I turn around and head for the door. Unfortunately, I need to pass the DJ booth to reach the exit, and Connie is still acting like the club is named after her.
I weave through a throng of club-goers, resisting the urge to push everyone out of my way. I realize too late that Connie plans to intercept me. Her hand circles around my wrist, and I’m stopped in my tracks.
“Hey, kid,” she says just loud enough for me to hear. She’s visibly drunk, and her guard is down.
A storm of emotions flares inside of me. But the wordkidrings in my ear, and I snap.
Anger wins.
I scoff and look at her up and down.
“Aren’t you the star of the show tonight?”
I’m being sarcastic, but Connie is too far up her own ass to notice.
She giggles, eyes hooded with inebriation. “Well, it’s my birthday, after all.”
Her response does nothing to tame my irritation, and I go in for the kill.
“Considering your recent dating history, I should have known you were nothing but an attention whore.”
I say it with venom and right next to her ear, as I rip my wrist out of her grasp. I linger just long enough to watch her face shutter in shock. I flash her a pleased but condescending smile and walk away.
It’s all for show. Nothing about what I just did felt remotely good. By the time I grab my coat and the cold air of early December hits my face, I regret being such a dick. Outside, I pull my pack of smokes out of my pocket and light up before even thinking of hailing a cab. I need to calm down.
“What the fuck is your problem?”
I freeze, my hands still up near my face as I shelter the flame and take my first drag.
Shit.
She followed me out.
I keep the surprise off my face and slowly lift my gaze to meet hers.
She seems pissed but cold, having stormed out here without a coat. Her arms are clasped tightly around her chest while she waits for me to respond, nostrils flared and breathing hard.
“What the fuck is my problem?” I parrot back in disbelief while pointing to my chest. “What the fuck isyourproblem?” Two fingers now aimed at her.
She scoffs, a small puff of air leaving her glossy lips.
“What did I even do?”
Her question is meant to sound blameless, but she shifts on her feet and looks away. I can tell she’s feeling guilty. I don’t bother answering. I just stare at her and smoke my cigarette.
Finally, she cracks and breaks the silence.
“It was a mistake, okay? I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.” She’s being squirrelly, her eyes barely meeting mine. “You’re Ozzy’s little brother, for god’s sake.”
“I’m twenty-five,” I reply flatly.
I don’t know what it is about telling Connie my age, but it always feels like I’m trying to convince her of something. All it does is make me want to fling myself into traffic.
Her tongue smooths over her teeth behind her pursed lips as if deliberating what to say.
“It meant nothing.” She says it much too softly, as if she’s worried about hurting my feelings. I feel sick at the thought of her thinking I’m that fucking weak.
Her words hang between us while upbeat conversations from other smokers float in the air. We continue to stare at each other for a few rapid heartbeats.
