Page 161 of Girls Will Be Girls
“We’re not done.” His dad says, face red from anger.
“We are,” Lou says. “Mom, Dad, thanks for the party.”
Lou walks us past them as they stand there slack-jawed.
As we pass Otto, he’s smiling happier and more genuine than I’ve ever seen him. Lou slaps him on the shoulder, and Otto nods back, a moment passing between them.
“Did Otto just smile at you?” I whisper as we walk away.
“Tell you later.” He smiles down at me.
I let out a loud exhale as if I’ve been holding my breath this whole time. “Well.” I start. “I think that went well.”
He shrugs with a coy smile. “Welcome to the family?”
I immediately burst into laughter, falling into another fit of giggles, Lou right behind me.
My friends find us, worry etched all over their faces, but when Lou and I can’t stop laughing, they just join in with confused faces. It’s like they’re trying to bond with a kidnapper who has lost it.
Smile and nod.
I eventually gather myself and pull the girls with me, while Lou and the rest of the boys go and order enough drinks to sink a paddleboard. Frida and Dylan come to the bathroom with me and help me clean up my tear and mascara-stained face.
I try not to think too hard about how I stood on a stage looking like this.
I tell them everything. Everything I’d been keeping from my parents, everything they said tonight, another tear falling down my cheek as I do, and then they patch me up again. When they both hug me tight, I have to push them off before I cry a third time. The gratitude I have for them makes me too teary.
We take a few (hundred) bathroom selfies before finally finding the rest of the group again.
Lou’s shirt is unbuttoned down to his chest along with everyone else’s — but no one looks like he does — as they all shout around Caspar, who is balancing empty shot glasses on his body. When Lou spots me, he pulls me to him instantly. His lips are on mine in a soft kiss, before he whispers, “I like your friends,” a hint of sweet almond flavor on his breath.
I kiss him again, smiling against his lips.
He ignores the crashing of shot glasses on the carpet and the whoops and shouts that follow as he gestures to the table filled with every type of drink you could imagine.
“Thought we’d recreate our first pre-date.” He says.
“Pre-date?” I laugh.
“Mmh.” He kisses me again.
“How manypre-dateshave we had exactly?”
“Oh, I lost count ages ago.” He grins.
“You know pre-date isn’t a thing, right?”
He smirks. “Just as real as a pre-engagement.”
I stick him with a glare.“We are not pre-engaged.”
“We’ll see.” He sips his drink.
I laugh. “We’re not.”
He shrugs with that adorable grin stretched across his face, the dimple that seems to always be on his cheek winking at me.
I roll my eyes and go to ditch him as he laughs, but he jogs up and beats me to the drink-filled table, his fingers wrapping in mine.
