The Wildcat’s Den is packed,the music and crowds spilling out onto the sidewalk through the roll-up doors that face College Avenue. We join the line of students celebrating Waverly’s win over Buffalo, and I give my fake one last look, doing a mental comparison to my own driver’s license. Red hair, green eyes, freckles. That’s where the resemblance ends. The girl in the photo has a wider nose and fuller lips and... I’m totally going to get arrested.
No hookup is worth a rap sheet.
“Are you sure about this?” I turn to Haley. “Because I really don’t think county lockup is the place for me.”
“It’s all good,” she promises, hooking her arm through mine.
We inch toward the door, and I get my first glimpse of the bouncer. He’s a big Hispanic guy with thick arms, no neck, and a shaved head. From the looks of it, he’s not the sort to take any crap.
“Is it me or has that guy been eating his Wheaties?” I ask, noting the way his black t-shirt stretches over his muscular biceps, accentuating the tattoo that ends just above his right elbow.
“Don’t sweat it,” Bryan—Haley’s on-again boyfriend and purveyor of fake IDs—says under his breath. “Just be cool.”
Right. Be cool. Great advice for clubbingandmugshots.
When it’s our turn, Bryan goes first, handing his ID to the intimidating-as-hell bouncer. The bouncer gives it a cursory glance, grunts, and hands it back.
Haley goes next. She smiles demurely and hands over her ID. He gives it the same superficial scan—barely looking up—before returning it with a bored expression.
“Hi. Nice night,” I say, offering him my ID. He accepts, but doesn’t look at it.
Nope. His gaze locks on my face and his eyes narrow, as if he’s trying to place me. Or guess my age. Or—more likely—scare the crap out of me.
It’ssoworking.
My stomach drops and a bead of sweat rises between my breasts. This is it. The moment of truth. Maybe I should’ve taken Haley’s advice and put on a little eyeliner.
Right. Because eyeliner will totally age you two years.
“Birthday?” the bouncer asks, finally looking at the driver’s license in his hand.
I recite the date on the ID and offer him a nervous smile.
He frowns and gives me another once-over, sending my heart rate into overdrive.
Shit. He knows it’s a fake. He’s going to call the cops, and they’ll drag me away in cuffs and my parents will disown me and I’ll never—
“You’re good,” he barks, interrupting my panic spiral.
He hands my ID back and relief floods my veins as Haley grabs my elbow and drags me forward, a huge grin plastered on her face.
We find a small table at the back of the bar and when the server appears, Bryan orders a round of drinks. It’s a wonder she can hear him over the raucous crowd and loud music, but maybe excellent hearing is a job requirement. Right up there with not spilling beer on the paying customers.
I wouldn’t last ten minutes.
“So.” Haley leans forward, resting her chin on her hand. “What’s the plan for tonight?”
I blink. “The plan?”
“You know. Operation Ditch Your Virginity: Part Bar.”
Bryan makes a valiant attempt at hiding his laughter—and fails miserably.
“You told him?” I hiss, heat flooding my cheeks.
At this rate, the entire campus will know about my virgin status by the end of the semester.
“I tell him everything.” Haley waves a hand dismissively. “You know this.”
