Halfway Girl (Girl 2.5)
“Yes. Oh my God.” I hear a clap and get the impression she’s slapped both hands over her face. “I lived with my brother for a long time and I got used to closing doors in a quest for privacy and it’s just force of habit.”
Unlike me, she has a really nice voice. It’s melodic and self-deprecating—and I’m beginning to wonder if my horn dog teammates are rubbing off on me. Twice in one night I’ve been drawn to a girl. Usually when I can’t avoid interacting with a member of the opposite sex, I try to put my head down and keep moving. That’s not an option right now and I can tell by the girl’s continuous jiggling of the door handle that she’s nervous about being locked in a basement with a guy she doesn’t know. A guy who sounds like he swallows fire for a living.
I take out my cell phone and light up the immediate area with my flashlight app. There is a six-pack of wine coolers sitting beside the keg and I slip one out of the cardboard slot. I replace my phone in my pocket and hold the drink out in front of me like an offering as I slowly climb the stairs, her increasing panic rushing over me the closer I get.
“Here. It’s okay. Drink this fruity thing.” I twist the top off even though it requires an opener and my palm smarts. “I’ll get the door open.”
I’m at the top step now and she takes the bottle out of my hand. “Oh, um. Thanks. How are you going to—”
My foot connects with the door and it flies open, the wood around the lock splintering and pinging on the ground like hailstones. Everyone in the living room whips around, girls covering their mouths, eyes wide. My teammates either look irritated that I’ve interrupted their conversations with said girls. Or they’re indifferent thanks to the free-flowing beer.
With a swallow, I turn my attention to the person who trapped themselves in the basement with me—and find the girl from the kitchen. Neck craned, she stares up at me with her jaw on the floor. My gut goes heavy in a way I’ve never experienced before. Like it doesn’t know whether to drop or climb up into my throat. For some reason, I notice her chin first. It’s small and stubborn, a perfect match for her nose. I wish there was better light so I could tell the color of her eyes. Her wide, confused eyes. “Why did you do that?” she asks.
“You were nervous,” I manage, even though she’s…God, she’s so crazy beautiful up close and I have to focus on not looking at the green cups of her bra that peek out at the neckline of her tank top. “You were nervous being alone with a stranger. With…me.”
Her brows draw together and she yanks the door closed again, blocking out the party sounds as much as possible, now that there’s a giant chunk missing. That missing wood allows light to filter in so I can see her face for a few more seconds before she bolts. For that reason alone, I’m glad I kicked it open. “I wasn’t nervous,” she says softly. “I was nervous over having to tell you I’d just locked us down here like an idiot.”
I give her a half smile to let her know I appreciate her lying to save my feelings, even though she isn’t required to. I’m getting ready to remind her the door is unlocked now so she can be free. Instead, I ask, “Why were you coming down to the basement in the first place?”
She massages the center of her forehead. “To say thank you for bringing up the keg? It seemed kind of like your friends were taking advantage of you and no one was grateful for your, um…contribution.” A beat passes as she bounces her right leg. “I’ve created this whole drama in my head that doesn’t exist, haven’t I? I’m going to go now before I further humiliate myself.”
She turns to leave.
“Wait.”
Chapter Two
Jerimiah
“Wait.”
Did I really say that? This girl just tried to leave and I’ve called her back onto the basement landing…to do what? I’m not a great conversationalist in the best of circumstances. And since I’ve just kicked the door open and ripped off half the frame, I would say this situation falls into the not great circumstances category.
Her head whips around. “Wait?”
Why is my heart beating so fast? All I know is I don’t want her to leave. What if I can’t find her again? “You haven’t even taken a sip of your drink.”
She looks down at the bottle in her hand as if she forgot it was there. “Oh yeah.” Her fingernails clink against the glass. “I guess I can pretend to drink one more drink tonight.”