At 1:15, she can’t wait any longer. She’s had two Red Bulls and is bursting at the seams.
Katie climbs out the window quite gracefully. I pretty much fall out of it and into the bushes. I’ve never had to sneak out before.
“How did you do that?” I ask her as I’m picking leaves off my shorts. We had a big dilemma about what to wear tonight. She wanted to be all decked out. I thought maybe we should look more casual. Pajama party casual. We discussed it for about an hour. Killed some time at least.
“Get out the window without falling?” she whispers. “I snuck out my window at home all summer to see my boyfriend.”
“And what exactly were you doing with your boyfriend in the middle of the night?”
She smiles and blushes. “Well, you know. Mostly, we just made out, but toward the end of the summer we started having sex. Well, we did it a few times anyway. I really didn’t care for it. But we were both virgins, so I wasn’t really expecting much.”
“Well, when you do it again, hopefully it will be with someone more experienced. I liked it. A lot.”
“Like tonight? Do you think that stuff goes on at this party? I really have no idea what to expect.”
“I would guess it’s like any party: drugs, alcohol, and hooking up.”
“I can’t get drunk. I’m not much of a drinker, and I’ve never smoked or done any drugs before.”
“Only have two drinks, then. If you get all drunk, stupid, and loud, you won’t get invited back.”
“We want invited back. They’re hot!”
“Shhh! Exactly. And we need to be quiet.”
We sneak over to the Heritage dorm and find window number two open as planned. We slide in and go up to the plan B room.
Isn’t Plan B like the morning after pill?
Yikes. Hope that isn’t indicative of how the night will go.
The door to 38B is wide open, and there are about twenty people crammed into the room. Well, twenty-two now.
Tyrese is standing by the door. He says, “Keatyn, baby, who’s your friend?”
I introduce him to Katie, and leave them to talk. If I have learned one thing from my mom, it’s how to work a party. Never stay up front. The good stuff is always in the back. And always make a full sweep of the room before you stop to chat.
I’m specifically looking for something to drink and for Riley. Instead, I get to the back of the room and find an entire keg of beer, with Dawson pumping it.
He sees me and says, “Damn. I didn’t know this was a pajama party. I like seeing what you wear to bed. Want me to take my clothes off and show you what I wear?”
I’m wearing a pair of fuchsia and black striped Juicy Couture sleep shorts, a little white tank top, and black Koolaburra boots.
And I’m kinda bad, but I’m still wearing my leopard-print bra underneath.
And I was wrong. Very wrong. No one else is in pajamas. They are still all decked out. Whitney especially.
Nothing like being a fashion disaster at my first party. I should have called Kym for advice on what to wear. I look like a middle-schooler going to her first pajama party. I’m such an idiot. I should know better than this. L.A. is, like, the capital of dressed-up casual.
But screw it. The way Dawson is staring at my tank top, I don’t think he cares what I have on. And for some reason, having this gorgeous guy stare at my chest when I look ridiculous makes me feel bold.
I take a step closer to him, grab the beer out of his hand, and take a big drink. “I never said this is what I wear to bed.”
“You really shouldn’t flirt with me. I told my brother that if he didn’t get busy with you, I would.”
“I’m not flirting with you, and I don’t wanna get busy with you.”
“Oh, yeah, you do. You just won’t admit it yet.”
“Where is your brother anyway?”
“Hasn’t shown up. Loser probably fell asleep and is busy having some little boy wet dream about you.” He grabs my waist, much like the way his brother did earlier, and pulls me toward him. “How about I show you?”
I take a long, slow drink of his beer. Trying to cool him down. But it doesn’t work, because he’s peeking down my tank top, eyeing my bra, then putting his hand up to touch it.
And yeah, you know who chooses this exact moment to wander up to the keg.
The Hottie.
In the flesh.
“Stop that!” I tell Dawson, smacking his hand away.
He releases me from his grip and says, “S’up, Aiden?”
Aiden scowls at him. “You’re never gonna get Whitney back doing shit like that. She’s giving you the death stare.”
We all turn and look at Whitney at the same time, but it’s clear she isn’t giving Dawson the death stare. She’s giving it to me.
Shit.
Dawson looks like a little boy who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. I almost feel sorry for him.
Aiden turns to me and demands, “Come with me.”
He pulls me down on a futon next to him. On the other end of it is a couple furiously making out.
“What are you doing at this party?”