The song changes back to some generic pop song—not even close to being as good as the ones Taylor had written for 1989 and Lover—as I lead Reputation to the far end of the club where we had spent the beginning of the night tossing back shots. I can feel the cold metal of her silver rings as my hand holds onto hers, ensuring we don't lose each other.
As I push through the swarm of bodies, my mind races, trying to come up with a reason for why Reputation had acquiesced to my request when she had seemed so set in wanting to remain on the dance floor. Yes, I had said no quite firmly, but it had been a total bluff. Plus, Rep could've easily ignored me and continued swaying her hips in that incredibly attractive way she had, so why?
The question plagues me, but each drink I swallow makes it recede further from the forefront of my mind. After some time, I forget the question entirely, just enjoying myself with the more mature album.
=+=+=+=+=+=
I don't know what time it is when Reputation pulls me up off the barstool by my waist before switching to hold my arm, declaring that I'm sufficiently drunk enough and that she'll be returning me to the hotel early. Having been enjoying myself, I complain the whole way out, giving excuses for why I should be allowed to stay for a few more rounds.
"I was having fun!"
"What about 1989?"
And "I'm not drunk!" are uttered as I attempt to resist Rep's hold on my arm. All she does is tighten her grip and pull me over to a bench, carefully pushing down on my shoulders and forcing me into a sitting position.
"First: I'm glad you had fun, Speak Now. I did too. As for 1989, I texted her and told her we're heading back early so she can just come straight back. And third: you most certainly are drunk; you're slurring your sentences, you stumbled half of the way over here, and your cheeks are flushed." Reputation's words certainly do nothing to help my complexion as my cheeks burn even redder at her comment. "Now let's go." And with that, the somewhat more sober album bends down slightly, snaking her arm around my waist, pulling me close. I throw my arm over her shoulder and haul myself up shakily.
The two of us walk like that until we reach the plaza in front of the hotel. There—though we passed it earlier on the drive to the hotel and walk to the club—I only just notice the fountain in the middle. I push myself out of Reputation's arms and giddily skip over to it. At some point in the night, the fountain had turned on the lights inside, illuminating the water causing me to giggle drunkenly. I sit clumsily on the edge, back to the fountain, staring at Rep who seems to be holding back a smile.
"C'mon! Sit with me!" I call, dipping my right hand in the water behind me. Reluctantly, Reputation walks over, plopping herself down on my left. We sit there for a few minutes, Reputation's arm slung snugly over my shoulders before I decide to break the comfortable silence.
"You wanna know why I'm really here?" I ask, leaning a little too far over until my head is rested in the crook of Rep's neck. Rep's head turns, eyebrow quirked.
"I thought you said you were lonely and wanted 'the experience'?" I shake my head gently, fingers playing nervously with the glittery purple tulle of my dress. I bite my lip sheepishly.
Pushing my head off her shoulder, eyes meeting Rep's grey-blue pair, and I confess. "I came tonight because... I like you, Rep. A lot. And before last week, we've never actually hung out without everyone else, so..." As my words spill out, Reputation pulls away and my cheeks flush again. Crap. Why did I open my mouth? There's no going back now and this is definitely something I want to take back.
YOU ARE READING
The Last Great American Dynasty
Fanfiction"But that's not what the announcement read." What if Taylor Swift's albums were people? What if they had personalities and relationships and lives? In this book, that's exactly what happens. Told from the perspective of each album and filled with so...
