Deeper. Megan Hart

Her stomach had sprouted the pins and needles preceding the shakes of low blood sugar, and though there’d be more than one person passed out here by the end of the night, she didn’t intend to be the first. When she looked up, Nick was gone, swallowed by the mass of writhing, dancing bodies.

      Ryan leaned across her to grab a napkin from the counter behind her. His arm brushed her breast. His breath wafted over her throat and cheek. Pinned between the table and the counter with no place to go, Bess flushed at the intimacy, especially when Ryan grinned and winked. His glance fell to the front of her shirt before he looked at her face again.

      “Nice party,” he said, and turned away to load his plate with pizza.

      It wasn’t the first time Ryan had flirted with her, and it wasn’t even that Bess minded. Whatever arrangement he and Missy had didn’t seem to be exclusive for either of them. Ryan was cute and knew it. It didn’t make her feel special. Just a little off balance. It had been so long since she’d paid attention to any sort of male interest, she wasn’t sure how to react.

      “What are you drinking?” This came from a guy Bess didn’t know by name, though she’d seen him around. He held up a bottle of tequila. “Margarita?”

      Bess looked for a blender and saw none. “Umm…no, thanks.”

      “Okay.” The guy shrugged and turned to the girl next to him, who waited with open mouth. He took the bottles of tequila and margarita mix and poured both into her mouth at the same time, stopping when the liquid started overflowing. She swallowed and choked, coughing, waving her hands, and they laughed.

      Bess tried hard not to make that face, the one Missy had mimicked, but…ew. Gross. Not to mention a good way to end up in the hospital. Shielding her pizza with her body, she eased through the throng, but found no place to sit in the living room. She leaned instead against the wall in a corner. People were playing quarters already. Someone else had set up a beer bong. Bess concentrated on eating.

      The problem was, once finished, she was thirsty again, which meant a return trip through the party jungle to the kitchen. She had to stop to dance a little along the way with Brian, who worked with her at Sugarland, because he snagged her wrist and wouldn’t let her pass without a bit of bump and grind. Brian liked boys, but was fond of reminding Bess frottage didn’t need a gender.

      “You look pretty tonight!” He shouted over the heavy bass thumping of “Rump Shaker.” “Zooma zoom, baby!”

      Bess rolled her eyes as he grabbed her ass and ground against her. “Thanks, Brian. You like guys, remember?”

      “Honey,” he said into her ear, with a lick that made her giggle and squirm, “that makes it even more of a compliment.”

      She could hardly deny that, so she let him feel her up and down for a few minutes while they danced.

      “So, who’ve you got your eye on?” she shouted into his ear.

      “Oh, boys, boys, boys,” Brian said with a shake of his highlighted bangs. “Boys all over, honey, but sadly, most of them are straight. How ’bout you? Still remaining true to your Prince Charming?”

      Bess kept herself from making a face at Brian’s assessment of her love life. He didn’t need to know about her problems with Andy. He’d either commiserate, which she didn’t want, or give her advice, which she didn’t need.

      “Dish!” Brian ordered, twirling her. “Mr. Right’s Mr. Wrong, all of a sudden?”

      If she’d been able to get in touch with Andy more than once in the past three weeks, maybe she’d know. Bess shook her head and eased herself out of Brian’s grasp. “I didn’t say that.”

      “You didn’t have to,” he shouted in her ear, and she winced. “What did that bastard do?”

      “Nothing!” Bess tugged her hands out of his.

      Brian didn’t let her go easily. “I don’t believe you!”

      “I’m going to get a drink.”

      “You have to work tomorrow!” He pretended to be scandalized, but his easy grin gave him away.

      Bess laughed, shaking her head. “So do you. See you later, Brian.”

      Before he could protest, she kissed him quickly on the cheek and disengaged from his octopus hands so she could finish her quest for something to drink. She pushed away and through the crowd, toward the kitchen. She didn’t want to talk about Andy to Brian. Or to Missy. She didn’t really want to talk or think about Andy at all, because once she started, she might very well have to admit that things were going suddenly, desperately sour.

      The sodas had all disappeared from the fridge, and she wasn’t about to trust the open two-liter bottles littered all over the counter and table. The pizza had been completely devoured, with nothing but a few strings of cheese and some splotches of sauce left on the boxes to prove it had ever been there at all. Bess gathered up the empty cardboard and shoved it beneath the table, then searched for a plastic cup that didn’t look as if it had been used. She filled it with tap water and the last couple of ice cubes, then refilled the ice-cube trays and put them back in the freezer.

      “It wouldn’t be a party without you, Mommy.” Missy draped herself over Bess’s shoulder and kissed her loudly on the cheek. “There. Now you can’t say you didn’t get any action tonight.”

      “Too late. Brian beat you to it.” Bess wiped off Missy’s kiss and looked out over the room. She wouldn’t have been surprised if they rocked the trailer right off its blocks. Or set the place on fire from spontaneous combustion.

      Missy babbled something, slurring, but Bess wasn’t listening. Across the room, standing along the back wall next to the hall, stood a boy. She recognized the faded T-shirt after a second. Ryan’s friend. He’d taken off his ball cap.

      He wasn’t doing anything notable, just tipping a bottle of beer to his lips, but he turned to look toward her just as she noticed him. Their eyes met, or she thought they did, though it was impossible to tell if he was looking at her.

      That moment stamped itself into her mind forever. The smell of weed and beer, the lingering taste of pizza, the warmth of Missy’s hand on her arm. The splash of cold on her calf as someone spilled a drink at that moment.

      The first moment she really looked at him.

      “Missy. Who is that?”

      Missy, busy making fun of the guy who’d lost his cup, didn’t look up at first. In the half minute it took for her to answer, Bess had already imagined herself walking across the room and taking the beer out of his hands. Putting it to her mouth. Putting him to her mouth.

      “Who?”

      Bess pointed, not caring if he saw.

      “Oh, that’s Nick the Prick. Dude! Wipe it the fuck up!”

      Missy, no longer amused by her guest’s fumbling fingers, punched him in the arm. “This isn’t a fucking bar!”

      Bess ignored them both, just moved out of the way to let the guy get on the floor to wipe up the spill. Nick was no longer looking at her, and she was glad, because that meant she could stare all she wanted. She imprinted his profile on her mind. From this distance she had to imagine the length of his lashes, the depth of his dimple. The way he’d smell…

      “Bess!” Missy shook her arm.

      “Does he have a girlfriend?”

      Missy gaped. She looked at Bess, then toward Nick and back again. “You’re shitting me. Nick?”

      Bess nodded. She’d forgotten her ice water and grabbed it up now, needing to quench the sudden dryness in her throat. She’s going to say he has a girlfriend, she thought. She’s going to tell me he’s in love with some girl with big tits and bigger hair. Or worse, she fucked him. Missy fucked him…

      Missy blew upward to move her bangs off