Page 5 of Take 2
My smile is genuine now. “I always appreciate when you give me good reasons to dislike you.”
“I don’t think I’ve given you any good rea—”
“Have fun finding a spot for your newest Oscar.” I resume my retreat. “And for shit’s sake, wear a tie next time.”
“Don’t know how to tie one.”
“That’s what YouTube is for.” I book it out of there. Thanks to Preston, I have a couple of extra hours on my day off I wasn’t planning for. Which probably means I’ll go home and get ahead on some work.
Oscars weekend never disappoints.
Chapter Three
Twelve Years Ago
Myblackflatsstickto the floor with every little step in my awkward attempt at dancing. Cece is more graceful in stilettos than I could be in the comfiest of shoes. Somehow, room seems to be made for her on the crowded dance floor while people wall me in. I’ve never thought I was claustrophobic. I’ve survived Disney World in July. This place is just as hot, humid, and packed.
Hands land on my waist from behind, and I lean into Morgan as we dance to “Single Ladies.” We probably look like idiots, but I doubt many people here are coherent enough to judge.
“I’m so glad you can finally come out with us!” Cece yells over the music and wraps her arms around both of us, sandwiching me between them.
“Yeah, I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on all this glory.”
Cece releases us, and Morgan turns me toward her to inspect my eyes. “The pre-gaming wore off. This place is not fun sober. I told you!”
“I’m going to get shots.” Cece is eighteen, like me, but unlike me, she is brave enough to use a fake ID. “I’ll meet you in the bathroom.”
“No! I saw the bathroom. It’s not even fit to pee in. I cannot consume something in there.”
“Everyone does it!” Morgan shouts.
Cece nods. “The alcohol kills everything. You’ll be fine.” She elbows her way to the bar, disappearing into the crowd.
“Come on.” Morgan pulls me toward the bathroom, our hands slick.
“I’d rather go cool off for a second first,” I say when we get to the short hallway to the bathroom.
“Well, I actually need to pee, so meet us back here?”
“Sure.”
As I push out to the patio area, I tie my hair up. It must look like crap by now, anyway. The time spent straightening and then curling it was a total waste. Outside, I am quickly reminded that the human body makes sweat to cool it. It’s extremely effective when you step out into twenty-something-degree Wisconsin weather. I shiver and rub my arms as goosebumps spread over them.Don’t need to dress for the weather if you’re just going to run from the car to go inside. The advice seemed sound at the time. It’s the way everyone lives here, but despite being a native Wisconsinite, I’ve always been weak when it comes to low temperatures. Mom is too, and though I'm only half-Cuban, apparently it's enough to thin my blood. It works with my love of sweaters and scarves.
The break from the noise and people is worth potentially freezing for, though. Being seventeen for a semester and a half of college initially felt like I was missing out on so much, but now I’m not sure getting into the bars is important to me.
There are two girls sitting on the concrete floor crying and a couple pressed up against the wall making out. Yeah, going out doesn’t need to be a frequent thing.I sigh and lean against the iron railing that borders the patio. It’s frozen, and I immediately pull back. The chill working its way into my bones will probably be enough to keep me from melting for a while, so I guess it’s safe to head back in.
The door swings open, and a guy comes out with a hand covering one ear and a cellphone pressed to the other. “… Saturday during off-season! I get to have a life!” He listens while he crosses the patio and leans back against the frozen rail I’m standing in front of. “That’s bullshit!”
He’s so close to me that to leave now will look like I’m uncomfortable being two feet away from someone having a fight on the phone. I am, but I’m not sure I want to look like he scared me away. I was here first.
“I am nowhere near losing my position on the team,” he says.
I glance at him from the side of my eye and wonder what sport he plays. The clue of being off-season is lost on me. I don’t know what sport is in or out of season. Wisconsin has enough trouble figuring out what actual season it is—warm one day, snowstorm the next. Whatever sport he plays must give him quite the arm workout because those arms are amazing. He’s not dressed to be outdoors either, in a T-shirt that hugs his body way too well.
“Sure, whatever. Bye.” He slides the phone into his back pocket and drops his head back. “Sorry about that.”
I look around for whoever he’s speaking to now. He turns his head toward me, and his gaze pins me down.
