Page 5 of A Baby For Her Billionaire BFF

“Oliver!” Nora exclaims, and I almost wince at how she lights up for me — no, not for me, for the party, I remind myself. “You made it!”

“Yeah.” I shove my hands in my pocket. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

A new song starts, and Lynn jumps up and down. “Oh my God, I love this song! Let’s dance!”

She wiggles onto the dance floor before we can answer, and Nora raises her eyebrows at me. “Wanna dance?”

“Oh, I don’t… I don’t dance.” I shove my hands deeper into my pockets.

Her face falls — a lance to my heart. I inwardly cringe. Why did I say that? Yeah, I don’t dance, but I can at least fake it for her.

What is wrong with me? Why am I putting obstacles between us when that’s the last thing I want?

“Okay.” She nods. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

She drifts into the middle of the room to join her cousin, our promise to stick together during this party abandoned.

The bass thumps through the floorboards, irritating me more than anything else. I watch Nora as she moves in time with the music, her hair shimmering under the pulsating lights. Lynn’s at her side, matching her rhythm beat for beat. They’re a picture of carefree college life — something I usually feel so detached from.

I should leave. What was I thinking, anyway? I don’t belong at a party like this. I should be getting sleep so that I’m rested for class tomorrow.

But then Nora comes back to me, her hand extended, and it’s like everything else I ever knew falls away. There’s only her.

“Come on,” she beckons, her voice just audible over the music. She’s got a playful glint in her eye that dares me to shed the wallflower act. I hesitate, but then she laughs, a sound that tugs at something deep inside me, urging me forward.

“All right,” I concede, taking a step toward the makeshift dance floor.

On the way there, I grab a liquor bottle off a table and fill a plastic cup. I’m not one for drinking, but right now, I need all the help I can get.

The space between us dissolves as I let the rhythm find my limbs. It’s clumsy at first — me trying to mirror the fluidity of her movements — but after a couple of songs and a few swigs from the red plastic cup in my hand, it doesn’t matter anymore. We’re laughing, spinning, and for a moment, the rest of the party fades away.

“Here, try this,” Nora says during a lull in the music, offering me another drink — a concoction of who-knows-what from a punch bowl.

I take it, our fingers brushing, sending a jolt up my arm. We clink cups and down the contents, the liquid courage warming my insides and loosening my inhibitions.

“Feeling good?” Her eyes sparkle with mischief.

“Better now,” I admit.

And it’s true — around Nora, the anxiety that usually has me wound up tight vanishes. I’m free, floating above all my fears and worries. With the alcohol giving me an additional boost of courage, I feel next to invincible.

We join a group of students gathered around a table playing some raucous drinking game. Someone explains the rules, but I’m more focused on the way Nora’s hand keeps finding mine, how her shoulder brushes against me every time she laughs. It feels natural, like this is where my hand is meant to be — interlocked with hers.

“Your turn, Ollie!” someone calls out, snapping me back to the present.

I take my shot, successfully bouncing the ping pong ball into one of the cups, earning cheers from around the table. Nora beams at me, pride evident in her eyes. It’s a silly thing to feel accomplished about, but her smile makes it seem like I’ve just won a Nobel Prize.

“Look at you, superstar,” she teases, nudging me with her elbow.

“Must be beginner’s luck,” I reply, but I’m riding the high of her praise and the buzzing atmosphere.

The game continues, but Nora and I drift to the edge of the action, our conversation ebbing and flowing naturally.

“Hey,” she says suddenly, stepping closer. Her breath smells sweet, like the punch we’ve been downing, and her proximity sends my heart into a sprint. “You’re… really amazing, you know that?”

I’m about to respond, to brush off the compliment with some self-deprecating quip, but then I see the earnestness in her gaze. My words catch in my throat.

“What do you mean?” I squeak out.

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