She was still holding on. I was still leaning back. Finally, with a sound of disgust, she let go. Thrown off balance, I stumbled backward into another girl, who shrieked. "Hey! Watch it!"
I winced. "Sorry."
"You should be," she snapped.
Well, that was nice.
Ignoring the hoopla, Bustier made a sound of frustration. "Alright, fine. At leasttellme what you're wearing."
I sighed. "A skirt and sweater, okay?"
She looked utterly horrified. "A sweater? You're shitting me, right?"
No. I wasn't "shitting" her. If anything, I felt under-dressed. The sweater felt way too thin, and the skirt felt way too short. Even under the long coat, my bare legs trembled in the frigid night air.
But really, this was none of her business, and I was debating telling her so when suddenly, the double doors flew open, and a stream of people started pouring out.
In unison, we all turned to look.
They were mostly guys, and there weren't a lot of them, maybe a couple dozen at most. The way it looked, these weren't members of the general audience, but rather, people behind the scenes – fighters, friends, or whatever.
I stood on my tiptoes and searched the faces, seeking out one in particular. Finally, I spotted him, walking next to a bearded guy whose bare, muscular arms were covered in tattoos. As for Joel, he was wearing a gray hoodie with the hood pulled low over his face, almost like he didn't want to be seen.
It didn't matter. His whole face could've been covered, and I still would've recognized him, not only by his body, but also from something in the way he moved, like bad-ass poetry in motion.
Suddenly, I could hardly breathe, much less think. I loved him so much, it hurt.
But did he still love me?
Next to me, Bustier called out, "Joel! Over here!" She scrambled forward, heading straight toward him. With the spell broken, I followed after her, only to stop in mid-stride when Joel turned in our direction. Finally, I could see his whole face. His gaze passed quickly over Bustier and landed, hard, on me.
When our eyes met, he stopped moving, and so did I. His mouth was tight, and his eyes were hard. The way it looked, he wasn't happy to see me.
Not even a little.
