Allison and I exchange looks, trying not to laugh at his adorable, childlike behavior.
“You’re awfully excited for this party,” I tease.
“The first kegger is always the craziest. It’s the best party of the year. Now quit your stalling and put on some clothes that don’t make you look like a homeless person.” Apparently Allison’s shorts and crop top are sufficient for this party, considering he doesn’t comment on them.
In the small, three-piece bathroom, I change into jean shorts and a flowy tank top and shrug on a cardigan as I second-guess going to this party. I’m not one to frequent them throughout the semester, but I’ve tagged along with Allison and Oliver on a few occasions. I always have a good time; I would tonight, but I should stay home.
Screw it.
It’s my senior year of college. I want to start it off with a bang.
The cab drops the three of us off at the curb of a student property on the less urban side of Rockdale. The music from inside is vibrating through the house, and Allison is already swaying her hips to whatever pop song is playing.
The house is huge, which is not what I expected for a student rental in the city. Where most are run-down bungalows, this place is three stories of gray stone. Several trees cover the yard, all glowing with the soft hues of twinkling lights strung through the branches. An empty beer can crunches under my foot as we’re walking across the lawn.
We approach the door, and Oliver, without knocking, lets himself in. Far too many people fill the house to notice more entering, so Allison and I follow him. We make our way through the hallway, and my eyes flick to the vaulted ceiling before we make it into the open concept kitchen, furnished to the nines with stainless steel appliances and granite countertops—most of which are covered in empty beer bottles and pizza boxes.
Oliver shouts at the guy manning the keg near the French doors which lead to the backyard where more people are dancing, and the two of them spark up some conversation about a party they were at last semester.
Allison and I grab a couple of beers, leave Oliver talking to his friend, and migrate into the living room where people are singing and dancing.
“Allison! Aurora!” We both spin around at the high-pitched squeal of Danielle, a girl from my program who lives on our floor. Her cheeks are rosy; the beer in her hand probably isn’t her first.
“Danielle.” I smile as she clinks her bottle against mine, then Allison’s. “How’s it going?”
Her eyes shift between Allison and me. “Great! This place is packed!”
She’s right. I wrinkle my nose at the overwhelming smell of pizza, beer, and a mixture of perfume, cologne, and body odor.
Allison nods and takes a drink of her beer. I flick my eyes over to her, wondering why she’s glaring at Danielle.
“We’ll catch up later, okay?” I say.
“Sure.” Danielle giggles. “Have fun, ladies.”
When she’s out of earshot, I turn to Allison. “What was that about?”
She shrugs. “Nothing. Let’s dance.” She plasters a smile on her face as if it’s been practiced, and I frown before following her through the crowd. Allison and I stick together, dancing side by side, chatting with the people around us, while Oliver hangs with the guys in the kitchen.
Hours pass in a blur of drinking and dancing, talking over the music. The country songs aren’t anything I’m a huge fan of, but the beer I’m tossing back makes it easier to enjoy.
I manage to break away from the crowd and leave Allison with a group of girls from our building while I look for the bathroom.
You don’t buy beer; you rent it, my mom always says.
“Upstairs.” A deep, newly familiar voice catches my attention, and I glance toward the sound to find Grant grinning at me.
I smile in greeting and arch a brow at him. “Excuse me?”
He tips his head back against the wall, the hair in front of his face falling away. “The bathroom. It’s upstairs.” He points to a set of stairs a few feet away.
“Oh,” I mumble. “Thanks.”
He nods. “I’ll be honest, I didn’t think you’d come. I figured you’d crash after class earlier.”
“It’s not my fault Professor Boring talks so low. It’s a miracle anyone could hear him.” Grant laughs before I continue. “And don’t get me started on his PowerPoints.”
He whistles. “Those are some harsh words, but I have to agree. I offered to work on them for him, but the guy wouldn’t let me. Being a TA only means so much, I guess.” He laughs again. “I won’t keep you here talking. I’ll see you around, Aurora.” He touches my shoulder briefly and offers a smile. The butterflies in my stomach give a healthy flutter. Grant’s attention is rather nice.
My head spins as I jog up the stairs, having to grab the railing a couple of times to keep my balance, and almost get lost trying to find the damn bathroom. This house has way too many hallways and doors. That, and I’ve had a few too many beers—an annoying reminder I’m a lightweight.
Groaning when I round another corner and see the line, I make my way to the back of it and pull my phone out. I scroll through Twitter, my most recent social media addiction, until the line moves and it’s my turn. I’m quick and hurry out of the bathroom, knowing how many people are still waiting.
Trying to retrace my steps is more difficult than it should be. Turned around, I end up in an empty hallway. The skin on the back of my neck tingles, making me pause. I debate calling Allison or Oliver to come find me when a door opens, sending me stumbling back, clutching my chest as a guy steps into the hallway.
“My bad,” he says, sounding unapologetic. He runs a hand through his short, dark brown hair, and his gaze holds mine as his eyes narrow. He inhales slowly. “Well, it’s my lucky night. Looks like I’m going to be able to wrap this up in a jiffy.” He tugs on the lapels of his jacket as if to straighten them and then claps his hands together.
My brows inch closer. “Do I know you?”
“I’m Max.” He smirks, his teeth straight and white—too perfect. “You don’t know me, but I know you.”
I shake my head, sobering up a bit, and peek around the empty hallway. Where the hell is everyone? I can hear voices shouting over the music downstairs, but there’s not a person in sight. “I don’t think so.” Hold on. Those eyes . . . This is the guy I ran into on my way home from class.
He presses his lips together and exhales through his nose as if he’s trying to calm himself.
My gut tells me I need to get out of here. Now.
“I should get back to the party,” I say in a forced, level tone. “My friends are waiting for me.”
He tilts his head to the side, and the curve of his lips turns my stomach as I shift the weight between my feet. His eyes follow me closely, as if each move I make is intriguing.
I take a step back in the same moment he steps forward. “What are you doing?” My voice cracks, as tightness clamps down on my chest.