Page 61 of Not Another Yesterday
“I’m meeting with my professor Monday afternoon for onboarding,” I say.
“Dang, look at you, Kitty Cat. Full-time student, two jobs,” Vada nods, impressed.
I hesitate. “I guess.”
It doesn’treallyfeel like two jobs. The work I do at my mom’s practice barely counts—answering calls, rescheduling patients, keeping charts organized. It’s easy. And even as an R.A., I’ll only be putting in twenty-something hours a week, max. Ronan’s the one clocking forty hours at Murphy’splusclasses.
“Between you and Tori hustling your little butts off, I look positively lazy,” Vada says.
Tori, too, picked up a part-time job halfway through our fall semester at NYU. She works at a small bagel and coffee shop close to campus, nixing Shane’s idea to wait part time at Murphy’s; she was convinced having her boyfriend also be her boss would lead to nothing but trouble in their relationship. She’s probably right. I’ve seen Shane when he’s in boss mode, have heard Ronan grumble about it on occasion, and I can’t imagine it would be easy to leave work squabbles behind and then be cutesy and intimate with each other at home.
Tori waves Vada off. “I wouldn’t be working if I didn’t feel so guilty about mooching off Shay and Ran. I’m at their apartment way more than I’m at my dad’s. Least I can do is chip in for the occasional grocery haul and their internet.”
Tori’s right. She’s at the apartment all the time, even when neither Ronan nor Shane are there, and she’s certainly added her feminine touch to the place. That framed photo of Ronan and me on the entry table was her idea. The only things I’ve added so far are some of my clothes to Ronan’s closet, and a toothbrush and some of my “girly” products to their bathroom.
After making our way to Greenwich and finding a spot to park we immerse ourselves in the party. Vada saunters off in search of “some hotsingle guys” while Tori and I grab drinks. Some very potent drinks, as it turns out; it takes hardly any time at all for us to get tipsy—or make that drunk.
We stand giggling as Tori describes in hilarious detail, how she once caught Shane masturbating. This would be way too much information for me if I were sober, and I know Tori wouldn’t ever share such intimate details with me if she weren’t equally tipsy. But seeing as we’re anything but clearheaded, Tori’s drunken retelling of the time she walked in on Shane “rubbing one out” and decided to lend a hand—literally—has me in stitches.
“Oof, I gotta pee,” Tori finally says, looking around until she spots the bathroom. “Be right back, Kitty Cat.”
I watch Tori sway while she makes her way through the crowd of party attendees, bumping into people and apologizing profusely each time.
“How come you’re not here with some guy?” a tall, dark-haired guy with a bright smile asks me as he saunters in my direction, his eyes already undressing me. Under normal circumstances this would make me supremely uncomfortable, but I’m too inebriated to care. I haven’t had this much to drink in a long time, but I needed something to distract me from my fight with Ronan and the tension between us.
I observe the guy, letting him approach without protest. The closer he gets, the more his features come into focus—the deep brown of his eyes, his slender nose, a freshly cut shock of dark hair. I won’t deny that he’s attractive. I shrug. “My boyfriend couldn’t make it tonight.” The words drip out of my mouth like glue.
An appreciative smirk curves his lips. His eyes are glossy like he’s had his fair share of alcohol as well. “Some kind of boyfriend, letting you come to a party all by yourself looking gorgeous like this.”
A giggle bursts from my lips, but the guy seems to take it as a compliment.
“I like your laugh,” he says. “What’s your name?”
“Cat.”
He smiles and takes a step closer to me, leaning in to rest his hands on either side of my head.
“I’m Alex,” he says in a low drawl. “And if you don’t mind, Cat, I’m going to kiss you.”
Somewhere in the back of my brain, alarm bells go off, alerting me to protest, to move, to push him away and leave. But I’m too far gone, too slow and sluggish, too indifferent to comply.
I stand there rooted to the spot and let some random guy kiss me.
His tongue darts out, demanding entrance to my mouth while his hands come off the wall and grasp at my hips, tugging me to him. I should pull back. IknowI should. But my limbs feel heavy, my brain powered down. So I let him. Not only that, I actually kiss him back, my tongue sweeping over his like his sweeps over mine.
This is all wrong!
His lips are dry and hard. His hands dig greedily into my skin. He tastes like cheap booze and stale cigarettes. He’s not gentle and soft. He doesn’t taste like love and comfort. He doesn’t smell like ocean air, fresh laundry, and just Ronan.
Oh god, Ronan.
“Cat?” Ronan’s strained voice comes from behind Alex—who’s kissing me, who I’m kissing back.
My eyes snap open, and I’m immediately stone-cold sober. Ronan looks like he took a one-two punch right in the stomach, his expression contorted with pain and betrayal. I shove my hands against Alex’s chest, pushing him away from me.
He stumbles back, his eyes wide. “Hey, what the hell?” He tries to grab at my arm, but Ronan yanks him back so hard that the guy falls flat on his ass.
“Back the fuck off,” Ronan growls, and the people in our vicinity fall silent.
