Page 71 of The Quit List
Because sure, my body has certain… reactions whenever Jax is around. But there’s no way to avoid that—the guy’s got an insanely magnetic presence. And I have fun with him; I laugh more with him than with pretty much anyone else, and he gets my way of communicating perfectly. I feel comfortable with him, yet when he’s close, I feel almost… electric.
During my date with Ian the other night, I kept stealing glances at Jax across the bar. I couldn’t help myself. And I wondered if, maybe, he was glancing at me too. I could only think about the day in the kayak when I was sitting in his lap and my heart was beating so fast and my skin felt fuzzy and warm wherever it met his.
Sparks. That really was the only way to describe it.
And in fact, when Ian made up his whole foot emergency excuse, I felt excited… because it meant I got to go hang out with Jax again.
But then, his sister Maddie suggested this blind date with Aaron, and Jax was enthusiastic as a freaking Dallas Cowboys cheerleader about the idea. And I felt like a freaking idiot for once again almost forgetting the mission I’m meant to be on.
Aaron is handsome and successful, and from our short text exchanges so far, I can tell Jax and Maddie are right when they say he’s a great guy. So, tonight I’m going to go out in search of those sparks with a guy who’s not my dating coach.
That’s what I want: sparks, romance, and commitment.
And while Jax might be able to give me the first of these, the other two simply aren’t on the table with him.
“It makes me feel no way at all,” I conclude, facing Aubrey. “Jax and I are just friends.”
The arena suddenly explodes in a cacophony of whoops and cheers. A sea of crimson rises up all around us, and I stand alongside everyone else, fully confused. I glance over to Aubrey to see if she has a clue what’s going on.
She simply smirks back at me. “Well, would you look at that. Your new boyfriend scored and you totally missed it.”
24
HOLLY
It’s really dark in here. Dark, and loud.
More of a nightclub or lounge than a bar.
I haven’t been to a nightclub since… Well, ever. My one and only dalliance into the glittering Atlanta nightlife was back during my senior year of college, when I went out with some friends from my major. We were celebrating the end of our theses, and we went to a place called Maze. Which was, quite literally, a maze.
Whoever thought this would be a good layout for a bunch of drunk people must’ve been very drunk themselves. Because within five minutes, I was totally lost and running around in circles like a lab rat. About an hour later, I finally made it to an exit, which led to a very sketchy back alley. My heels got coated in garbage juice as I tried to orientate myself and find my way to the main road.
Finally, a very nice drug dealer pointed me in the right direction. And he didn’t even seem too upset that I didn’t want to buy any of his drugs.
After that night, when I did go out, I stuck to regular bars and restaurants. And always made sure to look places up online before going.
But I must say that tonight is going much, much better so far.
Illusion consists of a big, open room with a dance floor in the middle, a bar that runs the length of the back wall, and an elevated, roped-off VIP section to the left. The music is upbeat and fun, and the flashing lights are making me feel more excited than disoriented.
“Ahh, I love it here!” Aubrey squeals in my ear. “We should go out more!”
“Let’s get a drink,” I yell back. Aubrey offered to drive, and I could use a splash of liquid courage.
We make our way towards the bar, threading through throngs of bodies moving on the dancefloor with our pinkies linked so we don’t lose each other.
Once we reach our destination, I smooth out the black minidress I changed into in the car (which was no small feat of gymnastics, let me tell you) and fall in line behind a crowd of people vying for the bartender’s attention. While we wait, I survey the room for someone who looks like Aaron.
“They’re up there!” Aubrey points—very subtly—to the VIP area, where there is, indeed, a cluster of hulking hockey players. More than a few very attractive women are swarming them, flipping their long hair and flashing flirty, furtive glances every which way.
Frick. Why didn’t I arrange to meet Aaron for coffee or something? One on one, in a quiet place that has clinking silverware and Parisian cafe music for background noise, rather than thumping bass and tons of yelling.
“Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.” I frown.
“Nonsense.” Aubrey tuts.
I look up in the direction of the hockey crowd again and find myself making direct eye contact with Aaron himself. I’m gratified to see his lips slide into a smile of recognition, and he beckons like he wants us to come join them. It’s actually a rather sexy sort of moment—the type of thing you see in a movie when the hero and the heroine make eye contact across a crowded room.