I reached out to take it, but he retreated his hand with a grin.
“Not so fast. This one isn’t free. I want to take you out tonight. If you say yes, you get a pop-tart.”
I scoffed, crossing my arms. “Where do you want to take me?”
“Out. I want to see you dance, puppet. I want to see you smile. What do you say?” He waved the pop-tart in front of my face. “I won’t drink. Ty will keep you company with tequila, and I’ll pester the DJ to play your favourite songs. Deal?”
We used to spend the weekends at different clubs. I missed jumping around the dancefloor with Ty, losing our voices to the cringiest songs Adrian could convince the DJ to play. My life had changed too much since then. Maybe it was time to grasp the good moments instead of just focusing on what was wrong.
It had been two months since I left London, but the hole in my heart wasn’t healing. Thomas remained the centre of my attention, always there, at the front of my mind whether I wanted him or not.
“Fine.” I snatched the pop-tart from Adrian.
He kissed my temple. “Come on. I’m taking you shopping. You need a nice dress.”
***
The club was busy, but ty found a vacant table near the dancefloor and left us there, heading to the bar for the first round of tequila shots. Back when Adrian and I were good, we visited a different club every week, looking for something to suit us, but we had never set foot in this one before. It wasn’t big, but I liked the music. The DJ played old songs in modern remixes, and strobe lights chased the crowd on the dancefloor, flashing to the rhythm.
Ty came back moments later, carrying a small tray with eight shots and a glass of coke for Adrian.
“Come on, girl. Let’s get you drunk.”
“You haven’t seen me drunk, Ty.”
He bobbed his head. “It’s right about time we change that.”
There was no point in arguing. We agreed to disagree on the subject since the day we met. No one got me drunk yet, and Ty didn’t stand a chance, either. I adhered to my limits religiously. Watching girls puke behind the sofa, stick their tongues down strangers’ throats, or fall asleep on the floor at many frat parties I attended was a good way to learn the importance of not drinking more than I could handle.
We downed the first shot, and Ty urged me to take another one. “Do it,” he said, a shot raised to his lips. “You’ll relax faster.”
Adrian clapped his hands once.
“Okay, now I want to see you cringe, puppet.”
I raised an eyebrow when he walked away toward the DJ station. Seconds later, a remix ofSubeme La Radioby Enrique Iglesias sounded from the speakers. Bass shook the floor. A half-smile, half-cringe twisted my lips. Adrian emerged from the crowd, dancing his way back to the table. He bounced on his feet, punching the air and fake rowing. My cringy smile morphed into laughter when he took a pop-tart out of his pocket, walking backward toward the dancefloor, calling me over.
“Go,” Ty said. “Take a night off from worrying. Just have fun. Charge your batteries.”
I picked one more shot from the tray. Lemons and salt made tequila palatable most of the time, but tonight we drank it straight, and it was awful. Still, there was something about the terrible taste that made it worthwhile. Besides, my father always said, “It isn’t a problem when you don’t enjoy the taste of alcohol. The problems start when you do.”
Music was the best ad hoc anaesthetic to my troubles. It cleared my head and stopped the train of heavy thoughts the moment I stepped onto the dancefloor. A green skater dress Adrian picked earlier hugged my body. Five-inch heels coupled with light make-up added a few points to my confidence.
Adrian caught my hand, lip-syncing with Enrique. And just like that, for three minutes, I was once again an ordinary girl. We danced until he could no longer breathe, but instead of taking me back to the table, he waved Ty over when another great, remixed tune shook the place—It’s my lifeby Bon Jovi.
Before I left him, I was oblivious to the fact that Adrian didn’t allow guys to dance with me regardless of how harmless they were. It was either him, Ty or his good friend Justin who entertained me on the dancefloor—a perfect representation of his possessiveness.
Adrian was known around the campus thanks to his boxing career. He had a close group of friends who wouldn’t dare to disrespect me or him, but he only trusted Ty and Justin. Whenever we were out, he danced with me first, then delegated either of the two to take his place when he couldn’t keep up any longer.
Once he got hooked on PCP, he didn’t trust them, either. He didn’t trust himself half of the time.
Ty wasn’t just lip-syncing. He sang and screamed, owning a square meter of the dancefloor. If Bon Jovi was around, he could learn a thing or two about over-the-top performance from Ty.
“Like Frankie said, I did it my way!” he chanted, twirling me around his finger enough to make me dizzy.
Adrian joined us a moment later, still panting. Together, they were wild, forcing many people around us to join the party. By the time the song ended, twenty of us jumped around, singing and laughing.
“I need water,” I gasped when we sat down for a moment.