Page 58 of Lovesick
He did?
“Me too,” I agree.
He pauses for a moment. “Uh, you look…”
Suddenly reminded of my nonexistent costume, I cross my arms over my chest to limit boobage as much as possible, feeling embarrassment crystallize in my veins. “Skanky?”
Crew shakes his head as a sheepish smile unravels over his lips. “Beautiful,” he corrects, staring at me in a way that I’ve never seen before, vacant of the usual, primordial hunger that makes my core clench with need. His irises sport an untapped reverence, and I’m beginning to think that his eyes don’t just change color based on the weather.
Huh. He didn’t try to be coy about the compliment either. Not like the other night.
“That’s just because I’m seminude,” I quip, feeling flayed alive underneath his admiring gaze.
“No, Merit. That’s because you’reyou.”
Shit. I know I said I was more than ready to explore something with Crew if the occasion arose, but I’ve been conditioned to deadbolt a million locks over my heart. I’m not one of those people who bounce back from heartbreak. I don’t think I was ever made to blossom amid hardship. Not to mention that I’m still keeping aginormoussecret from him, and everything will change if he finds out.
Instead of saying thank you like a normal person, I panic, scrabbling for a distraction that’ll keep me from parsing through my worry and quantum-leaping to conclusions. And lo and behold, a small, six-centimeter glass answers all my prayers.
Alcohol. Yes. I need it injected straight into my veins. I need to stop thinking.
“Let’s do some shots,” I decide, grabbing Crew by the wrist and nearly yanking his arm out of its socket.
Do I know what’s in these mystery glasses? No idea. Will I regret this later? Probably.
“Are you su?—”
I thrust an overspilling shot glass in Crew’s direction and simultaneously shove a finger against his lips, shushing him. My eye twitches. “Shots, Crew. Shots.”
He nods out of fear, accepting my alcoholic offering without so much as another word.
No chaser. I’m going all in.
I brace myself for the preliminary burn, squeeze my eyes shut, and toss back my drink, needing this shit to work in t-minus-zero seconds. A tumbleweed of fire travels down my esophagus, nearly unswallowable as my first mistake of the night rushes into my stomach like a pressurized stream.
Holding back a gag, I reach for another ounce of pure pain while Crew is just now downing his. I polish off my second shot with a little more ease this time, the spice bringing tears to my eyes.
Crew’s face pinches. “God, that’s foul.”
Does he sense how nervous I am? I hope not. Where’s Irelyn when I need her?
After jeopardizing the state of my palate, I regain my bearings, and—placebo effect or not—I swear I can feel my worry begin to taper off, giving leeway for cloud-like euphoria to percolate into my overactive brain.
My filter is nonexistent tonight. “Do you want to dance? Should we go outside? What do you want to do? I’m good with anything. I’m here to party. I love partying.”
Damn. Take a Xanax or something, girl.
A paroxysm of concern sweeps over his ruggedly handsome features, and he breaks my unofficial no-contact rule by touching me lightly on the arm, which is pretty much theequivalent of pulling the pin of a grenade and hurling it in my direction.
“Are you okay?”
I bark out a hysterical laugh. “Me? I’m great. I’m dandy. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, but…”
I think my guardian angel is watching over me tonight because, thankfully, Crew’s name is called from somewhere in the sea of people, shifting the spotlight off me. He glances up to search for his faceless pursuer, and then it’s like a light bulb goes off in his head.
“I want you to formally meet the guys,” he tells me, turning the tables and tugging me toward an unknown destination.
