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Chapter Fifteen

Austen

One club turns into two clubs, and two turns into three, and somewhere in between, I lose track of where we are. The only thing I know is that wherever we are, the place is huge, and someone sprung for the top tier VIP package.

We’ve got our own freaking alcove—one of those wrap-around sofas that encases a big, glass table full of half drunk and empty champagne and vodka bottles among empty glasses and decanters of orange juice, cranberry juice, and something I can’t tell what it is, but it tastes sour as hell.

The lights flash around me as Alex and Mack entertain two girls on the corner of the sofa. I’m pretty sure they aren’t strippers, but that doesn’t stop them from giving their best performances, fueled by alcohol most likely.

Our VIP has been packed with pretty girls all night, the guys bringing them back like prized trophies, which only makes me feel worse.

Even Cam is having fun, and he hates the guys.

One of the girls bumps into me, giggling uncontrollably as the waitress brings a fresh round of drinks and bottles. I pour myself a drink, nearly three fingers of vodka and a splash of cranberry to make it colorful enough.

I’ve always been more of a beer drinker, but I learned real quick my senior year that a vodka cranberry was my weakness.

Pretty sure about three vodka cranberries were to blame the night I fucked Savannah for the first time.

I grab a little lime from the cocktail tray and toss it in my drink, not even blinking as I practically drain my drink in one shot.

The vodka burns down my throat, and I wait for it to make me feel better.

But it doesn’t.

So I pour another. And another.

The room is a bit blurry as I open my eyes. To my left, Alex is slobbering all over some girl’s face and Mack looks half-alive as he and his date of the night grind along to the music. Paul and Andre are lost in their phones, and Trey and Hudson spray us all with champagne before guzzling it like idiots.

What am I even doing here? I wonder.

Where’s Cam?

I look to my right, and realize he’s gone, though I don’t know where he went. He was right here…

I sigh, getting up and grabbing the bottle of vodka.

“I’ll be back,” I say, but no one hears me.

A deep sadness forms in the pit of my stomach, one I can’t ignore.

I step over the velvet rope that ties off our alcove, stumbling a bit from the alcohol and nearly knocking over one of the pillars, but manage not to.

I take a swig of my vodka bottle as I head for the doors that lead outside.

It’s just as packed on the rooftop as it is in the club, but I don’t care.

The cool air kisses my skin as I find a shadowed corner, between the bar and the landing that overlooks the strip.

Savannah’s words still echo in my head.

All I’d wanted was to hear her voice, for her to tell me it was okay. That what I’m feeling is just… normal.

That in a few days, all of the nerves and the anxiety would be a memory, because we’d have each other and everything would be okay.

I know it’s stupid. But…

I just wanted to hear her say it was okay. That she loved me and it would all be fine and we were going to have the best wedding ever.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she got pissed that I called her, said I was being controlling, and I needed to give her space.

Space for what?

I’d gotten anxious, her words setting me off. I was already feeling like shit after a night of drinking and waking up in the wrong bed, and my brother and friends—who were somehow immune to hangovers—just couldn’t sit down for five seconds because we’re in Vegas.

All I wanted was to breathe. To rest and maybe just binge eat some room service until it was time to get up and go out.

And then my future wife told me I was the one being controlling? That I wasn’t respecting her boundaries, and how dare I call her when I knew she was with her girlfriends. Like she’s fucking ashamed or embarrassed I’d call just to hear her voice.

That I needed her.

I told her I loved her, but she’d hung up by that point.

I thought it was the right thing to say, but clearly, I don’t know what the right thing is.

That’s the thing people don’t realize about me. Everyone’s got their expectations, their image of who they think I am, but no one really knows me.

My watch glints off the lights from the bar, and that sadness in my stomach swells.

Well, maybe there is one person who does, but he’s—

“There you are,” Cam says, his grin wide, showing off his perfect teeth. His hair’s a mess again, but it doesn’t look terrible.

I get that weird feeling again, like a buzzing in my fingertips that can only be quieted by running my fingers through the silky locks.

I reach one hand out, but it falls halfway, because the sadness is spreading.

I reach for him, but he doesn’t notice. Instead, his gaze flashes to my bottle of vodka, which looks almost empty.

“You okay?” he asks, his smile fading, and the radiating sadness, guilt, and anxiety reach my heart, and I can’t hide it.

Not here, not with him.

“No,” I say as the tears threaten to pull me under. Cam moves closer to me, his eyebrows furrowed, his stormy grey eyes imploring mine.

“Austen, what’s wrong?” he asks, reaching his hand out, settling it on the side of my neck.

I look up at him, at his gaze that holds mine. His hand on my neck is warm, his touch firm. I can’t take my eyes off of him, my breathing rapid as I try to find the words, but they are lost.

He takes the bottle from my hand with his free hand and sets it down on the corner edge of the bar.

“Austen, say something,” he says. I stare into his grey eyes like they are a raft and I’m drowning. My chest rises and falls rapidly as everything converges on me at once.

My gaze dips to his lips, or more accurately, the way they are parted, the way his tongue flecks out to lick them.

All I can think about is how anchored I feel right now. I lean into his space just a fraction, trying to find the words to speak, but I have none.

His scent surrounds me, comforting and warm, and his hand slides into my hair.

“Cam…” His name is all I can get out, because my brain and my body are not working together at all.

I settle my hand on his neck, feeling his racing pulse against my palm, and something about that shatters me.

No one, not even Savannah, has ever reacted to my touch like that.

All coherent thought leaves me as I lean in, closing the space between us. My chest brushes against his, and I feel his heartbeat like a freight train, thumping away with anticipation.

I don’t think. For once, I just do what feels right and I kiss him. It’s like a splash of cold water to my system.

His lips are softer than I thought they would be.

I break away for a moment, reality setting in, his hand on my hip warming me like a fire, and every inch of my body melts like molten chocolate.

“Austen…” His voice is thick and tinged with drink, but the words he wishes to say die on his tongue the moment I crush my lips against his and swallow them whole.