Page 35 of Night Shift

It hits me, then, that I’m playing too.

“Go after him,” Nina orders, reading my mind. “Assert yourself.”

“He said he’d find me again . . .” As soon as I say it, I know Nina is right. Waiting around is only going to give me time to overthink and convince myself that this won’t end well. Or, worse, result in me going all night without being able to actually talk to Vincent.

“You can’t say you hate passive main characters and then be passive, Kendall.”

“I know,” I huff. “Give me a minute, okay?”

What I need is a moment in relative silence to compose myself, fuss with my hair, blot my lipstick, and remind myself that I am a bad bitch who is totally capable of seducing Vincent Knight and then not freaking out if it all ends in anything less than us riding off into the sunset.

Nina whoops out a cheer as she lands another Ping-Pong ball into a cup across the table. The two boys at the other end look at each other like they’ve realized they’re in over their heads. I would stay and delight in her triumph, but I have an agenda tonight.

“I need to find the bathroom,” I announce.

“It’s upstairs at the end of the hall. You want me to come with you?”

I shake my head. This is a solo mission.

“I can find it,” I say. “Stay right here, okay? I’ll be back in five.”

Sixteen

There’s no way this is taking five minutes.

The line for the bathroom is about a mile long and takes up half of the upstairs hallway. I fall into place behind a pair of girls who immediately notice that I’m out of sorts and take it upon themselves to compliment every inch of my outfit, then my makeup, then my bone structure.

Now I remember the only thing I’ve ever liked about college parties: the warm sense of community and camaraderie formed between drunk girls waiting for their turn to pee.

Someone down the line shouts for lip balm.

Immediately, there are four offers.

It’s more fun than the actual party, and it’s exactly the environment I need to take a deep breath and think. It shouldn’t be this hard for me to go after what I want. And that’s Vincent. Judging by the way he looks at me and the near-constant stream of flirtatious jokes and double entendres, he wants me too. So why is my anxious little brain complicating things? Why am I so worried about our friends? Speaking of—I should make sure they’re holding up without me.

I’m checking my phone for any texts from Nina or Harper when I feel it: the familiar invisible tug that urges me to lift my head.

Vincent is coming down the crowded hallway in the opposite direction. He looks thoroughly annoyed. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why: he’s a few steps behind Griffin, who’s swinging a lanyard with what must be the key to the basement and whistling along with the pounding music that’s drifting up through the floor. Griffin breezes right past me. For a moment, I think Vincent will too.

But our eyes meet like magnets snapping together, and he comes to a stop at my side.

“Hey. You good?”

“I’m fine,” I tell him. “Just waiting for the bathroom.”

Vincent looks up and down the row of girls like he’s just noticed that we’re all lined up for something. A trio of lacrosse boys try to slide past Vincent in the crowded hall, and he shuffles forward, toward me. There’s enough room between me and the wall that I could probably take a step back, but I don’t. I let Vincent get so close I can feel the heat of his chest radiating against me. He smells divine. Laundry detergent and something subtle and spiced that’s achingly familiar now. I have to tip my head back to meet his eyes.

“Do you want to use mine?” Vincent offers.

I scrunch my nose. I’m not quite drunk enough to tolerate the sight of a urinal.

“I’m in a single,” he adds. “I have my own bathroom. I promise it’s clean.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I register that the girls ahead of me in line are watching us with open mouths. The taller of the two gives me a pointed look that says, Go with him, obviously.

“Fine,” I relent. “But I reserve the right to roast you if all you have in your shower is that shampoo–body wash combo shit.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, Holiday.”

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