by Russo, Jessa
“Guys, this is Jenna, my best friend.”
“Your sister from another mister?” Cam asked.
I hung my head in shame, then Cam elbowed me.
Rosemarie’s face became serious. “Oh, no, that really was my brother from another mother. Mick and I have—had—the same dad. But this is just my best friend. I wish we were related!” The girls both squealed and looked at each other as if that wasn’t the first time being sisters had come up.
After about seventeen more introductions—too many to keep count of or remember—Rosemarie stuffed a cup full of purple liquid into my hands, then dragged me out onto the dance floor. I hesitated—after months of trying to avoid people, I suddenly found myself smack dab in the middle of a few dozen gyrating bodies—but only a couple short seconds passed before I could no longer ignore the pull of the music.
I allowed myself to feel each beat, my feet and arms moving to the rhythm of songs I didn’t even know, in a genre I didn’t even listen to. I closed my eyes and relaxed, letting the upbeat tempo soothe my tired mind.
A little while later, after accidentally sloshing my drink on a few innocent bystanders, I chugged what remained and tossed the cup toward a trash can in the corner. I missed, but it looked like mine was one of many—the trash can was way past full and far too small to accommodate so many discarded red cups.
I turned back toward Rosemarie, only to find her dancing with my brother. They seemed to dance well with each other, and had forgotten all about me, apparently, so I turned around to leave the dance floor and take a break.
Rosemarie’s brother leaned up against the wall by the door, arms crossed over his chest, staring straight at me through the crowd. When our eyes met, the ghost of a smile played on his lips. My chest tightened again, and heat rushed to my cheeks.
Had he watched me dancing the entire time?
I held his gaze longer than I should have. Everyone else seemed to disappear, and I fought an intense urge to go to him. Instead, I finally turned my head away and spotted two couches forming an L-shaped sitting area in the corner of the warehouse.
Trying to appear as if the brief moment of intoxicating attraction hadn’t fazed me, I sat on an old black leather couch, desperately wishing I had something to occupy myself with. I didn’t even have a drink in my hand to focus on anymore. Damn.
I wondered if Mick still watched me, but I was too chicken to find out. So I followed the flashing rainbow lights as they skipped across the dance floor.
My brother and Rosemarie still danced together, and Cam actually looked like he was enjoying himself. A slower song started—if even the slowest techno song could ever be called slow—and Rosemarie swayed closer to Cam. I expected him to back away from her, considering just a few hours ago he thought she was a total freak, but he slid an arm around her waist and pulled her close. Then…oh my God…my brother wrapped a hand around her neck, pulled her face toward his, and then…I turned my head and squeezed my eyes shut.
That was…
Unexpected.
But, good for him, I guessed. So he hooked up with our new friend. No biggie. Random party hook-ups weren’t abnormal, and Cam wasn’t known for turning girls down. He loved them, but he’d been single as long as me, after his ex-girlfriend broke up with him because of how much time he’d focused on me last October. Rod and Leslie didn’t only ruin my life with their selfishness. Although, it probably wasn’t just because of Cam’s shift in focus that Sana dumped him. She was next in line for head cheerleader, as well as my replacement as Leslie’s best friend, so inevitably, she’d want to stay away from the guy whose sister was the school pariah. No one else seemed to blame Cameron for his relation to me, but Sana couldn’t get past it. Whatever. She was a bitch anyway, and she’d never been good enough for my brother.
Now that I was no longer dancing, and was instead sitting on this couch in the corner, alone, I wished I were at home in bed. I could have been reading, or watching tv, or counting threads in the carpet…
Or being the big loser I’d been for the past four months straight.
Screw this.
I stood, ran my hands down my coral pencil skirt, adjusted my black tube-top, then left the couches. The air inside the warehouse was heavy from the fog machine and all the sweaty bodies, and I debated stepping outside, but February in Huntington Beach would be much too cold for even a quick breath of fresh air, and I had no idea where Rosemarie had taken our jackets. I headed to the bar instead. Jenna was still there talking to Rosemarie’s brother—who’d obviously stopped stalker-staring at me long enough to move from the last place I’d seen him—and her face lit up when she spotted me, almost as much as it had when she saw Rosemarie earlier.
Maybe these people didn’t think I was a freak after all. Maybe Rosemarie actually wanted to be my friend. I tucked that thought away for pondering later.
“Hey, Holland! Ready for another?” Jenna’s hands were already gripping a new cup.
“Sure. Why not, right?” Cam gave me the go ahead before we left our house, so since he was the designated driver, I let loose. Or let go. Whichever.
Jenna continued filling my cup from a giant Gatorade cooler. While I waited, I turned my head to my right and focused on Rosemarie’s brother.
“Mick, right?”
“Yep. Holland, right?”
“Mhmm.”
He grinned and stepped closer, closing the space between us. After Jenna handed me my drink, I leaned back against the “bar” and peered sideways at Mick, analyzing him as secretively as I could. His hair was really dark but very closely shaven. His eyebrows were dark, as well, naturally, and his eyes were a rich, bright shade of green. His jawline was square and well-defined, and I…
Ugh. Stupid girl. Stop.
I turned toward him fully and realized he was analyzing me, too. And not so secretly.
I did the bravest thing I’d done in a really long time. I smiled—the real thing, big and confident, and what Rod used to call heart-stopping.
“Care to dance with me, Mick?” What? Where did that come from? I was just full of surprises today.
“I’m not much for dancing, but if you play pool, I’m down.”
“Sounds perfect.” Perfect as in I want to spend time with you, not I love playing pool. I hated pool. I wasn’t any good at it, regardless of how many times people had attempted to teach me how to play. My dad and Cam tried relentlessly over the years—a Valley table sat in our living room for God’s sake—but their efforts were to no avail. I just couldn’t make the stick connect with the ball without worrying I’d snag the felt.
Maybe Mick couldn’t play either. One could hope.
After passing through the crowd and heading off down a slightly less crowded, and a lot less noisy, hallway, I followed Mick to the pool table, checking him out as I did so. Tall, but not too tall—a bit shorter than Rod—with broad, strong shoulders. The thermal shirt Mick wore fit snugly enough that I saw his shoulder blades moving underneath it as he reached over the table to collect the scattered pool balls. His jeans were a faded blue and appeared comfortably worn-in, tightly hugging his butt, and as he finished racking the balls and turned around to face me, I noticed—
“Holland?”
Ah hell. He’d turned around, and I was still perving on the way his butt looked in his jeans.
I looked up at his face, meeting his eyes as heat rushed to my cheeks. So much for brave and confident.
“Were you just checking out my ass?”
I felt my eyes widen, before I quickly tried to rectify the situation. But there was no way to rectify it. So I went with honesty. What the heck, right?
“Sure was. You were checking mine out earlier.”
“That I was. Glad you noticed. Ready to play a game?”
“Yup.”
Well, that went better than expected. But I needed to be more careful if I planned to check him out again in the future.
No, no. There would be no future. Just a quick game of
one of the worst sports ever, and then we’d go our separate ways.
“Ladies first,” he said, extending the cue stick toward me.
“Oh, no—” I waved my hands in the air, “—really, you go ahead.”
He cocked his head, his green eyes scrutinizing me, but I leaned back against the wall, oozing nonchalance. Or so I hoped.
He bent over the table, perfectly poised to take the first shot, and his shirt pulled up a bit, giving me a perfect view of his waist. The skin underneath his shirt was tanned and smooth. I wondered what the rest of his body looked like.
Stop it, Holland.
With a loud crack, the balls scattered across the table. I lost count of how many went in the pockets.
Okay, so he was really good at pool. Go figure. Of course, if he came to these warehouse parties often and wasn’t into dancing, he had plenty of practice time. He’d wipe the floor with me, but I’d suspected that going into it. Oh well. Can’t win them all. And I could at least enjoy myself while I dove headfirst into losing.
“Nice job. I guess I’m—” I tried counting the balls left on the table.
“I get to go again, so we’ll see what you are in a second.” He squinted his eyes, and his lips twitched.
He was laughing at me.
Well, then. I’d have to play well this time and show him a thing or two. I prayed a miracle would rain down from Heaven and help me out.
He leaned over and sunk another ball into a side pocket with ease. “You’re stripes.”
“Yes. I got that.” There were so many striped balls still on the table it was glaringly obvious what I was. They’d remain there, inevitably. Poor little guys.
Mick stood back, allowing me plenty of room to make a fool of myself. He rested both hands around the neck of the cue stick and watched me. He was hot.
Dammit.
I leaned over the table, setting up my attempt to make a perfect connection with the white ball, knowing fully well what I looked like bent over in that pencil skirt. So what if I was playing it up for this guy? Innocent fun.
I focused the way Cam taught me, lining up the shot in my mind.
“Nine ball, corner pocket,” I said to Mick, forcing myself to concentrate on that damned nine ball. Don’t break concentration; Cam’s instructions played in my head.
I couldn’t help myself. I glanced back at Mick, only to find his green eyes locked on mine. I sucked in a breath. His gaze travelled to my mouth, and I turned back to the table, closing my eyes to gather my wits.
Dammit. I needed to focus. This was just a friendly game of pool. Nothing more.
I’m not dating material.
I’m not on the market.
I forced myself to concentrate on the shot again. I could do this. I looked at my fingers, making sure they were exactly positioned the way Dad and Cam taught me. I pulled the stick back, then pushed forward, mentally crossing my fingers for a connection.
Nothing.
I scratched, like always, and missed the white ball entirely.
I laughed, then stood back and looked at Mick. He still gazed intently at me. The way he followed my every move was better than beating him. I watched a muscle work in his jaw. My heart raced, and my hands began sweating.
I recognized that look—the way guys used to watch me. Before they thought I was a freak. The way Rod used to look at me.
Ugh. Rod. I needed to stop letting my mind wander to him and Leslie. I had to move on. God knew they sure had.
“So,” Mick began, breaking the heavy moment between us, as he bent to line up his next shot, giving me a moment to compose myself. “You’re a junior like my sister?”
“No, senior. You?”
With raised eyebrows, as if my question was ludicrous, he paused to glance up at me.
“No, no, I mean, I know you aren’t a junior or senior in High School. I meant how old are you?”
“Twenty-one.”
Huh. Must be the scruffy face that made me think he was a bit older than that. I watched him take another shot, wiping the floor with me—as I figured he would. Somehow, I didn’t even care. He was so easy to be around.
And not too hard on the eyes.
“You guys live in San Juan?” he asked, breaking my thoughts and bringing my focus back to the conversation.
“No, we live in Dove Canyon. It’s near Rancho Santa Margarita. You’re here in Huntington?”
“Nope. I moved down south with Ro. I’m in Mission Viejo.”
I smiled. He smiled back, and I couldn’t help the train of positive thoughts flying through my brain. He lived by me. He wasn’t thirty minutes away, or even farther. He wasn’t crazily older than me.
Maybe things were looking up after all. Maybe I’d get to see him again.
Maybe I had a new friend and a new—what? Boyfriend? Get real, Holland. Don’t be a moron. You stopped being girlfriend material a long time ago.
“Holl!”
Cam picked me up and spun me around, stopping the negative direction my thoughts travelled.
“Wait. Are you playing pool? You hate pool!”
Mick laughed and walked over to us. “You hate pool?”
I bet the word to describe my expression would be sheepish, but there was no point trying to cover it up. My brother spilled the beans. I went for honesty again.
“I do. I absolutely hate playing pool.”
“Bro! We have a Valley bar table in our living room! I’ve been trying to teach her for years. It’s like she’s the most uncoordinated person on Earth.”
“Thanks, Cam.”
“No problem, sis. I think I’m going to head out with Rosie, if that’s—?”
“Rosie?” I questioned.
“Yeah, you know, Rosemarie, the girl who invited us here?” Cam clarified, missing the reason for my raised eyebrows. He leaned in closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Turns out she’s not a lesbian or a freak. She’s pretty awesome.”
Well, color me surprised.
Rosemarie walked up and slinked her fingers through Cam’s, wearing a ridiculously huge smile.
Huh. Maybe this was more than just a party hook-up.
“Hey, Holl, Mick. You guys care if we split? I’m starving and wanted to take Cam down to Main Street.”
“No, no. You guys go,” Mick said with a flick of his hand, as if leaving the two of us alone was common practice. “We’re cool hanging out for a bit, right, Holland?”
“Um, actually…” Stranger danger! I panicked, trying to think of a way out of alone time with Mick, when I remembered that Cam was D.D. tonight. Perfect! I held up my second drink, which was already almost empty, hoping Cam would remember his promise to drive me home.
“Shit! I totally forgot! Okay, no biggie.” He turned to Rosemarie and apologized. “I’m sorry; I forgot I’m the driver tonight. Can we get a rain check?”
“I can drive Holland home. I haven’t had anything to drink, and we’re headed in the same direction. Plus, you were supposed to give me a ride home anyway, Ro.”
“Oh. You’re right.” Rosemarie’s eyes widened, as if suddenly realizing that both she and Cam totally forgot everything—or everyone—else around them. “I’m sorry, Mick. What was I thinking?”
“It’s fine,” Mick said to Rosemarie before turning his attention to me. His green eyes sparkled, and my stupid heart skipped a beat. “Holland? Is that cool with you? Can we take your car?”
All three of them turned to me expectantly, but I gazed solely at my brother. Was he really going to let me drive home with a total stranger after watching me like a hawk and monitoring my every move for the past four months? I waited. No one said anything.
Okay.
“Um. I guess that’s cool. You guys go have fun.”
“Awesome! Thanks, sis! I owe you one!”
Cam bent down and kissed me on the cheek. Rosemarie followed suit, kissing my other cheek as if we’d been friends for ten years, not ten minutes. They were gone in a matter of seconds, and I w
as left alone with Mick. Well, somewhat alone, aside from the couple making out on the loveseat in the corner of the room.
“You’re okay with this?”
I turned my attention back to Mick and nodded. Whatever. What could it hurt? He seemed harmless enough.
He smiled, exposing his slightly crooked canines again. “Okay. So, since you apparently hate pool…”
“I’m sorry. I should have said something. But you didn’t want to dance, so I just went along with it.”
“Don’t apologize. But I’m not going to force you to play anymore, that’s for sure. And it explains why you’re not very good.” He winked with his insult, but I lacked a rebuttal.
“Ready to bail?” He walked around the pool table and stopped just a foot or so away from me. “We can head down south and stop somewhere on the way for food, or…we can keep playing this game you’re so good at.”
Ha. Ha. I glanced down at my watch. Just before midnight. Our dining choices were limited at best.
“Food sounds good.”
“It’s a date.”
“It’s a quick bite to eat,” I clarified for him.
He inclined his head. I could imagine him saying touché in his mind.
We replaced our pool cues on the rack and headed out toward the main area of the warehouse. Mick rested his hand on my lower back, and I was barely able to focus on walking with him touching me. I’d kill my brother for leaving me.
Surprisingly, the warehouse was even more packed than it had been when we arrived. The air sat thickly with sweat and that unique fog machine smell. Colorful lights bounced off the walls, perfectly moving to each beat of the music. People danced, glow sticks in their hands or glowing brightly around their necks. One girl sucked on a bedazzled pacifier.
I raised my eyebrow as we passed. I was glad to leave—these late-night partiers weren’t really my style. I was out of place in my tight-fitting clothes and black wedges.
I leaned toward Mick to comment, but he beat me to the punch.
“Seems we forgot our rave clothes.”
I giggled, then allowed him to take my hand. As he led me to the door, I stared at our hands intertwined, wondering why the connection felt so good. Was I really so lonely?
