Page 44 of Try Me
Chet:And?
Mark:And where’d you go? Home?
I waited for him to tell me to fuck off. I kind of wished he would. That’d make the rest of the night much easier.
Chet:Hype
Mark:Can I join?
An eons-long silence followed, during which I questioned every life choice I’d ever made regarding Chet. Then…
Chet:If you want.
Chet:It’s a gay club, btw. Barrett and some of the other rainbow crew are here.
Chet:I thought we were playing the cold-shoulder game again. Breaking protocol so soon?
* * *
An Uber droppedme at the curb of Hype. People spilled out onto the sidewalk, some clustered on a wide patio or stairs, on their way somewhere else. Through one of the tall windows, strobe-light flashes revealed dancers in silhouette.
A girl in combat boots that went over her knees tottered toward me. She had black stars under her eyes and I couldn’t tell whether they were some kind of makeup appliqué or tattoos. Dangling from the hoop in her nose was another little star jewel that shivered as she caught me staring and wiggled her nose like a bunny.
“Are you lost?” she asked, looking me over the same way I had her. I was wearing jeans, a button-down, and some old shitkickers. I was more lost than she could possibly imagine.
“I’m…no. Actually, I’m meeting a friend here. Is there a dress code?” I was at least a couple of tattoos short.
She gave me another once-over, then grinned. “You’re a little overdressed, but that probably won’t last long. Good luck, it’s a zoo tonight.” She proceeded to make a roaring sound while clawing at the air, before stumbling off with a laugh.
I made my way to the entrance, greeting any wayward stares with a quick smile or a nod. I wished I’d worn something different, but what? I still felt like a total poser even after untucking and unbuttoning the cuffs of my shirt and rolling them up.
“Hey, sugar, you don’t need to go in there,” some guy said with a lazy curl of a smile. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to be flirtatious or a dick, so I tipped him a nod in passing and scuttled inside.
After paying the cover, I walked down a long hallway where people lined the walls, laughing, talking, smoking, making out. The interior of the club smelled pleasantly like incense and tobacco. A thudding bass beat pounded through the soles of my boots, trying to coax my heartbeat into its primal rhythm.
The hallway dumped me out into a cavernous ballroom. Colored lights whirled in every direction. There were neon-lit bars to my left and right, and a packed dance floor. Off to one side were couches piled with people and coffee tables with large hookahs in the middle, which I realized were the source of the pungent scent in the air, not incense. Disco balls spun slowly over the seating area, scattering vivid light from the windows and highlighting coils of smoke drifting toward the ceiling.
I scooted out of the way of foot traffic and stared into the crowd. No fucking way I’d be able to find Chet. I’d just pulled out my phone to text him, when he messaged me instead.
Chet:9 o’clock.
I spotted him, leaning casually against the wall as he tucked his phone away, the tiny jolt of happiness that he’d been watching for me ebbing as he spoke to another guy with long hair tied in a bun. I slowed my steps. Chet’s features were relaxed and happy as he laughed at something the other guy said. Amanda was there, too, and he tugged playfully on a lock of her hair when she swatted him. The other guy watched him do it, taking advantage of Chet’s distraction to study his profile.
Jealousy wound through my gut and wrapped around my throat, burning hot. Maybe it’d been a mistake to come. Hesitating, I glanced over my shoulder toward the exit. When I swiveled again, Amanda was staring at me with a sour expression. Great. So considerate of Chet to avoid mentioning her presence.
Marshaling my confidence, I soldiered forward.
“I’m getting another drink,” Amanda told Chet the second I breached their circle. She curled her lip at me as she passed, then mouthed, “Asshole.”
Chet’s gaze slid to me.
Nothing. No hello. Awkward.
Thankfully, Man Bun stuck out his fist. He was vaguely familiar, I decided. “Errol.”
“Mark.” I bumped his knuckles with mine.
“Errol’s a second-year intern.” Chet offered a fleeting smile. “You didn’t grab a drink, wanna fix that?”