Page 121 of From Now On

I choke a little on nothing except my own spit. I’m startled…and a little flattered. No one has ever made hooking up sound like such a simple, straightforward transaction before.

Gates is waiting for an answer.

“Uh…I’m sort of seeing someone.”

He nods, then raises the joint to his mouth. “Where is he?”

A male voice interrupts before I have to come up with an answer. “Stop hoarding the good shit over here, man.”

One of the guys who was part of the drinking game is approaching us. And surprisingly, he’s the first person I recognize at this party.

It’s Clayton Thomas.

I’m assuming that means Gates is on the basketball team, both from their familiarity and his height.

Clayton takes the joint from Gates, and then glances at me. “Oh. Hey, Eve.”

My surprise at recognizing Clayton has nothing on my shock abouthimrecognizingme. We’ve only been introduced once, months ago.

I clear my throat. “Hi, Clayton.”

Gates glances between us. “You two know each other?”

“I’m going to find a bathroom,” I say, before Clayton can reply. Honestly, I have no clue what he’d say. “See you guys later.”

Pushing back into the house is harder than shoving my way out was. I finally make it inside, trying to remember what little of the layout I noticed on the trip in and which way will most likely lead to a bathroom. I make it to the hallway and decide to ask the two girls standing by the doorway. One of them tells me to head just past the stairs.

A few minutes later, I locate the bathroom…and the line of eight girls waiting to use it.

I lean back against the white, blank wall—I’m guessing guys live here—and pull out my phone to check the time.

Only to discover that my phone is dead. Crap. I usually charge it overnight, but I was distracted last night. And I blasted music while I was working in the studio all day, not paying attention to the battery percentage.

I was planning to call a campus cab to get back home. The walk isn’t far, but it’s one I’d rather not do alone and late at night. Plus it makes me uneasy to be at a party where I know no one and not have a phone.

But there’s nothing I can do about that now.

Thanks to my useless phone, I have no clue how long it takes me to make it into the bathroom. But it’s eventually my turn. After I pee and wash my hands, I’m faced with the dilemma of what to do next.

I decide to shove my way toward the front door. Not to leave, necessarily, but there’s a spacious front porch with a swing that seems like a less claustrophobic place to hang out.

There are a decent number of people out here already. I pass a couple making out on the swing and a group of three girls whispering before perching on the railing and leaning back against the side of the house, resting my feet on one of the porch caps. I stare over the bushes at the street, watching the stream of students still arriving to the party.

I sip some of the warm beer in my cup, then make a face.

“Want something else?”

I glance up quickly. Clayton is approaching, his own red cup dangling from his fingers.

“I’m good,” I say, surprised to see him again. “Uh, thanks.”

He nods, stopping a couple of feet away. “You here with anyone?”

I chew on the inside of my cheek. “Um…”

I’m not sure why he’s asking. And I listen to too many true crime podcasts to think admitting you’re alone is a smart idea.

“I’m not asking for me,” Clayton adds.

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