I couldn’t believe this.
I headed back to my car, refusing to turn around and look at those dark eyes. Likely he was smiling. Oh yes, with that mouth I wanted to punch.
I got into my red VW, put on my seat belt, and sucked in a breath. This couldn’t be happening. It just…couldn’t.
Back on the road, I ground my teeth and clenched the steering wheel so tightly that my palms burned. My rage had me completely unable to think straight. I wanted to kick that man. I wanted to jump on him and throttle his neck. I wanted him thrown in jail.
I thought about returning to the dorms, but I didn’t want to hide in my room like a prisoner in my own life, so I headed back to the party.
A night like this called for shots.
~ ~ ~
Confession time. I’d never had a drink before. Not a beer, glass of wine, or even a sip of a pink froufrou drink while my mother wasn’t looking. That’s why when Bridget handed me her red plastic cup, instructing me to wash the horrible tequila taste away, I chugged.
“Oh no, Dakota! I said wash it away, not down the entire cup.” She reached into my jean pocket and snagged my keys. “Guess you won’t be needing these.”
“Why? I only had one shot. I’ll be fine to drive in a few hours.”
“Right. You have the look of someone who’s just warming up.”
Not really. Something that tasted so bad would have no way of making the situation better. Bottom line, either I was crazy or Santiago was some sort of super-stalker with mystical powers.
Worst of all, he was right. I had wished him back. I couldn’t stop thinking about him, writing about him. His face. His body. His voice. Every night I dreamed of him, and no matter how angry I felt, no matter what my rational mind told me, the little part of my body that ruled my fantasies couldn’t be shut off. Now, seeing him live produced some sort of Pavlovian response. I smelled him, my mouth watered. I saw him, my body tensed in places that had no business tensing. I heard his voice, pinpricks exploded over my skin.
Yes. I knew this wasn’t normal in any way, shape, or form. I had found his picture online, claimed he was my boyfriend, and then he appeared in my life for a few days and promptly disappeared. Now he was back, and within seconds, my reality had turned into a hot, scrambled mess. Mentally and physically.
Judge me all you want, world, but there is no dancing around this. I am fucked. And no…“A tequila shot won’t save me,” I added to myself.
“You didn’t have just one shot, you had six.” Bridget laughed.
“Huh?” My mind bounced back to the here and now, but wasn’t following.
“That cup you drank was pure tequila mixed with grenadine and a splash of pineapple.”
Oh. So I’d just chugged down an entire semester’s worth of shots. Great.
“Hey. Your cup is empty. Can I get you another?” A blond guy appeared at Bridget’s side. He looked like an eager little puppy waiting for a treat.
“Let’s dance,” she said and grabbed his hand. “You don’t mind, do you, Dakota?”
The blond guy looked at me. “You’re not the Dakota, are you?”
What was he talking about?
My lack of response prompted him to say my last name.
“Do I know you?” I asked.
He chuckled. “No. But we all know you. By now every guy in school does.” He wiggled his brows.
Oh great. I hadn’t made it past the first day, and I was already the center of a sex scandal. For the record, I’d never even made it to first base. Pure as a boring patch of snow.
The blond guy patted me on the shoulder. “Oh. It’s not that bad. I’m sure four years will go by quickly.”
“Are you drunk? What are you talking about?” Bridget asked.
“Dakota here has made the blacklist. The first girl in, like, a decade.”
“What?” I said.
“I think that’s enough, Eric.” Santiago appeared out of nowhere. “Why don’t you take Bridget to dance.”
Bridget’s eyes lit up as she took Santiago in. “Sure,” she looked at me, “I mean, if you’re…”
“It’s fine,” I replied.
She walked away, gawking at Santiago’s ass until she disappeared into the other room, where the music roared and bodies were dense.
“What did he mean ‘blacklisted’?” I asked, fearful it was as bad as it sounded.
Santiago towered over me, but he suddenly looked like a kid who’d just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“You weren’t supposed to find out about that.” He ran his hand through his dark hair.
“What did you do?” I seethed. “What is blacklisted?” I repeated.
Sensing imminent drama, a few people in the kitchen moved closer to listen. Santiago grabbed my hand and yanked me outside to the back porch where it was only slightly quieter, and occupied by couples kissing, enjoying the cool ocean breeze.