17

    

“Jeez, Jess. Don’t you think this is a bit much? I look like a disco ball.”

I gather up my hair at the top of my head and spin around, examining my outfit from all angles in my floor length mirror for what seems like the hundredth time tonight.

Jessica peeks out from my bathroom where she’s applying her makeup. She sighs as she walks over to me.

“You look amazing! I swear.” 

She grabs the hand on top of my head and pulls it away, allowing my hair to resume its position cascading down my back in long, loose curls I’d styled earlier. She smiles at me through the mirror. “Trust me, girl. Would I steer you wrong?”

I shrug my shoulders as I take in the sparkly black shorts and shimmery golden top she’d helped me pick out during our “emergency” trip to the mall last night

When she’d asked me what I was planning on wearing for my birthday at the meeting yesterday, she wasn’t particularly thrilled with my answer of “I dunno…something like this?” as I pointed to my leggings and loose tank-top. 

We’d popped in the mall afterwards and I let her have her way with me, shoving me in a dressing room and throwing an endless supply of clothing over the door until the saleslady kicked us out at closing time. After trying on half the store, I’d ended up purchasing this outfit and a couple cute dresses. 

Yep, dresses. 

I don’t know what came over me, but once I tried on a few, I was hooked. If someone had just told me dresses could be as comfy as workout attire, I would’ve jumped on board a while ago. Jess was near tears with excitement, absolutely thrilled that I’d finally decided to get a little girly. Still, it’s all very new and very foreign to me.

Especially my current outfit, which I’m thoroughly convinced is visible from Mars. 

Being flashy and over-the-top isn’t exactly my thing. 

I turn sharply on my five-inch wedges to face her, trying to remain balanced. 

“I don’t know. I feel like this outfit screams New Year’s Eve party.”

“Well, technically it is a new year for you, right? And there’s no better way to celebrate the beginning of your twenty-first year of life than being covered in sparkles.” She swivels me around to face the mirror again. “And you look fantastic. A total sex bomb. All eyes are going to be on you tonight.”

For the first time since putting on the outfit, I try to look at myself objectively. The shorts hug my thighs just enough to emphasize their curvy shape, and the color of my top complements my dark smokey eye and tanned skin. 

Okay, maybe it’s not so horrible after all. 

Once Jessica sees the confident expression emerge on my face, she grins and hugs me from behind. 

“See? I knew you’d finally come around.” She straightens and heads towards the closed door of my bedroom. I can make out the faint sound of muffled voices coming from the living room. “Let me check if they’re done setting up so we can get this party started. Don’t peek!”

I take a seat on my bed as she opens the door just wide enough for her to slip out without ruining the surprise. 

“Lexie, are you done yet?! At this rate, Rayne’s going to turn twenty-two before you guys are finished setting up this pregame!”

I smile as I hear Jessica’s scolds from behind the door and grab my phone to pass the time. Knowing Lexie and her obsession with decorating, I may be trapped in here for a few more hours. 

As I’m responding to all my birthday notifications, my phone pings and a text message pops up. 

Vaughn: Hope you’re ready for tonight, birthday girl. Bar crawls are my specialty ;)

A rush of a feeling I can’t quite discern hits me straight in the gut: a contrasting concoction of debilitating nerves and restless energy. I quickly push the feeling and the memories that accompany it aside just like I’ve been doing every time I think about what happened Monday night. 

That’s been incredibly difficult, though, because that’s about the only thing that’s been playing through my mind over the past two days. 

The way he had his strong arms wrapped around me, the electricity soaring through my veins, his perfect lips so freaking close to mine— 

Quit it. 

I pinch my leg to distract me from my intrusive thoughts. 

I don’t know what the hell was going on, but whatever it was, I’ve come to the conclusion it was a one-time thing and will not occur again. 

Vaughn and I are friends.

He is my very attractive friend. 

And all we’re doing is working on this article together.

That’s it. 

That’s all. 

There’s nothing more to it than that. 

I groan and flop myself backwards on my bed, massaging my temples. 

Luckily, Jessica pops her head in and saves me from whatever crap my brain is going to throw at me next. 

“We’re ready for you birthday girl!” 

The second I step into the living room, I’m bombarded with cheers of “Happy Birthday” from the small group of my friends gathered to celebrate. Shiny turquoise and purple streamers hang from the ceiling, and golden balloons in the shape of a giant 2 and 1 float in the makeshift photo booth over in the corner. A pile of presents in sparkly silver wrapping paper are spread out on the coffee table, and a massive canvas with the words “Rayne’s Birthday” painted on it hangs above our couch.

Being locked in my room for the past hour was totally worth it because everything looks unbelievable. 

Lexie runs up, her black, bodycon dress hugging her slender frame, and squeezes me. Hard.

“Happy Birthday! You are the best roommate a girl could ask for!” 

When she finally relaxes her death grip, I notice what she’s carrying in her hands. 

“Oh no, Lex. Don’t even think about it.” My heels click against the wooden floor as I take a few steps back in retreat. “I refuse to wear any birthday sashes or crowns or any of that stuff.” 

She ignores my pleas, cackling as she throws a hot pink sash over my head.

“You have to, R! It’s part of the twenty-first experience.” She gives the sash a quick tug to straighten it and stands back, admiring her work. “You’re lucky they were out of tiaras or you’d be wearing one of those, too.” 

Jorge groans from the couch. “Dang, Lexie. I could’ve brought my crown if you’d told me!” 

I thank my lucky stars Jorge and Lexie didn’t communicate about the crown situation and pull out the sash so I can read it. 

“’21 and Hot. Buy me a Shot’. Where did you find this?” I crack up laughing but vow to “accidentally” lose it as soon as I can. 

Rachel and Brandi, two girls that live down the hall from us, hand me a bejeweled bottle of champagne. 

“You look great!” Rachel exclaims while Brandi nods enthusiastically in agreement. “So when are the guys meeting us?” She arches a brow, and I respond with a casual raise of my shoulders. 

Her scrutinizing gaze has me wondering if Lexie spilled the beans about finding Vaughn and me cuddled up together on the couch. I wouldn’t put it past her; the girl loves to gossip. 

Lexie pulls out her phone. “I told them to meet us at Bluebonnet around eleven. I would’ve invited them to the pregame, but the thought of giant, rowdy soccer dudes drinking in our apartment sounds like a disaster waiting to happen. Bull in a china shop and all that.” 

Jorge sits up from the couch and rubs his hands together. “Okay, enough chit-chat. Who’s ready to get this party started?” 

He yanks my arm, dragging me into the kitchen with the others following behind. 

When we enter, he points to a tall, multi-tiered “cake” on the kitchen table. It’s made up of dozens of miniature bottles of alcohol, different types and brands making up each layer. 

“What do you think? I looked up a tutorial online and bugged Lexie for all your favorite kinds of liquor.” He grins as he proudly shows off his creation. 

“This is great, Jorge. Thanks so much! I definitely want a slice,” I joke as I pick up a little bottle of lemon-flavored vodka off of the bottom tier. Everyone gathers around, each plucking a tiny drink from the work of art. 

Lexie raises her mini bottle of whiskey in the air, proposing a toast. 

“To a night of drinking, dancing, and debauchery! Happy twenty-first, Rayne!” 

 

An hour later, we spill out from a cab onto the streets of downtown, all sporting a nice buzz and feeling the rush of cool night air on our flushed cheeks. 

Lexie leads the way to Bluebonnet, stumbling like a baby deer learning to walk as she clumsily gestures for us to keep up. 

Okay, maybe she’s beyond a “nice buzz”. 

Rachel hooks her arm through mine as we walk slowly to the first bar, treading cautiously so we don’t trip in our heels. 

“So you and Steel Blue, huh?” Her question catches me off guard, and it takes me a minute to respond. 

“What? No, we aren't— I mean, I-, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

I attempt to keep my voice steady to feign innocence, but my words pour out in a jumbled, guilty manner. 

On top of that, I lose my footing and trip as we step over a curb. Luckily, Rachel’s firm grasp on my arm prevents me from planting face first onto the dirty sidewalk. 

Stumbling over words and my own feet doesn’t exactly convey the casual tone I was aiming for. 

Damn vodka. 

She squeezes my arm, tightening her grip after my nearly disastrous spill. “I passed by him Monday night getting in the elevator to leave our floor. At two in the morning.” She wiggles her eyebrows up and down. “Didn’t take you for the booty call type.” 

I groan. “You’re so far off, Rach. He brought me some medicine because I was sick. All we did was eat pizza and watch a movie. No booty call, no midnight romp. Just friends hanging out.” 

“Friends. Okay. If you say so.” 

I can see her look of disbelief through the corner of my eye.

“I do say so.” 

Why do I get the feeling this isn’t the last time tonight I’m going to have to defend my platonic relationship with him?

We reach the entrance of the club where Lexie is already talking to the bouncer animatedly. She flashes a toothy grin when she sees us, motioning for me to join them. 

“Rayne, get up here! We need to get a picture of you and the bouncer with your ID!” 

Partly because I’m buzzed, but mostly because Lexie is stubborn as hell, I don’t put up a fight. 

I run up to her and hold my arms out as wide as I can. 

“This is all part of the twenty-first experience!” I say sarcastically, but she must not detect it because she opens her eyes wide and bobs her head up and down excitedly. 

“Exactly! I knew you’d understand.” 

I hold out my ID and pucker my lips for the picture—the alcohol most definitely influencing my pose—and we head inside. 

The bar is packed, especially for a Wednesday, and I hold tightly onto Rachel’s hand as she muscles her way through the sweaty bodies gyrating to the blaring pop song. A cluster of silver disco balls hanging from the ceiling lights our way as she guides me to the counter.

I find myself almost instinctively searching the crowd as we pass through, scanning the eyes of every male I see for a familiar pair of baby blues. When I don't spot them, I feel a slight sense of relief.

I could use a shot or five before having to face him again. 

When we reach the busy bartop, Jessica grabs me, pulling me up to where the rest of the gang is already gathered. Leaning over the shiny black counter, she catches the attention of one of the bartenders and wiggles her finger to summon him.

“What can I get you girls?” 

Jess bats her dark eyelashes at him, her chocolate brown eyes sparkling under the neon lights. 

“Hi there, David.” She reads off his name tag and throws an arm around my shoulder. “This is Rayne. She’s twenty-one today!” 

I give an awkward little wave. 

David throws me a thumbs up and immediately reaches for some shot glasses, obviously aware of the unspoken rule of twenty-first birthdays that all bartenders follow: a round of free drinks for groups of girls celebrating. 

“Happy Birthday! How many in your group?”

“Six!” 

“Any specific recommendations? I make a mean Lemon Drop. Sound okay?” 

We all nod happily, and his heavily tattooed arms move quickly as he mixes the drinks. In record time, a set of six picture-perfect lemon drops is in front of us. 

After clinking our glasses together, I down the shot, the burning of the alcohol offset by the sugary-sweet lemon taste. A shiver rushes through my entire body as I place the glass on the bar.

A visibly drunk man to my right turns to me, a sleazy smile on his face. 

“How about another, sweetheart?” His eyes are glued to my chest as if he’s making the offer to my cleavage and not me. 

“I’m good, thanks.” I plaster on a polite, tight-lipped smile, but he doesn’t turn away. 

“Awh, come on. What’s the problem, honey?” His words slur as he continues eyeing me creepily. 

Yuck. 

Before I can tell him to quit bothering me, I feel a strong hand on my lower back. 

“She said no, dude. Either you leave her alone or you and I can go have a little chat outside. Choice is yours, buddy.” 

I swivel around and intake a sharp breath when I see Vaughn glaring at the creep, his jaw tense and brows low. The territorial look on his face works like a charm, and the guy snaps his head back to the bar. 

When Vaughn focuses his gaze on me, his expression relaxes and he gives me a huge smile.

God, he looks amazing: Dark hair lightly tousled, gray-blue shirt hugging his sculpted chest, bronzed, glowing skin highlighting the brightness of his eyes. 

Hot damn. 

I mean, it’s like he’s trying to look this sexy on purpose, trying to torture me.

Before I can say anything, he pulls me into a hug, squeezing me tight against his body. 

“Happy Birthday, Raynie,” he mumbles softly into my hair, his fingers lightly skimming the bare skin on my back.

I pull out of his grasp as just the slightest touch from him sends a wave of heat spiraling through my body. 

Well, crap. 

This is worse than I thought. 

Rule Number One to prevent another incident: Limit physical contact. 

“Thanks, Steel.” I smile innocently as I take a stealthy step backwards, trying to remove myself from the magnetic bubble around him.

AKA: The Danger Zone. 

“Feeling better after Monday? Or are you still sick?” 

He looks genuinely concerned, but I’m afraid any more discussion about that night will inevitably lead to a full-blown conversation about what happened. 

Which brings me to Rule Number Two: Don’t talk about the incident. 

“One hundred percent better. It was just a twenty-four hour thing,” I quickly answer as I glance over his shoulder. “Where’s your crew?” 

I silently cheer as my abrupt subject change works and he follows my glance, searching for his teammates. 

“There’s Diego.” He points towards the DJ booth where Mr. Party Animal himself is attempting to nudge the DJ out of the way so he can takeover. He turns back around and shrugs. “I don’t know where the rest of them are. You never know with those guys.” 

His eyes flit over me as he takes in my appearance. “Damn. You look gorgeous. Twenty-one suits you.” 

I thank him as he slants his head, reading the words on the obnoxious ribbon draped across my body.

“The sash is a nice touch.” He quirks a dark brow and tries unsuccessfully to contain his laughter. 

I roll my eyes. “Not my idea in any way, shape, or form. This has Lexie written all over it.”

As if right on cue, I hear the familiar bubbly sound of Lexie’s voice as she calls out from somewhere amidst the crowd. 

“Rayne! Come dance!” 

I’m searching for her platinum locks amongst the sea of people when I spot Weston and Cameron chatting with a group of girls off to the side. They both catch my eye and wave. 

Cameron cups his hands over his mouth as he yells across the bar. “Time to party, Sportscaster Girl!”

Weston joins in. “Twenty-one, baby! Now get your ass on the dance floor!” 

Vaughn nudges his head in their direction. “What do you say, Raynie? Dance with me?” 

I bite my lip uneasily, not sure how to respond. I’m trying to avoid close contact with the guy, and grinding up against him on the dance floor? 

Not exactly what I had in mind. 

I’m about to decline, but then he hits me with puppy dog eyes, and—ugh—how the heck am I supposed to say no to that? 

I’ll just make sure we keep the dance moves PG. 

Yeah, that ought to work. A little Macarena, some Cupid Shuffle. I’ll even throw in the Chicken Dance for good measure. 

Absolutely nothing sexy about that. 

“Fine,” I tell him. “But I’m going to need another drink before I go out there and embarrass myself.”  

He grabs the attention of the bartender and points down at my empty shot glass before holding up two fingers. 

“Always buying me drinks.”

He frowns. “Are you twenty-one?”

“Yes?” I say with a puzzled inflection. 

“Alright, and are you hot?”

Oh, okay. Now I see where this is going. 

“Very funny.”

He shakes his head. “Nuh uh. Wrong answer, Raynie. Let’s try this again. Are you hot?”

I give him a dramatic eyeroll. “Yes, Vaughn. I’m twenty-one and hot.”

A cheesy grin pops on his face. “Then I’m buying you a damn shot.”

Our “damn shots” arrive quickly.  We each grab one, clinking them together before tossing our heads back and downing the smooth lemony-goodness. 

“Ready?” he questions, eyes shimmering under the soft lighting.

I already feel the liquid courage surging through my bloodstream as I set the glass down and begin leading him towards the crowd. 

“Let’s go.”