“You find our special friend?” Amanda asks. “Jess is being the responsible one. She’ll get us home.”
Oh, well, that’s a brilliant plan.
“I need a drink,” I call.
They wave me off.
I stand at the bar, silent for a moment, then carefully tug my shirt lower. I don’t have a ton of cleavage, but I guess it does the trick. Seconds later, the bartender pauses in front of me. His gaze goes down, then back to my face.
“You got a boyfriend, sweetheart?”
I smile sweetly. “Nope, but I do hope I can get a screwdriver. And a vodka tonic for my friend.”
He smirks. “I can do that for you.”
“Thanks.” My cheeks heat at the insinuation.
He hands me a glass filled to the brim with orange juice and vodka. I slide him cash and wait for my change, then take a sip. The taste of vodka gets stuck in my nose, but I ignore it.
I’ve stayed away from drugs my whole life. I was the good girl. The one who tried to do no wrong, because I thought that was what would save me in the end.
Newsflash—that’s a fucking joke.
When I rejoin the girls, handing Willow her fresh drink, they absorb me into their circle. I let the music flow through me, and I sip my drink and sway. The others are crazier. They hop around and wave their hands, screaming along to the lyrics.
The green, red, and yellow lights strobe across Willow’s face. I lucked out with a best friend like her. She’s as loyal as they come. Even now, she slides her hand down my wrist to clutch my fingers, keeping her with me as we move closer to the stage.
The dueling pianists have been replaced with a DJ who stands in front of a podium between the huge instruments. He calls something, and the tone echoes through my skin. I wear his words for a moment.
Are you ready to party?
Then they drop off, scattering to the floor.
I grin and twirl. My body is lighter than it’s been in months. My leg doesn’t hurt.
Oh god, mylegdoesn’t hurt.
What a miracle.
I hop up and down and sing along to the music. I follow the lights around the room with my eyes, my face, my whole body. Like I’m just trying to tag along on its adventure.
“Hey, hey,” someone says, gripping my biceps.
I stumble back. “I’m good.”
“You don’t look so good.”
My gaze lifts, lifts, lifts.
Grey. Paris. Well, the former holds my arms. I knock them away, and he replaces his arm around Paris’s shoulder. Her arm is around his waist.
They’re twisted together like snakes.
Yes, they’re snakes. Evil, slippery, horrible things.
I giggle and slap my hand over my mouth to suppress the sound. It doesn’t matter, the music overshadows it anyway. There’s no way I can cut through it.
Grey takes a step closer to me. His brows are scrunched down and together. Doesn’t change the fact that she’s still clinging to him like he belongs to her.