For a moment, my breath catches in my throat.
“Congratulations! Oh my God, I can’t believe it.” I go to hug her but she leans over the sink and heaves into it. I pull her hair away from her face as spasms wrack her stomach. Even though nothing comes out, I can’t help but gag in sympathy.
“You poor thing,” I murmur. “How long has this been going on?”
“A week,” she says between heaves. “It’s so bloody awful. Nobody tells you how bad it makes you feel.”
“But you’re having a baby! That’s so wonderful.” I stroke her hair as she wipes her mouth. There’s not even a flash of jealousy in me about her pregnant state. Just excitement and anticipation and a whole lot of sympathy. She really does look bad.
“I know. I should be excited and running around but I just feel terrible all the time. Whoever called this morning sickness was either an idiot or a liar.”
“Is there anything you can take for it?”
She shakes her head. “The doctor says it’s normal. In fact, he went as far as to tell me it’s a good sign, because studies show women suffering from morning sickness are less likely to miscarry.”
I try not to laugh at the expression on her face. A mixture of horror and anger, with a dash of anxiety. “If men had periods and babies, imagine how underpopulated the world would be.”
“You’re not wrong.” She takes a sip of water, rolling her neck as if to iron out the crinkles. “Anyway, what are you doing here so late?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Gala stuff.”
“Ugh, poor you. It puts morning sickness into perspective.” She almost smiles. “Still, at least you know it will be over in a couple of weeks.”
“I’ve just had an offer of help.”
“Who from?”
“Niall. He seemed really... weird, actually. Nothing like the guy who shouted down the phone at me last week. He was cheeky, almost cocky.” I screw my face up, trying to find the right descriptor. “It felt as though he was flirting with me.”
Lara becomes distracted by the fanlight window, staring up at it like it’s the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.
“Lara?”
She looks at me. Her expression is almost guilty.
“Alex might have told him about you and Simon splitting up,” she confesses.
Oh.
I guess that would explain it. His light-heartedness. The way he grinned at me and called me ‘friend’.
“I hope he didn’t get the wrong idea,” I say. Lara knows I’m not up for anything—or anyone—else, not right now when I’m still under Simon’s roof. We’re trying to keep things amicable. To move on so quickly would be wrong.
She shakes her head, and I note a little colour has returned to her cheeks. “He wouldn’t try anything. He knows you’re vulnerable, and I don’t think he’s that much of an asshole. He feels really guilty about kissing you then blanking you.”
“I don’t want him to feel guilty. I just...” What do I want? I’m not sure anymore. All I know is that returning to our easy friendship today was like finding a lighthouse in a storm. He grounds me and lifts me up at the same time. Seeing him has made me feel happier than I’ve felt in weeks. If we can be friends, I’m all for it. “I don’t want to lead him on, I guess.”
“You aren’t. You won’t.” She sounds so sure, and I love the belief she has in me. I only wish I had her certainty.
The air is thick with excitement and hormones, rising up from the bodies of three hundred dancing students. Drunk, high, in search of a good time. We’re almost desperate in our need to celebrate, to feel young and free. We want to steal the night and take it as ours, because over the next few days we will be leaving, packing up our things and going home.
So we dance and we drink and we swallow and we do everything we know we shouldn’t.
A makeshift stage has been set up in the grounds. The music pumping out of the big black speakers takes on a life of its own. Snaking around our bodies and soaking into our skins. Pulsing through our veins until we become an organic, sweaty mass. Jumping on the soft grass, our hair swinging, we scream out the words until our throats protest and our lungs threaten to explode.
Niall’s arms are locked around my waist, his palms resting on my stomach. They feel sweaty and warm but I don’t push them away. Instead, I lean against him and let him pull me with the crowd, until we are part of a huge wave of bodies that ebb and flow with the music.
We’re rolling, and it feels so good it makes my skin tingle. The way we dance and move is sensuous; an orgy without the sex. Beads of perspiration soak my hairline before pouring down my cheeks. I wipe them away, too busy dancing to even care what I look like.