Page 23

The DJ plays Lady Gaga’s “Poker Face,” which happens to be my favorite song of hers, and the crowd surges onto the dance floor. I feel a twinge of nostalgia for freshman year when every party was an adventure, and we all lost our minds over the latest pop anthem.

As I watch the mass of gyrating bodies on the dance floor, my hips start swaying of their own accord.

The alcohol coursing through my veins acts as a catalyst, breaking down my inhibitions piece by piece.

Soon, the tension that’s been coiled tight in my shoulders all day slowly unravels. My thoughts dull to nothing.

Almost without realizing it, my feet carry me toward the dance floor.

The sea of dancing bodies parts for me until I end up in the center of the room.

When the chorus hits, something inside me ignites.

The driving beat, the pulsing bass line, Lady Gaga’s electrifying voice—it all coalesces into a burst of energy that takes over my entire being.

I throw my hands in the air and surrender myself fully to the music.

I spin and twist, my limbs a flurry of motion, not caring who might be watching.

People bump and collide with me as I lose myself in the song, each jostle sending me careening in a new direction.

I never lose my rhythm, never miss a beat.

If anything, the chaos only adds to the unpredictable nature of it all.

The strobe lights catch fragments of faces and bodies, turning the scene into a choppy, nearly drug-induced dream. By the time the song ends, I’m breathless, drenched in sweat, and shouting along with everyone else for another Lady Gaga song.

Man, it feels good to let go.

As the night progresses, I go from having a buttload of fun to needing to take a week-long piss.

A mass of drunken, impatient bodies snakes down the hall, waiting impatiently for their turn to relieve themselves.

“Fuck this,” I mutter under my breath. There’s no way I’m waiting in this line. I’ll piss myself before I even make it to the front.

I’m about to find a potted plant to water when I overhear a couple of guys talking.

“Dude, go in the bushes out back,” one of them says, jerking his thumb toward the rear of the house. “That’s what I always do at these things. ”

His friend nods sagely. “Smart. Better than waiting in this fucking line.”

I slip out of the line and follow them through the house. The music grows muffled as I step outside, replaced by chirping crickets and the low murmur of conversation.

The backyard is more subdued than the raging party inside. Couples are scattered about, taking advantage of the relative privacy to engage in some heavy petting. I avert my eyes as I pass a particularly enthusiastic pair on a chaise, only to do a double-take when I realize it’s Javi…and Joe Bryce.

They’re going at it like a couple of horny teenagers, their lips locked in a sloppy, drunken kiss.

Javi’s hand is shoved down the front of Joe’s pants, clearly groping at something substantial.

Joe’s meaty paws are glued to Javi’s considerable ass, squeezing and kneading as if he’s trying to make bread.

Holy shit. When did this happen? Last I checked, these two were strictly into the ladies. I mean, I’ve seen Javi flirt with anything that moves, but I always assumed it was in a joking kind of way. And Joe Bryce? The dude is the walking, talking embodiment of heterosexuality.

But here they are, sucking face. Javi lets out a low moan as Joe bites his lower lip. My face flushes with heat.

Part of me wants to break them up and demand answers about when the hell they started batting for the other team. But the rational part of my brain—which, admittedly, is currently being drowned out by the alcohol—reminds me that I’m about two seconds away from pissing myself.

I force myself to tear my eyes away from the spectacle and stumble toward the bushes, fumbling with my zipper as I go. Sweet relief washes over me as I finally let loose. The sound of my stream hitting the leaves is drowned out by the thumping bass from inside the house.

I chuckle when I think about how, if my mom could see me now, she’d probably have a heart attack. But then again, this is college. This is what you do at parties. You drink too much, you dance your ass off, and you piss where you can. It’s all part of the experience.

As I’m shaking off the last few drops, I glance back over at my teammates. They’ve progressed to full-on dry humping now. Javi’s legs fall off the chaise as Joe Bryce ramps up the pressure above him.

Wow. I always thought I had a pretty good gaydar, but clearly, I need to get that thing recalibrated. First Harrison, now Javi and Joe? Who’s next?

Daniel?

Roy?

Me?

I tuck myself back into my jeans, now a thousand times lighter than I was a few minutes ago. I turn to head back inside and rejoin the party when I collide with someone.

“Shit,” I mutter, steadying myself. I glance down at the person to apologize and find myself staring at a familiar face. “Olivia?!”

“Charlie,” she says coolly, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Fancy running into you here.”

“I could say the same,” I reply. “I didn’t take you for the frat party type.”

She shrugs, smiling wryly. “What can I say? Even I need to let loose every once in a while.”

I nod slowly, taking in her appearance. She’s traded her usual attire for a form-fitting dress that hugs her curves in all the right places. Her hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders. She looks…different. Good different.

“Uh, what brings you out tonight?” I ask. “Does Daniel know you’re here?”

At the mention of his name, Olivia’s face darkens. She takes a long sip of her drink—that I didn’t even notice she was holding—before answering. “Daniel and I broke up. He didn’t tell you?”

My eyebrows shoot up. “What?! Are you serious?”

She sighs heavily, her eyes drifting to the pulsing crowd inside. “Yeah. I said some things I shouldn’t have, and he got defensive. After a couple of weeks of not talking to each other, we realized that our relationship was no longer sustainable.”

I frown, my mind racing. What could she have possibly said to make Daniel upset and end their relationship? And why didn’t he tell me? Is that why he hasn’t talked about her?

Thinking back to the last time I saw them together, at the poetry slam, she mouthed my name. Am I to blame?

“What did you say?” I press, unable to help myself.

Olivia hesitates, biting her lower lip. Finally, she takes another swig of her drink and meets my gaze head-on.

“I may have implied that your friendship with Daniel is…unhealthy,” she says slowly. “That you two are too close, too dependent on each other.”

I blink, taken aback. “Well, I can see why Daniel didn’t take too kindly to that. You make it sound like you think we’re in love with each other or something.”

“I do,” she says softly as her eyes roam my face. “I think he’s in love with you, Charlie. And I think you’re in love with him.”