Page 26 of Time To Live Again

My gaze drifts to hers. “Let’s make a list as we go to the party. It’s getting late. Almost to the point of why bother, but I promised you a good time. I hope you aren’t too tired.”

“If I slow down, I will be. Can you give me a sec? I’d like to freshen up if that’s okay.”

“Good idea. I want to change since I kneeled in the grass. I’ll do that while you’re in the bathroom.”

I step off the bottom stair just as she’s coming out. She looks exactly the same because she didn’t need to freshen up. I’ll always think she looks perfect. I head to the bathroom and redo my hair, this time pulling it all up. Next comes a fresh spray of cologne and a quick gargle of mouthwash. I look at my reflection and see a different me. People might think I’m crazy for saying that, but they don’t know how much I’ve been holding back. Sometimes I’ve almost felt like I’m cursed. Well, if I am, maybe she’s the one who’ll break it.

My phone pings in my pocket. I pull it out and read it. It’s Ellie, wondering where I am. I step out of the bathroom and finally realize something. “Where the hell is Tonya?”

“Didn’t you hear her? She got a text and needed to go back to the party.”

“That’s crazy. You had me in some kind of trance, you beautiful mustache shaver.” Only a couple hours with her, and she’s all I see and hear.

“It’s my magical fingers.” She wiggles them playfully.

I slide the coat up her arms and over her shoulders, then grab mine. “You’re trouble, aren’t you? I’m not believing this innocent, antisocial act anymore.”

“As a fake girlfriend, I can be whoever I want.” Her eyes sparkle mischievously.

“Well, time’s a-wastin’. Let’s go play pretend and see what kind of trouble we can get into.”

Little by little, she’s bringing me back.

11

OLIVE

“What about holding hands?” Leo asks.

I lift one. “Sure.”

He intertwines his warm fingers with my icy ones, and I can’t understand why it feels completely right. Why do they fit perfectly, like his hands were made for mine? I groan inwardly. What a cliché. I’m deleting my romance TBR, TV series, and movies, replacing them with thrillers full of blood and gore. No more love stories making me believe I’ll find my person. My soulmate.

I’d rather not go to the party. I’d be perfectly happy having him to myself. It’s not about sex, though my hormones are losing their patience.You’re here to be social.

“Your hand’s nice and warm. Thank you. Mine get cold when I’m nervous.”

“Once you spend more time with my friends tonight, I think you’ll relax. They’re good people. Most of them, anyway. I don’t know everyone here. Some of them live in LA. You mentioned you lived there, right?”

“Yeah, but it feels like ages ago.” Another lifetime.

“It’d be funny if you recognized somebody.”

“Highly doubt it. LA is a massive city.” I say nothing else, hoping he catches on that I don’t want to talk about it.

As we get closer to the party, I squeeze Leo’s hand like a stress ball. My heart beats to the bass coming from down the hall. We reach the door, and he opens it and motions for me to go in first. I step into an intimate ballroom with cocktail tables adorned with silver tablecloths scattered about. Strings of twinkling white lights drape from the ceiling, casting a canopy-like illusion. Guests fill the black-and-white checkered dance floor in the center of the room, swaying to the beat. Glasses, streamers, confetti, silver and black balloons, party hats, and other items cover the tables and floor. I wouldn’t want to be the one cleaning this mess after the party is over.

Technotronic’s “Pump Up the Jam” plays, and I’m whisked back to LA when I used to go clubbing with my friends. Those are the happy moments I want to remember. If only they were all like that.

“I love this song,” Leo and I say in unison.

“Jinx.” I blurt it a millisecond faster than Leo does, then form my index finger and thumb into an L and press them against my forehead. “Loser,” I sing. We burst out laughing as I bounce lightly on my toes. “I’m a huge fan of eighties and nineties music.”

“Same here. Match made in heaven,” he says, with a megawatt smile. “Want a drink?”

“Yes. I’m dying of thirst.” He guides me to a connected room away from the dance area. The atmosphere is quieter, making it easier to talk. To the left is a lengthy bar with small clusters of people drinking and chatting, some already looking drunk and others on their way. Large circular tables stand to the right, likely where they had dinner tonight before the clock struck twelve.

We approach the bar, and a woman yells, “Leo, where the hell have you been?” The redhead from the café runs up to us. The crowd behind her turns and watches. “Ah, the mustache is gone. Yay! We can see your cute face again,” she says, squeezing his cheeks. “Happy New Year.”

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