Page 56 of Hot Girl Summer

Shamelessly, I admire him from my secret viewing point, confirming that butts in beige trousers are fast becoming my favourite thing in the world. As far as I’m aware, he has no idea that I’m behind them, and I have no intention of making myself known. I slip into the crowd, making a swift exit towards the upstairs bar.

After knocking back two more shots of Sambuca, warmth from the alcohol beats and pulses through my veins, and I calm. All the seats are taken, so I lean against the glass balcony, and scan the crowd below in search of April, and it isn’t long before I spot that fiery red hair brushed up against a tiger tattoo.

With no sign of Danny, I scan the room again, bypassing Mr Unpopular sitting at the bar with his bottle of champagne and a veil of misery on his face. I smile at my earliest memory of Danny, his words from that night haunting me.

Loneliness is dangerous.

I know it. I fear it. But rejection and injured pride is an entirely new concept for me, and I hold him solely responsible. I’m well aware of the way I look, the way people perceive me, the type of men I attract, and I’m okay with having that reputation, because it means that nobody comes too close for comfort.

I never have to reveal myself.

I can be whoever I want.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding,” Danny says, dampening the noise in my head.

Before I turn, I close my eyes, taking a moment to breathe and extinguish my thoughts.“I’m not hiding, you are.”

I cringe at my choice of words, but Danny’s smile is soothing, and it’s the perfect visual to accompany Dua Lipa’s Break My Heart. Even the DJ is mocking me right now.

“Well you found me, then,” he says, raising his hands in mock surrender. He leans over the balcony and cocks his head towards Lonely Man, then turns to face me. “Spying on our friend, are we? I mean, I’d go keep him company, but somehow I don’t think I’m his type.”

“Not blonde enough,” I muse, trying to sound serious. “What are you doing here, Danny?”

In my head, I sound assertive, but out loud, it’s a little more than a whine. I hate it.

“Having a drink.”

I deadpan.

“Oh, right. You mean up here...with you?”

Folding my arms across my chest, I tilt my head and raise an eyebrow.

“I wanted to see you. I hate how we left things, and I wanted to say I’m sorry for the way I acted.”

“You don’t need to apologise. I’m the one who...” I trail off.

I don’t have the nerve to admit what I did, even though he was there in plain sight watching me.

“There’s no shame in what you did, Sophia.”

My name sounds like velvet sliding off his tongue.

He leans in a little. Fuck, he smells good. Sharp citrus and muted florals engage my senses, transporting me to balmy summer evenings on the Italian Riviera, and the smallest hint of whiskey on his breath intoxicates me further. Hazel eyes lock with mine as blood and alcohol fuse together, rushing through my body at lightning speed. My breath quickens.

“I didn’t say it before, but I’m saying it now, and I’ll say it again. I thoroughly enjoyed watching you come apart for me.”

Fuck. His confession renders me speechless. Every line and conversation I have drawn up in my head somehow vanishes from my memory. Nobody makes me nervous like he does, but when I gauge the darkness in his eyes, and the outline in his chinos, I realise how much his own words affect him, too.

“I’m sorry for assuming that you wanted anything from me just because you’re nice to me. But that’s what I’m used to.”

His expression softens. “What do you mean?”

“Most people I meet just want something from me. In the words of Ariana; they see it, they like it, they want it, they get it.” My eyes fall to the floor. “And then they leave.”

“Do you think I’m like that?”

“I don’t know. Are you?” I don’t know what to say or think or do. I’m not used to being open with people outside of my circle about my so-called reputation. But I’ve been open with him before—about Kiki, about me—and it feels strangely right to just say what I’m thinking.

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