Page 43 of Crossing the Line

Leaning her drunken, heavy head on my shoulder, Lauren mumbles, “We could find a place.”

I let out a sigh. “Yeah, but we’re not going to do that.”

Looking up at me, she frowns. “You don’t think I’m pretty?”

For fuck’s sake.

“You’re pretty, but it’s not happening.” I wouldn’t let it happen with any girl who’s drunk off her ass. I’m still looking for Ethan and Em with no luck, and I’m starting to get pissed.

“Is it because you’d rather be with that other girl? The one in the dress?”

“No,” I deadpan, borderline ignoring her.

“Yes, it is.” She’s practically pouting. “You can hardly take your eyes off her.”

This makes me look at her. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” she says almost defiantly, which only pisses me off more.

I scoff. “You know that guy she’s with? I’m the one who thinks it would be a good idea for them to hook up, so trust me, I’m not interested in her.”

Lauren points to the other end of the bar. “You mean the guy she’s making out with?”

“What?” My head whips around fast enough to give me whiplash, and sure as shit, Chad has Claire up against the bar. One hand rests on her hip while the other stays on the bar top like he’s barricading her only exit as he crams his tongue down her throat.

And it physically hurts.

I may have known them getting together was a good idea, but that doesn’t mean I want to fucking watch it happen. Can’t they go somewhere else until I can get over my annoying-ass feelings for her?

I know Lauren is watching for my reaction, but I don’t give a shit. I scan the place again, and, this time, Ethan and Em finally decide to show up, so I push the girl off me and get up from the couch. Looking at Em, I say, “Your new friend is wasted. Help her,” and start walking.

“Wait. Where are you going?” Ethan asks.

“I need some fucking air.”

I’m still close enough to hear Lauren call after me, “We’re already outside, asshole!” but I ignore her and keep walking.

42

Claire

I’m letting loose.

I’m supposed to be having fun.

I’m buzzed on a beach in Florida with a hot guy kissing my neck.

But I don’t like it.

This feels wrong.

I don’t know if it feels wrong because, for the past two years, I’ve only kissed one person? Maybe that’s it. Maybe this is just different, and it will take a little more time—and a little more alcohol—to feel the excitement of hooking up with a gorgeous stranger.

Maybe I’m not trying hard enough.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to clear my head. Chad has one hand in my hair and the other on the small of my back as it slowly creeps lower. His mouth is warm and eager on mine, and I can still taste the whiskey on his tongue. He’s a good kisser, but it isn’t enough to get me out of my head.

Because instead of thinking about Chad, or kissing, I’m still thinking about how wrong it all feels.