After We Collided (The After Series) (9 page)

After I’ve danced through an unknown number of songs and two more drinks, the room begins to spin. I excuse myself to head for the bathroom, grabbing my purse on the way and pushing through endless sweaty bodies. I feel my phone start vibrating in my bag, so I dig it out. It’s my mother; no way I’m answering that—I’m way too drunk to talk to her right now. When I hit the bathroom line, something makes me scroll through my inbox, and I immediately frown at the realization that Hardin hasn’t texted me.

Maybe I should see what he’s up to?

No. I can’t do that. That would be irresponsible and I would regret it tomorrow.

The flashing lights bouncing off the walls are starting to get to me as I wait in line. I try to concentrate on my phone screen, hoping the feeling goes away. When the door to one of the stalls finally opens, I bolt in and lean over the toilet, waiting for my body to decide whether to get sick. I hate this feeling. If he were here, Hardin would bring me water, he would offer to hold my hair back.

No. No, he wouldn’t.

I should call him.

Realizing I won’t be sick, I exit the little room and go to the sink area. Hitting a couple of buttons on my phone, I place it between my shoulder and cheek and tear a paper towel from the dispenser. I place it under a faucet to wet it, but the water doesn’t come until I wiggle the towel around the sensor; I hate these automatic sinks. My eyeliner has run a little, and I look like a different person. My hair is wild and my eyes are bloodshot. After the third ring, I hang up and set my phone on the edge of the sink.

Why the hell isn’t he answering?
I ask myself, and right then my phone starts to vibrate, almost falling into the water, which makes me laugh. I have no idea why, but I find it amusing.

Hardin’s name appears on the screen, and I swipe my wet finger across the screen. “Harold?” I say into the phone.

Harold?
Oh Lord, I drank way too much.

Hardin’s voice sounds funny and breathless when it comes through. “Tessa? Is everything okay? Did you call me?”

God, his voice is heavenly.

“I don’t know—does your caller ID say that I did? Because if so, there’s probably a good chance it was me.” I laugh as I say this.

His tone changes. “Have you been drinking?”

“Maybe,” I squeak and toss the makeshift wipe into the trash.

Two drunken girls enter the area and one of them trips over her own feet, making everyone laugh. They stumble into the largest stall, and I focus my attention back on my phone call.

“Where are you?” Hardin asks harshly.

“Oh, calm down, would you?” He always tells me to calm down, so now it’s my turn.

He sighs. “Tessa . . .” I can tell he’s angry, but my head’s too fuzzy to care. “How much did you drink?” he asks.

“I dunno . . . like five. Or six. I think,” I answer and lean against the wall. The cold tile feels amazing on my hot skin through the thin material of my dress.

“Five or six what?”

“Sexes on the Beaches . . .
we
never had sex on the beach . . . That could have been fun,” I say with a smirk. I wish I could see his stupid face right now. Not stupid . . .
beautiful
. But stupid sounds better right now.

“Oh God, you’re
trashed
,” he says. Somehow I know that he’s running his fingers through his hair. “Where are you?” he asks again.

I know it’s immature, but I reply, “Somewhere you’re not.”

“Obviously. Now tell me. Are you at a nightclub?” he barks.

“Oooh . . . someone is a grumpy gills.” I laugh.

Clearly he can hear the music in the background, so when he threatens, “I can easily find out where you are,” I sort of believe him. Not that I care.

The words are out before I can stop them: “Why didn’t you call me today?”

“What?” he asks, clearly thrown off by my question.

“You didn’t try to call me today.” I sound pathetic.

“I didn’t think you wanted me to.”

“I don’t, but still.”

“Well, I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says calmly.

“Don’t get off the phone yet.”

“I’m not . . . I was just saying that I’ll call you tomorrow, even if you don’t pick up,” he explains and my heart leaps.

I try to sound neutral. “Okay.”
What am I doing?

“So now can you tell me where you are?”

“Nope.”

“Is Trevor there?” His tone is serious.

“Yeah, but Kim is, too . . . and Christian.” I’m defending, though I don’t know why.

“So this was the plan, then? To take you to the conference and get you wasted and take you to a fucking club?” He raises his voice. “You need to go back to your hotel. You aren’t used to drinking and now you’re out and Trevor—”

I hang up before he can finish. Who does he think he is? He’s lucky that I even called him, drunk or not. What a buzzkill.

I need another drink.

My phone vibrates repeatedly, but I press ignore each time.
Take that, Hardin.

I find my way back to our VIP section and ask the cocktail waitress for another drink.

“Are you okay?” Kimberly asks. “You look pissed.”

“Yeah, I’m fine!” I lie and down my drink as soon as the waitress brings it. Hardin is such a jerk, he’s the reason that we aren’t
together, and he has the nerve to try to yell at me when I call him? He could be here with me right now if he hadn’t done what he did. Instead, Trevor is. Trevor, who is very sweet and very handsome.

“What?” Trevor smiles at me when he catches me staring.

I laugh and look away. “Nothing.”

After I finish another drink and we talk about how great tomorrow will be, I stand back up. “I’m going to dance again!” I call to them.

Trevor looks like he wants to say something, maybe even offer to come with me, but his cheeks flame and he stays quiet. Kimberly looks like she’s had enough and waves me off, but I don’t mind going out there on my own. I find my way to the middle of the dance floor and start to move. I probably look ridiculous, but it feels good to enjoy the music and let everything else go, like my drunken phone call to Hardin.

After about half a song, I sense a tall figure behind me, near me. I turn to find a pretty cute guy in dark jeans and a white shirt. His brown hair is shaved into a buzz cut, and his smile is handsome enough. He’s no Hardin, but then, no one is.

Stop thinking about Hardin
, I remind myself as the man puts his hands on my hips and says close in my ear, “Can I join you?”

“Um . . . sure,” I reply. But really it’s the alcohol that’s speaking for me.

“You’re very beautiful,” he says, then turns me around, closing the gap between us. He pushes up against my back, and I close my eyes, trying to imagine that I’m someone else. A woman who dances with strangers in a club.

The beat to the second song is slower, more sensual, which makes my hips move slower. We turn to face each other, and he brings my hand to his mouth and touches his lips to my skin. His eyes meet mine and the next thing I know he has his tongue in my mouth. My heart screams for me to push him away, almost
gagging at the unfamiliar taste of him. But my brain, my brain says something entirely different:
Kiss him to forget about Hardin. Kiss him.

So I ignore the sick feeling in my stomach. I close my eyes and move my tongue across his. I’ve kissed more guys in my three months at college than I have in my whole life. The stranger’s hands move to my back and inch down farther.

“Do you want to come back to my place?” he says as our mouths disconnect.

“What?” I heard him, but something in me hopes that by saying what I say I can erase that question.

“My place, let’s go,” he slurs.

“Oh . . . I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Oh, it’s a good idea.” He laughs. The multicolored lights strobe across his face, making him look odd and much more threatening than before.

“What makes you think I would go home with you? I don’t even know you!” I shout over the music.

“Because you were just all over me and
loved it
, you dirty girl,” he says like it’s obvious, and not offensive.

Just as I prepare myself to scream at him, or knee him in the crotch, I try to calm down and think clearly for a second. I was just grinding on this guy, and then I kissed him.
Of course
he’s going to want more. What the hell is wrong with me? I just made out with a stranger in a club—this is not me.

“I’m sorry, but no,” I say and walk away.

When I get back my group, Trevor looks like he’s about to fall asleep on the couch. I can’t help but smile at his adorableness.

Is that even a word? God, I drank too much.

I take a seat and grab a bottled water out of the ice bin on the table.

“Have fun?” Kimberly asks me, and I nod.

“Yeah, I had a great time,” I say, despite what happened a few minutes ago.

“Are you almost ready, honey? We have to get up early,” Christian says to Kim.

“Yup. I’m ready when you are.” She runs her hand up his thigh. I look away and feel my cheeks flush.

I poke Trevor. “Are you coming or are you going to sleep here?” I tease.

He laughs and sits up straight. “I haven’t decided, this couch is comfortable. The music so soothing . . .”

Christian calls the driver, who says he’ll be here in a few minutes. We all get up and decide to walk down the spiral staircase that runs along one side of the club. At the first-floor bar, Kimberly orders one last drink, and I debate whether to have another while we wait, but realize I’ve had enough. If I have another, I might pass out, or throw up. Neither of which I want to do.

When Christian gets a text, we all move toward the exit. I welcome the cold air on my hot skin, thankful there is only a light breeze as we climb into the car.

It’s almost three in the morning when we get back to the hotel. I’m drunk and starving. After raiding my minifridge and eating almost everything inside, I stumble over to the bed and plop down without even removing my shoes.

S
hhhrrrrut up,” I grumble when an obnoxious noise pulls me from my drunken slumber. It takes me a few seconds to realize the noise isn’t my mother yelling at me for something, but rather someone banging on my door.

“God, I’m
coming
!” I shout and stumble my way to the door.

But then I stop and glance at the clock on the desk: it’s almost four in the morning.
Who the hell could that be?

Even in my drunken state, my mind begins to race with sharp fear. What if it’s Hardin? It’s been over three hours since I drunk-dialed him, but how would he find me? What will I say to him? I’m not ready for this.

When the pounding recommences, I throw all my thoughts aside and swing the door open, preparing for the worst.

But it’s just Trevor. Disappointment stings in my chest, and I wipe at my eyes. I feel just as drunk now as I did when I lay down.

“Sorry for waking you, but do you have my phone?” he asks.

“Huh?” I say and back into the room so he can enter. When the door swings shut behind him, we’re engulfed in relative darkness, the only light being from the city outside my window. I’m too drunk to find the light switch, though.

“I think our phones got switched. I have yours and I think you grabbed mine by accident.” He holds my phone out in his palm. “I was going to wait until the morning, but yours just wouldn’t stop ringing and ringing.”

“Oh” is all I say, I walk over and open my purse. Sure enough, Trevor’s phone is sitting on top of my wallet.

“I’m sorry . . . must have grabbed yours in the car,” I apologize and hand it to him.

“It’s okay. I’m really sorry for waking you up. You’re the only girl I know who looks just as beautiful when she wakes up as she did—”

A loud banging at the door cuts him off, and the sudden noise infuriates me.

“
What the hell is this?
Party in Tessa’s room?” I yell and stomp to the door, ready to yell at whatever hotel employee is likely here to reprimand me for the noise Trevor made, ironically by making more noise than he did.

Just as I reach for the door, the noise gets even louder, which shocks me into stillness. I then I hear it: “Tessa! Open this damn door!” Hardin’s voice booms through the air, as if no barrier at all stood between us. A light flips on behind me, and I see Trevor’s face pale with real fear.

Hardin finding him in my room won’t go over well, regardless of what was really going on.

“Hide in the bathroom,” I say, and Trevor’s eyes widen.

“What? I can’t hide in the bathroom!” he exclaims, and I realize how ridiculous that idea is.

“Open the fucking door!”
Hardin yells again, and then he starts kicking it. Repeatedly.

I look at Trevor again before opening the door, trying to memorize his handsome face before Hardin mutilates it.

“I’m
coming
!” I yell and open the door halfway to find a fuming Hardin, dressed in all black. My drunk eyes wander, and I notice that instead of his thick boots, he’s wearing plain black Converses. I’ve never seen him in any shoes except his boots. I like these new shoes . . .

But I’m getting distracted.

Hardin pushes the door open and blows right by me, going for Trevor. Luckily, I grab his shirt and manage to stop him, somehow.

“You think you can get her drunk and come into her fucking hotel room!” Hardin screams at him and tries to surge forward. I know he isn’t trying as much as he could because in that case I would surely be on the floor, not holding him by his thin shirt. “I saw that light flip on through the peephole—what were you two doing alone in the dark here!”

“I wasn’t . . . I—” Trevor begins.

“Hardin, stop it! You can’t go around beating people up!” I shout and tug at his shirt.

“Yes . . . I can, though!” he growls.

“Trevor,” I say. “Go back to your room so I can talk some sense into him. I’m sorry for his crazy-ass behavior.”

Trevor almost laughs at my word choice, but one look from Hardin silences him.