Page 9 of Damaged Desires

ME: My sisters are dragging me out to a girls’ night.

TRISTAN: Aw. Good. You need to let loose.

ME: Um. You’ve met my sisters. It’s hardly going to be a stand-on-the-bar-and-shake-your-butt-in-a-guy’s-face kind of night.

TRISTAN: ** Falling on the floor laughing GIF ** I can’t imagine you doing any of that.

ME: Come meet up with us. Pleeeeasssseee.

TRISTAN: I don’t really feel up to a night out.

Like this was anything new. I wasn’t sure she’d done anything for herself in the year since Darren had been gone. But I could also, one hundred percent, empathize with it.

ME: Me either! This is why I need you! We can bail early.

TRISTAN: I don’t think it’s a good idea.

ME: I promise I’ll have you home before ten.

No response. I didn’t want to push, but I’d be happy to have her along. She’d be enough of a distraction to keep Bee from harping on me, and that would keep me from saying something I couldn’t take back.

I was in and out of the shower before the response came.

TRISTAN: Okay. But why don’t you come home with me? I want to finish your portrait.

I grimaced. It felt like a steep price—not going home with her, but sitting for a portrait I hadn’t even known she’d started. But I’d do it if it meant getting her out of the house with me. I shot a message to her, agreeing, and one to Mac, confirming the whereabouts of his misplaced friend.

Six hours later, I was on the dance floor with my sisters and Tristan. Gabi and I had dragged the other two with us when our favorite Rihanna songhad come on. The dance space wasn’t huge, nor was it overly crowded like the clubs in D.C. It was low-key enough that the four of us, dancing wildly, were drawing a bit of unwanted attention from the locals.

“I need a drink,” I said as the song ended. We made our way back to the table we’d been monopolizing in the corner.

I ordered another round of drinks along with more appetizers to help absorb the alcohol we’d all been consuming with the exception of Tristan. She’d stuck to soda all night. As the waiter walked away, I couldn’t help but stare at his tight jeans, thinking just how nicely they fit his perfectly shaped derriere.

Bee slapped my arm. “Stop staring,” she said with a hiss.

Gabi’s and my eyes locked, and we started laughing.

“He’s got a really nice ass. It’s kind of hard not to stare,” Gabi said.

“You never act this way when Dani isn’t with us,” Bee pouted.

“You never used to be so prudish,” Gabi tossed back. “Do you remember the time you and Zane went skinny-dipping in the pool, and Dani found you?”

“We don’t talk about it, Cheetos Breath,” Bee said, but her lips were quirking slightly, the age-old nickname for Gabi, who’d eaten the snack ‘til she puked, coming easily to her mouth.

“God, Zane had a nice butt,” I said, but it was the wrong thing to say, because Bee’s smile turned into a frown.

“You used to drool all over him,” Bee said drily.

I shrugged. “He was the only one of your friends who was nice to me. Everyone else treated me like a leper.”

“They did not. You were just uncomfortable with your gangly self. You hadn’t grown into your legs, and you’d had to chop off your hair after the whole gum incident,” Bee said with an eye-roll.

It was partly true. I had been uncomfortable with myself in high school. A true ugly duckling waiting to turn into a swan. But most of Bee’s friends had been cruel about it, calling me names like “dorky giraffe,” or “bookish giraffe,” or “giraffe girl.” I hadn’t realized how much of an inner versus outer journey the transition to swan was until after high school. It was part of the reason I hated how the incident with Fenway made me feel. Like I was no longer in control of myself or how people perceived me when I’d fought so hard to create the image I presented to the world.

Thinking of Fenway made me reach for my drink. I deserved to forget him for a few hours.

I turned to Tristan, who’d been watching us all quietly, a small smile on her lips.