Page 81 of The Very First Night

Leaning against the bar, I order us both drinks, setting my ID and credit card down on the epoxy-covered wood. My eyes follow Kat as she moves on the dance floor in tandem with the crowd.

How these girls know every single one of these dances, I will never know.

As the sound of a fiddle and Shania Twain’s signature voice fill the room, Kat twirls and stomps in perfect synchronization with Jenna. Every step is fluid and precise, as if their bodies are made for this beat. She beams at me from across the dance floor, her dark brown hair bouncing with every step.

I’ll get out there with them soon. I always struggle to keep up with the basic line dance moves, but I do it anyway just to make Kat happy. Dancing might not be my forte, but seeing her smile is worth it all.

Kat continues to dance and I am completely transfixed as the soft white cotton of her cropped T-shirt rides up slightly, revealing what I can only assume is the black lace of her bra underneath. When she turns around—as I presume the choreography dictates—it is somehow an even better sight.

When Kat left the house earlier in a pair of denim cutoff shorts, I admittedly thought she was nuts, seeing as it’s mid-October. However, I can’t help but appreciate how her toned ass cheeks peek out from the frayed hem of her shorts with her every step.

Thank you, universe, for Kat’s bold—if not mildly unconventional—fashion choices.

Brendan’s bellowing laughter forces me to pry my eyes away from the intoxicating woman on the dance floor, but the moment I see him looking at me, I want to smack him upside the head. I glare at him as I grab my drinks from the bartender and drop a five-dollar tip on the bar.

“What?” I snip.

Brendan chuckles. “Oh, nothing…except you clearly want Kat.”

He is fully aware of what happened between Kat and me. We never agreed to not tell people, and I would bet money she most definitely told Jenna.

“Of course I like Kat—other than you, she’s my best friend, you ass hat,” I say as I smack the top of his brown suede cowboy hat that he insisted he had to buy for tonight.

“That isn’t what I meant and you know it. If you want to fuck Kat again so bad, just tell her. By the way, she was just looking at you. I imagine she’d happily oblige.”

It’s not about obliging, and he should know that. The entire reason we had sex in the first place was to help her get over Elijah. While I don’t know the inner workings of her mind, especially not when it comes to why she would ever care about that douche, she seems to be doing well. So, why would I choose to fuck that up by making things any more complicated for her?

“Nah, man, we’re just friends,” I say, though we both know it’s a boldfaced lie.

Regina and Aaron weave through the energetic dancers, their cowboy boots tapping out a rhythm on the wooden floor. They reach Kat and Jenna, who are still laughing and twirling in the center of the crowd. Regina says something to them and they all turn to look at us, then start heading toward the bar. I hand Kat her drink and she grins gratefully before taking a sip.

“Hey, Katie?” Aaron leans over the bar to wave down the bartender. He holds up seven fingers and mouths “Fireball.”

“No shot for me,” Kat says awkwardly, causing Aaron to look at her funny.

“Are you pregnant or something?” he scoffs.

“Aaron, I am literally holding a drink right now.”

He furrows his brow and nods, the corners of his mouth turned down in a deep frown. His eyes flicker with confusion and he scratches at his head, ruffling up his already messy hair.

Since Aaron appears to be shorting out, I say to the bartender, “He’ll have five shots of fireball.”

“You too?” Aaron groans. “You guys are no fun—it’s our senior year, for God’s sake.”

“I’m not feelin’ shots tonight, man, stomach is off.” I can tell by the look on his face that he doesn’t believe me. Whatever—he doesn’t have to believe me. All that matters is that Kat doesn’t feel singled out.

She leans against my side with her straw between her lips and whispers, “Thank you.”

“Of course.” I smile.

As the night wears on, Aaron and Marcus down more drinks, their movements becoming increasingly unsteady. Jenna and Regina proceed to do three more rounds of shots and I don’t know where Brendan is for most of the night. By 1:00 AM, I know it’s time to call it a night. Our group stumbles out of the bar, and I feel grateful that I only had two drinks all night as everyone clumsily piles into my SUV, Aaron slurring his words and laughing uncontrollably in the back seat.

By the time we pull into the driveway, everyone but me and Kat in the front seat are passed out cold. Luckily, unlike that time Jenna passed out in my back seat, I feel much more comfortable being an asshole tonight.

“Hey, fuck face, we’re home.” I reach behind me and smack what feels like a male head—I’m unsure whose, but also don’t really care.

“What the fuck, man? That hurt!” Brendan groans. His loud response stirs the rest of the drunken idiots and, to my delight and relief, they start climbing out of my car.

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