No rain, No flowers.

4

Three shots in, and I could feel the alcohol working its way through my system, each sip melting away the tension of the week. We settled into a cozy booth upstairs, offering a perfect view of the pulsating crowd below. The bass throbbed through the floor, the railing acting like a thin barrier between us and the writhing bodies swaying to the rhythm. My fingers drummed absently on the table, the tequila making me feel bold, even restless.

"So, still doing the catering thing?" Ben's voice cut through the music as he slid in beside me, closer than I expected. His scent, smoky with a hint of spice, stirred something warm inside me. I smiled, caught off guard by the faint pull of nostalgia.

"Yeah," I replied, turning to face him. "I went to culinary school after graduation. I'm at the Forewest Hotel now." As I spoke, I noticed his blue eyes weren't quite meeting mine. Instead, they lingered on my body a little too long. I couldn't help but laugh.

"Really, Ben?" I shook my head, a grin breaking free. Some things never changed.

He chuckled, caught but unapologetic. "What can I say, Rose? You look amazing. Still the same overachiever, though, huh?"

Heat crept into my cheeks at his compliment. Ben had always been the one to help me get to the library and ensure I made it to my classes "safely," which was just an excuse to flirt. Back then, I was too busy trying to juggle cheerleading and sports—things my parents insisted were vital to my success. I rolled my eyes at the memories of us navigating the hallways together, his playful smirks making me blush.

"Thanks," I said with a smirk, my eyes drifting across the table. Scarlett and Vincent were practically glued to each other, his arm draped possessively over her legs. The electricity between them was palpable, hard to look away from. And suddenly, I was hyper-aware of Ben's closeness, the weight of his arm resting along the back of the booth, suddenly too close for comfort.

I  adjusted my position slightly. "So, how's the hardware store? You running things now?"

Ben's grin widened, sensing my deflection but going with it. "Yeah, it's all mine now. Not as glamorous as being a chef, but it pays the bills." His voice dipped lower as he added, "But I'd much rather hear more about you."

I smiled back, but something inside me shifted. His charm was still there, but instead of feeling fun, it felt like pressure. His attention wasn't on me; it was on the way my dress clung to my body, on the shots I kept tossing back. Was this just the alcohol talking, or had I already outgrown this version of Ben?

"There's not much to tell," I replied, waving off the compliment. "I eat, I sleep, I work."

I nervously tossed back another shot Scarlett had brought over, Ben's eyebrows shot up, "Impressive," he remarked, his tone growing more suggestive. "I didn't know you could handle so much. Makes me wonder what else you can handle."

His hand brushed my thigh, lingering a little too long, his fingers tracing the edge of my dress. A jolt of awareness shot through me, my pulse quickening as his touch inched higher. His proximity suddenly felt suffocating, and my laugh came out awkward, nervous.

"Wanna dance?" I suggested abruptly, shooting up from the seat before I could second-guess myself. Ben followed, his arm slipping around my shoulders as we looked down at the crowd below. The music pounded, bodies moving in sync, lost to the rhythm. His scruff brushed against my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.

Maybe it was the tequila. Maybe it was my birthday, the sense of freedom I hadn't felt in a long time. I leaned in closer to Ben, my lips grazing his ear as I whispered, "Follow me."

He straightened instantly, eyes lighting up with anticipation. "Lead the way."

I caught Scarlett's eye as we passed her and Vincent, who were still wrapped up in their own world. "We're going to dance!" I shouted over the music. Scarlett winked at me, already lost in the night's energy. "Hell yes, let's go!" she yelled back.

Ben's hand tightened around mine as we descended the stairs to the dance floor. The music pulsed through the room, the heavy bass syncing with my heartbeat. The alcohol had begun to work its way into my veins, loosening my limbs as we melted into the crowd. Bodies swayed and collided to the rhythm, and soon, we were part of the same pulsing, frenetic energy.

As we danced, Ben's hands slid over me, tentative at first, but with each beat, they became bolder, more possessive. There was an unmistakable heat between us, the tequila and adrenaline blurring the lines between instinct and desire. The night felt like it was wrapping around us, cocooning us in its reckless embrace.

But then, I spun too fast, and the room tilted. A sudden wave of dizziness hit me, and I stumbled. Ben caught me, pulling me flush against him, his grip firm, grounding. For a brief moment, I let myself fall into the sensation—the warmth of his body, the way his hands seemed to fit perfectly on my hips. The music surged around us, and for that moment, nothing else existed but the heat, the closeness, the electricity in the air.

"You okay?" Ben's voice was low, his breath warm against my ear. There was concern there, but his grip on my waist remained tight, possessive.

"Yeah," I laughed lightly, though it came out shaky. "Just spun too fast."

I tried to shake it off, but the discomfort lingered, a nagging feeling deep in my gut. His hands held me closer, pulling me back into the dance, but something about the way his fingers pressed into my skin felt... wrong. His touch had shifted from playful to insistent, and the longer we stayed like that, the more trapped I began to feel.

My mind drifted away from the pulsing lights and music. I closed my eyes, and instead of Ben's face, Anthony's vivid green eyes flashed in my mind. A shock surged through me, sharp and cold, cutting through the warmth and tequila haze.

I jerked back, the air suddenly thick and hard to breathe. Ben's hands loosened but still lingered, confusion flickering in his expression as he tried to hold on, as if unwilling to let me go.

"I—sorry," I muttered, stepping away further, my pulse racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the dance. "I think I need some fresh air."

Ben frowned, his eyes scanning my face for some kind of explanation. The red and blue lights flickered over his features, casting sharp shadows that made his confusion more pronounced. His hand hovered near my waist, hesitant, waiting for me to change my mind.

But I couldn't shake the tightness in my chest. I couldn't shake the feeling that this—whatever this was—wasn't what I wanted. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

I shook my head, forcing a smile that felt brittle, like it might crack at any moment. "Just need some air," I said again, my voice barely cutting through the pounding music.

Before Ben could respond, I turned on my heel, weaving my way through the crowd toward the exit. My heart was racing, but not from the dance. The moment the cool night air hit my skin, it felt like relief and reality crashing in all at once. I took a deep breath, hoping it would clear the fog in my head, but it only made the dizziness worse. Leaning against the brick wall, I realized just how drunk I'd gotten.

God, please don't get sick now, I silently begged, pressing a hand to my stomach as if it would steady me.

But it wasn't just the alcohol that had me feeling off-kilter. As I stood under the neon lights, Anthony's face flickered in my mind, vivid and unshakable. Tonight wasn't about freedom or letting loose. It was a realization—no matter how hard I tried to distract myself, I couldn't escape what was really going on inside.

And what I wanted... had nothing to do with Ben.