First Dance (Strip in the City, Book 3)

19 • Good

Lucas

After many, many drinks and many, many rounds of karaoke that last until the early morning, West and I say goodnight and he leaves me at my front door–but not before making me promise for the hundredth time not to do anything stupid.

And since I refused to tell him anything more about Kennedy's situation, even after all the liquor, stupid has been loosely defined as trying to be anything more than her friend. Even if, as West specified, she tells me she's leaving him.

To quote his booze-soaked words, "Those two are like ballerina-shaped magnets. Pull them apart, and they'll get right back together."

As quietly as I can, I slip my key into the lock, hoping I won't wake Kennedy up. She has at least another hour before she has to get up for work, and I don't want to spoil her last bit of sleep.

From outside the door, just before I turn the handle, I can hear the faint sound of music playing, and I wonder if she fell asleep with the television on.

But as soon as I crack the door open and peer inside, Kennedy says, "Hey, you're back!" in a voice that tells me she's wide away.

I really hope she didn't hear me and West talking outside the door like two drunk assholes.

Cringing, I slip inside, knowing I reek of whiskey and wishing she didn't have to see me like this.

I'm not drunk, at least not anymore, but I'm definitely at the head-throbbing, dehydrated point of being still buzzed at five in the morning.

The first thing I want is a glass of cold water.

I slip off my shoes and empty my pockets in the dish beside the door, happy to be back in my apartment. Happier, even, because it's not empty. She's here.

Which is a thought I'm not supposed to be having, according to my new therapist, West Tenney.

The tv isn't on, but that music is still playing. Nerves collect in my stomach when I recognize that the song that's playing on a loop is the same one I used in my most recent thirst trap.

That has to be a coincidence, right? It's a trending song, so everyone is using it right now.

Glancing over to where I see her phone sitting beside her on the sheets, I squint, trying to see what's on the screen.

"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you up," I whisper.

"Don't apologize, it's fine," Kennedy replies so convincingly I almost believe her. "If you want to apologize for anything, apologize for keeping me up all night with your videos."

My videos? Now I'm staring harder at her phone, and after taking a few steps closer, see that she has, in fact, been watching me.

I've been keeping Thirst Trap Kitchen to myself for so long that it has become a sacred place where I can let loose and do all the fun things I want to do.

"By the way," she continues, "when are you goin' let me film one of your videos? You do know I'm underemployed right now."

Underemployed? My mouth opens and closes several times before I find my voice. Dumbfounded, I point at the phone and say, "You found my account?"

She nods, which makes the curly bun at the top of her head bounce. It's so adorable it nearly breaks my fucking heart and helps me forget that we are talking about my thirst traps.

"I did," she says, with all the gusto of a kid who was the first person to complete a scavenger hunt and is waiting for her prize.

This is what happens when I drink too much whiskey, I tell myself. This is my punishment for singing terribly onstage with West. Being off key on the harmony must've invoked some stray demon's vengeance.