Page 88 of A Sin So Pure

“Should I?” she asks.

Her cheeks and neck are flushed red from her drink. She’s tipsier than she’s letting on. I lean forward to whisper with her conspiratorially, the devious part of me curious to see if I can egg her on.

“I think you should.”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m not going to force you, but I promise I’ll whisk you away if you make that big a fool of yourself.Which you won’t.”

She nods her head, lips pursed in contemplation. Finally, when her eyes meet mine, they shine with determination.

“I think I’m going to go dance.”

“Great,” I say with a goofy smile.

“Okay.” Josie nods as she stands. She wipes her hands on her dress. “I can dance. No problem.”

I tap the rim of her glass. “Liquid courage.”

“Right,” she says, downing the rest of the drink.

A shiver runs down her whole body as she swallows. Slamming the empty glass on the counter, she turns and heads into the throngs of people. Giggles pour out of me as I watch Josie get wrangled into a group of dancing girls; bright grins spread across all their flushed cheeks.

I lose track after a while, but she doesn’t leave the dance floor after the first song—or the second, or the third. Seemingly adopted into the gaggle of single women, I leave her to her fun.

After an hour passes and she hasn’t come back to say goodbye or get another drink, worry wriggles in my gut. I know she can handle herself, but?—

Jeeze, where else did I hear that one tonight?

I refocus on drying the glass in my hands.

Actually, Josie’s the most capable of all of us when drunk; I laugh to myself as a college memory flashes in my mind. Some guy wouldn’t stop hitting on her after multiple rejections, so she knocked him out cold. It was the three of us out that night—she, Nora, and I—early on in our friendship and years before any of us were Sins or Seconds.

Still, that little tickle of nerves bounces around my gut.

When the clock strikes one, and there’s no Josie to be found, I go check the back hallway where the bathrooms are.

As I turn the corner, I collide with a lean body.

We each go to steady the other, her gripping my waist and me her biceps. Josie’s hair is a rumpled mess of flyaway hairs and her lipstick is smeared.

We both freeze.

“Hi,” she squeaks.

“Hi,” I say.

We both let go of each other; she steps to the right, and I mirror her, then it happens again, but this time we both go left.

“Sorry,” I snort.

“It’s fine.”

A deep pink flush spreads up her neck, this time not from alcohol. She glances behind her, nervously.

“Are you okay?” I say slowly.

“Yep.”

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