door.

I’m reluctant to even touch it, but it’s not like it’s going to go away, so I yank it down and toss it onto my desk next to my backpack. I let it sit there while I take care of a couple of quick phone fixes and answer emails, including one from Mo with another test page for my website. It’s coming along great, but I can’t deal with trying to review it now, so I mark the email to go back to later and then take a long, steadying breath before I pick up the envelope.

It’s plain and white, nothing written on it other than my name, no clues to what it contains, though it feels stiff, like there’s a card or something inside. The flap is taped down, so I pull the tape free and open it, tipping it over so the contents fall onto my desk.

Tickets.

Four of them.

They’re for the Tornadoes’ game in two days. Even better seats than the last time she got me a ticket. There’s no note, but I can read between the lines.

She wants me to come. And she gave me enough tickets that I could bring friends—reinforcements. She probably has something planned, maybe another apology attempt.

Part of me wants to throw the tickets into the trash, but another part wants to hear out what she really wants to say. After all, if she’d been only after a casual relationship, why go out of her way to apologize and even keep trying after I closed the door in her face?

I don’t know what to do.

But at least I have two days to decide.