Havoc

“No,” Danica says, still staring at Mike like he’s a gold-plated banana split. “I’m going to stay here for a while.”

“You’re leaving?” Mike asks me, and when he shifts Danica off of his lap and attempts to stand, I have to launch forward to keep him from falling.

Okay, so maybe he is that drunk. Shit . . .

“I, er . . . yeah. I mean, I was just waiting for Danica, so . . .”

My eyes drop to my hand, which is pressed tight against the hard curve of Mike’s waist, and when I hastily pull it away, he nearly stumbles forward again. His arm wraps heavily around my shoulders in an attempt to catch himself, and I help him find his balance while ignoring the deadly look that Danica gives me.

“Mike,” I say, staring up into his big glassy eyes. “Do you need a ride home?”

“Why are you offering him a ride home?” Danica snaps at me.

“He’s drunk . . .”

“And?”

“And—”

I’m about to explain some choice phrases like “designated driver” and “decent human being” when Mike interrupts, “Are you trying to hold me up?”

I lift my gaze to his and watch as an amused smile stretches across his lips.

I have one hand firmly on his back and the other on his stomach, like I’m some kind of pocket-sized Wonder Woman capable of keeping a guy twice my size on his feet. “You were going to fall,” I reason, ignoring the amusement in his voice.

“You’re like two feet tall,” he teases with a chuckle.

“Five feet,” I argue, and when Mike laughs hard, I try not to smile.

“He’s fine here with me.” Danica’s arms are crossed tightly over her chest, and she has one foot planted forward in an aggressive stance that isn’t lost on me.

I should stay out of it. Danica will make my life a living hell if I piss her off. And Mike is so not my business.

Except that I’m the one who got him drunk. And I’m the one who drove Danica here. And I’ll never feel right about it if I leave this innocent man with the she-devil herself when he can barely stand upright.

My conscience sighs.

“Don’t you want to take a shower?” I ask Danica, ignoring all sense of self-preservation and instead hitting her weak spot. I slip out from under Mike’s arm and lower my voice so only she can hear. “I mean, don’t you want to wash your hair?”

Ten minutes later, I’m on the road home with Danica in my passenger seat, and she’s still periodically inspecting the ends of her perfect hair. Mike said he would sleep on the bus, so after rooting him out some carbs and bottled water and repeatedly making him swear he wouldn’t drive, I left.

I felt like I should thank him for the fun time I had with him last night, or like I should . . . I don’t know, shake his hand or hug him or something. Hanging out with him felt like hanging out with someone I’d been friends with for years, and I secretly want to play Deadzone Five with him again, but he’s Danica’s boyfriend, and all of that felt too weird, so instead, I simply told him he should brush up on his sniping skills, and I left.

Danica’s goodbye was much more dramatic. A kiss that lasted so long, I waited for her outside the bus.

“So all you did was play video games all night?” she asks me for the hundredth time as she studies a lock of her penny-colored hair.

“No, Dani, we had an orgy all night. The opening band joined in. So did some circus performers that were in town. Things got a little weird with the car full of clowns but—”

“Do you always have to be so annoying?” she complains, shielding her eyes from the sun. Without Mike to impress, she’s gone into full morning-mode Danica, slunk down in her seat with her bare feet up on my dash.

“I already told you no a thousand times.”

“You were too friendly with each other this morning,” she accuses.

“Because I’m like everyone’s kid sister.”

Danica grunts her acceptance, and I curse the fact that the radio in my car doesn’t work. Right now would be the perfect time to turn it on so that I can’t get dragged into any more conversations about—

“Well, did he at least say anything about me?”

After we started drinking and playing Deadzone, not a word. It was like Danica ceased to exist, and the truth is, Mike wasn’t the only one to forget about her. I forgot that I’d brought her along. I forgot about the show. I forgot about the throngs of fans that jumped to the deafening beat of Mike’s drums just a few hours earlier. Instead, I laughed and played games and had an amazing time.

With Danica’s boyfriend.

“He wouldn’t shut up about you,” I lie, and when Danica orders me to give her details, I scrape for something to appease her. “He said you’re even prettier now than you were in high school.”

“He said that?” she asks, straightening in her seat and beaming at me.

“Yeah,” I answer, surprised that she’s buying it, since she can normally see right through any fibs I try to tell.

“What else did he say?”

“Oh, you know . . .” When she won’t stop staring at me, I jump out on a short limb. “He said he had a really good time with you last night.”

Satisfied, she sits back in her seat and smiles. I smile too, relieved that I no longer have to talk to her, but then she opens her gloss-coated lips again.