“Yeah. I know.” I swallow over the lump in my throat.
“He’ll get over it. Ro falls in love every other week. By next week, he’ll have forgotten all about you.”
I hope she’s right.
* * *
Alcohol sloshes through my veins, and I’m nicely buzzed as we push our way to the front of the crowd in the upstairs room where Toxic Gods has just started their set. “Over here,” Ash hollers, guiding us over to the right, away from Aoife and the other groupies.
My eyes latch on to Dillon as I sway my hips in time to the rhythmic beats of the music. He looks so good up there, wearing his signature black, his clothes already clinging to his toned physique with the stifling heat of the packed room. The Irish flag is wrapped around his slim waist, in a nod to the occasion, and a green bandana is tied around his brow. Apart from that, he’s remarkably low-key, but I guess this day isn’t as much of a novelty for the locals.
The band rips through a montage of covers and original songs, whipping the crowd into a frenzy. I guzzle water as we dance, wishing I could douse myself in it. Little beads of sweat pool between my breasts and cluster on the back of my neck, and a fine line drips down my spine. Yanking a hair tie off my wrist, I pull my hair into a messy bun on the top of my head, but it only grants light relief.
“He can’t keep his eyes off you,” Audrey shouts in my ear.
I look up at the stage, finding Dillon’s dark gaze already locked on mine. I get a thrill knowing I’m the one he’s constantly staring at. Girls are screaming at him, throwing bras and panties onto the stage, and he only has eyes for me. The atmosphere is already electric in the room, but the energy pulsing between him and me is enough to power a nuclear generator. I’ve caught a few side-eyes from different girls, but I’m careful to keep my distance. The irony isn’t lost on me. Maybe I have a type and I’m destined to go for guys other girls want.
I sincerely hope that isn’t true because I’m sick of other women hankering after my man.