Page 18 of Broken Pact

It’s a sobering thought. My chest gets tight with regret.

“You okay? I thought you were getting drinks,” Sophie yells when I reach the three of them in the crowd.

“The line was too long.” I hook a thumb over my shoulder, but I don’t turn around. I don’t trust myself, not when I can feel his gaze on my ass still. I shake my head in realization. I knew these pants were gonna give me grief tonight.

But it’s fine. I can handle Jagger just fine.

“Well it’s a good thing I went to the other bar then,” Addie crows as she pushes her way between Sophie and I. Eight plastic shot glasses—four in each hand—are held up like some kind of trophy. “Bottoms up, gals! They’re about to start!”

I know it’s a bad idea. I know it. Shots and I have never vibed, but I’m feeling reckless tonight. Blanche passes them out, and the four of us clink the little plastic cups together before shooting them.

“Goddamn. A little warning next time, Addie,” I drawl, wincing through the burn of tequila.

“Remind me again why we couldn’t just do drinks?” Sophie deadpans with a shake of her head.

“Because drinks here are fucking ridiculously expensive, but these shots are a loophole in their pricing structure!” Addie shouts the end of her explanation, laughter thick in her voice. “Round two, bitches. Let’s gooo!”

Regret is worming its way between my ribcage already, but it’s not large enough for me to take notice yet. I toss back the other shot and stack my mini cups on top of Blanche’s.

“Alright, I’m ready to dance. Who’s with me?”

The golden girls whoop and holler, Addie jumping up and down a few times. The lights dim, the filler music cuts off, and the stage lights flare to life.

There’s a heartbeat of silence, a moment when the audience takes a collective breath. One where we’re all shoring ourselves up for the experience that’s about to hit us. It’s like the calm before a storm, and it’s one of my favorite parts about a concert. It’s the swelled anticipation, bloated with so many contributions.

And then the first note reverberates throughout the ballroom, the lights plunge into darkness, and strobe lights flicker around the room.

And the golden girls and I start to dance.

Sultry beats pulsate along my skin, sweat dampening the hair on the back of my neck. I gave up thirty minutes ago and tossed it into a messy ponytail on the top of my head. It’s so hot in here, too many bodies are pressed together. Dancing, jumping around, swaying and screaming to the lyrics.

It’s a masterpiece in humanity.

Watered-down beer has me just buzzed enough to consent when some guy asks to dance with me about halfway through the show. I look around and realize that it was some kind of coordinated effort, with three different guys dancing with my three friends. Even though I’m perfectly happy to keep grooving solo, I nod my agreement.

He takes my hand and pulls me closer, our bodies moving in sync with the music. He’s attractive in the conventional way: light brown hair cropped close around the sides and flicked up a little in front. He’s only a few inches taller than me, though. And his pants are a little too tight. There’s no way he’s not roasting in them, but he seems happy enough.

He leans in and shouts, “Need a drink?”

It’s the moment of truth now. If I have one more, then I’m not driving home tonight. Which means, the golden girls will have to drive a couple hours to take me home and back. Or . . . I go home with him. And despite my earlier conviction to hook up with someone, it’s not going to be this guy.

I nod my head, a strand of hair flying and sticking to my lip gloss. “Sure, water.”

“A water?” he mocks. “I thought we were having a good time.”

A frown tugs down the corners of my mouth. “I’m driving tonight.”

He grabs my hand, trying to link our fingers together. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

I pull my hand from his and flash him a tight smile. “That’s alright. I have work in the morning. In fact, I should probably get going.” It’s not a lie exactly. But the truth is alarm bells are starting to go off in my head, and I’m already looking for a way to exit.

He steps back, hands in the air in the universal surrender gesture. “Hey, no need to leave. I’ll grab you a water, no problem.”

He walks backward a few steps, keeping that strange grin on his face. I don’t breathe easy until he turns around and the crowd swallows him up. I shift my focus back to the stage and try to get into the song, but I’m on edge. One song bleeds into two, and my shoulders start to lose their tightness.

“Here you go,” a deep voice says from behind me.

I jump, half-turning to see the same guy holding an opaque white plastic cup of water. making me jump.

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