Page 33 of Drowning Erin

I trace the bare skin of her back, press the pads of my fingers tighter. She looks up as if she knows what I’m doing, as if she wants me to do more, and I can no longer stand towait.

“Come here,” I say, grabbing her hand, pulling her through the crowd to the darkness at the building’sside.

“Why are we here?” sheasks.

“For this,” I say. I press her to the wall, placing my palms on either side of her face, and I kiss her. For a moment she softens beneath me, her body pliant, her mouth opening in response to mine. It is right, and perfect. It’s what we should have been doing allalong.

And then she jerks away. “Stop.”

“Why?” I demand. “Because ofRob?”

“No,” she says. “Because you don’t get to treat me like shit the whole time we work together and then suddenly decide you’re interested the minute your friend asks meout.”

Her voice is raspy, as if she’s on the cusp of tears. It makes me hate myself. How could I have realized everything so late? I’ve completely fucked thisup.

“That’s not what this is…” I begin, just as the deejay announces that Will and Olivia are getting ready toleave.

“I have to go,” she says, pulling away. “I need to help Olivia getready.”

“Erin, you’ve got to give me a chance to explain,” I plead. “Meet me back here after Will and Olivia take off.” I pull her to me before she can object and kiss her once more—hard, a silent plea:please give me a chance; please believeme.

I take her stunned silence for agreement. It’s only later, when she never returns, when I receive a text from Rob saying he’s finally gotten Erin into his room, that I realize she wasn’t agreeing at all. She was walking away forgood.

25

Erin

Present

I’ve donemy hair and makeup by the time Harper arrives on Saturday night. I don’t really have a lot of “going out” clothes, however. Rob and I eat out somewhere nice a few times a month, but my work clothes suffice for that. I settle for the same tank and skinny jeans I wore the last time we went out, but her loud groan tells me she does notapprove.

“No,” she says, taking one look at me before heading straight for mycloset.

“No to what?” Iask.

“All of it. You’re 26, Erin. Stop dressing like the only stores you know of are Ann Taylor and Lady Footlocker. And you’re wearingdaytimemakeup.”

“There’s a difference between daytime and nighttime makeup?” Iask.

“Oh, my sad little butterfly,” she says, patting my head. “You still have so much tolearn.”

When we arrive at the club an hour later, I’m wearing more makeup than I’ve ever worn in my life, along with the inside layer of a black dress, which Harper is making me wear alone with my highest heels. I’m not sure if I feel pretty or like I’m for sale. Perhaps a little ofboth.

It’s my first VIP line, and the club itself is the kind of place with which I have little experience: low lighting, club music, bass reverberating off the walls. The moment we’re inside, Harper starts dragging me toward the cordoned-off section of the room, where the men stand a food taller and a foot wider than normal humanbeings.

“Not ready for that,” I object. “I haven’t spoken to a guy who isn’t Rob or a client in fouryears.”

“You seem to talk to Brendan all the time,” she says with a brow raised. Ever since she saw us together at that show a while back, she’s been like a dog with abone.

“He doesn’t count.” I sigh. “I need a drink first, atleast.”

“How does Brendan not count?” she asks, waving a $20 at thebartender.

“It’s just not likethat.”

“You’re sure?” sheasks.

I think about Brendan, about his sharp cheekbones and the way that hollow beneath them seems to throb sometimes when he’s thinking. About his miles of smooth skin, his broad back in those bike shorts, everything I noticed containedwithinthose bike shorts when he turnedaround.

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