Finch popped open another cap and handed me another, aware of my desperation to forget. “I’ll get more,” he said, returning to the fridge.
“The keg is for guests, the bottles are for Sig Tau,” a girl sneered beside me.
I looked down at the red cup in her hand. “Or maybe your boyfriend just told you that because he was counting on a cheap date.”
She narrowed her eyes and pushed away from the counter, taking her cup elsewhere.
“Who was that?” Finch asked, setting down four more bottles.
“Random sorority bitch,” I said, watching her walk away.
By the time Shepley and America rejoined us, six empty bottles sat on the table beside me. My teeth were numb, and it felt a bit easier to smile. I was more comfortable, leaning against my spot on the counter. Travis had proven to be a no-show, and I could survive the remainder of the party in peace.
“Are you guys going to dance or what?” America asked.
I looked to Finch. “Are you going to dance with me, Finch?”
“Are you going to be able to dance?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“There’s only one way to find out,” I said, pulling him downstairs.
We bounced and shook until a thin sheen of sweat began to form under my dress. Just when I thought my lungs would burst, a slow song came over the speakers. Finch peered uncomfortably around us, glancing to the people pairing off and getting close.
“You’re going to make me dance to this, aren’t you?” he asked.
“It’s Valentine’s Day, Finch. Pretend I’m a boy.”
He laughed, pulling me into his arms. “It’s hard to do that when you’re wearing a short pink dress.”
“Whatever. Like you’ve never seen a boy in a dress.”
Finch shrugged. “True.”
I giggled, resting my head against his shoulder. The alcohol made my body feel heavy and sluggish as I tried to move to the slow tempo.
“Mind if I cut in, Finch?”
Travis stood beside us, half amused, half prepared for my reaction. The blood under my cheeks immediately burst into flames.
Finch looked at me, and then at Travis. “Sure.”
“Finch,” I hissed as he walked away. Travis pulled me against him and I tried to keep as much between space between us as possible. “I thought you weren’t coming.”
“I wasn’t, but I knew you were here. I had to come.”
I looked around the room, avoiding his eyes. Every movement he made I was acutely aware of. The pressure changes of his fingers at the points where he touched me, his feet shuffling beside mine, his arms shifting, brushing against my dress. I felt ridiculous pretending not to notice. His eye was healing, the bruise had almost vanished, and the red blotches on his face were absent as if I had imagined them. All evidence of that horrible night had disappeared, leaving only the stinging memories.
He watched my every breath, and when the song was half over, he sighed. “You look beautiful, Pidge.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Tell you you’re beautiful?”
“Just … don’t.”
“I didn’t mean it.”
I huffed in frustration. “Thanks.”