7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Lou

I’m going to be arrested.

The scraps of fabric lying on my bed looked innocent enough until Stella informed me they were my outfit for tonight. One she personally picked out.

I must have been a worse roommate than I thought because the clothes - if they can be called that - Stella picked can only be described as publicly indecent. And I’m pretty sure that’s a felony.

“Stella, you can’t be serious.” I hold up the black square of fabric, frowning at the five inches of material in my hands. “I think you mistook this neck warmer for a shirt. Seriously, it doesn’t even have arm holes.”

I peer through the opening as if sleeves will magically appear on either side. The fabric is soft and stretchy, but that doesn’t escape the fact it barely covers my hands, let alone my torso.

Rolling her eyes, Stella snatches the top from my grasp. “It’s a bandeau, Lou. Like a tube top except smaller.”

“But why would anyone want smaller?” Bewildered doesn’t begin to cover my current state. Stella sighs, sits on my bed, and pats the space next to her.

“My dear Lou. You have so many things to learn.” My mattress topper dips as I join her, and I brace myself for the parent/roommate lecture about to come.

“Remember when you agreed to go dancing with me this weekend?” I nod, already regretting that decision. “Well, tonight we are going clubbing. Clubbing is where people our age go to drink, dance, and let loose. Lucky for us, there’s only one club near Taber’s campus so it’s bound to be full. Full is good, because the more people there are, the less awkward it feels to dance.”

I nod again to show I’m listening. Not following per say but listening.

“You know the movie Dirty Dancing? Picture that but university students. Lots of grinding, the occasional make out session, and roommate bonding. Basically, it’s a lot of fun.” Fun sounds more like infectious diseases and a dash of humiliation but I wave a hand for her to continue.

“This right here,” she shakes the neck warmer, er, bandeau in my direction. “Is what we mortals call the secret weapon. We dress up, look sexy, shake our booty, and score free drinks all night long. It’s the ultimate win-win.”

Like an obedient student, I raise my hand in question.

“No, Lou. You are not allowed to wear an oversized concert tee to the club. First off, you would die from hyperthermia and second, you agreed to let me choose the outfits for tonight.”

I lower my hand then slowly raise it again.

Sighing, Stella nods her permission.

“Why do we need free drinks if you’re not drinking?” Seemingly pleased with my question, she smiles and pats my hand.

“Oh, honey. We are getting the drinks for you. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

Well, that’s reassuring.

Joking aside, the consumption of alcohol has never been something that scares me. I know my limits - a feeble four, but hey, it’s better than some - and have never veered into the memory-loss territory. As far as drinking goes, I am somewhat sensible.

Stella, on the other hand does not drink at all. She told me her vigorous workout routine leaves little room for hangovers, so she drinks non-alcoholic beer, which apparently tastes just as bad as regular beer. Her excuse sounds flimsy at best, but I’m not one to probe.

Accepting my defeat, I groan and flop on the bed. Seeing my surrender, Stella lets out a shriek of excitement and I can’t help but smile. If nothing else, tonight will be good roommate bonding. And really, it’s just dancing.

How bad can it be?

My expectations start to lower as soon as I see the neon red BA$$ sign. It’s safe to assume anyone who puts dollar signs in their company name probably doesn’t have the most professional work setting. And if the scantily clad girls lined up in front and behind me are anything to go by, BA$$ checks off all the boxes for questionable business management.

Standing in line outside the building, I can feel the pulse of the music vibrating through the concrete beneath my sneakers. The good news is my bandeau and skinny jeans look conservative compared to the lingerie and fishnet stockings around me; the bad news is I didn’t bring earplugs.

Stella’s silky hair brushes my arm as she laughs with the new friend she made two minutes ago. For the first time ever, Stella’s hair doesn’t have a single braid in it. Instead, it’s pulled up in a high pony, with strands strategically wrapped around the elastic band. Even put up, the impressive length hangs to her low back, swishing back and forth like a hair extension commercial. The top she’s got on glitters under the streetlights, the black sequins glistening against her light skin and outlining the muscles rippling down her arms and back. She looks intimidatingly beautiful.

Although I prefer my baggy shirts and mom jeans, I am glad Stella didn’t budge on the outfits. I would have stood out like a sore thumb before we hit the dance floor.

If you thought my social skills are bad, wait until you see my dance moves.

“Lou, meet Porsche. Poor girl has the worst luck with roommates. For a second year in a row, she got a sleepwalker!”

“That must be… tiresome.” Falling back on a terrible pun, I look at the girl in question and try not to let the shock show on my face.

When someone is named after a luxury vehicle, you can’t help but picture them… well, drop-dead gorgeous. Because really, who names their kids after sports cars? Celebrities and other outrageously beautiful people. Looking at the small Japanese girl in front of me, with her round glasses and plain face, the effect is slightly… underwhelming. She’s undoubtedly cute but far from eye-catching.

Porsche laughs at my weak joke, and I immediately feel bad for having such thoughts. Anyone who laughs at my feeble attempts at humour deserves to be admired, not judged by a parent’s poor name choice.

As we inch up the line, Porsche shakes her head morosely, “I thought first year was bad with the drawer banging. That was nothing compared to this year. Every night my roommate sleepwalks out of her room but can never find her way back. Half the time she ends up on our living room sofa, the other half she tries to break into my room thinking it’s her own. The first night I forgot to lock my door and she crawled into bed with me. Fast asleep, eyes wide open. Scariest moment of my life.”

I gasp, “Oh my god. My heart would have stopped.”

Nodding in agreement, Stella draws a cross on her chest. “Death by fright. In the dorm. By the roommate.”

“Death by the unconscious roommate,” Porsche corrects, causing us all to break into laughter.

We finally reach the front, a burly bouncer scans our IDs, and we walk through the entrance. The pulsing beat we could feel from outside gets turned up to an ear-splitting level, the low vibrations turning into lyrics thundering against my shoes and inside my skull.

It’s like dunking your head under water, except instead of submersing yourself into a world of peace and tranquility, BA$$ submerses you into a world of chaos and noise.

Permanent hearing damage here I come.

A long bar stretches across the back of the room, with a small seating area with tables and chairs filling up the section nearby. The dance floor itself is elevated two feet off the ground and fills the remaining space, with two shabby-looking bathrooms poking out of the right-hand corner. What BA$$ lacks in sophistication, it more than makes up for in popularity. The place is packed.

Squealing with excitement, Stella grabs my arm and one of Porsche’s, dragging us all towards the gyrating mass on the dance floor. Endless bodies and humid air fill my senses as we squeeze past clumps of people, finding a few feet of minimal space near the centre. The few lights located above the bar don’t make it to the elevated platform, so the only light on us is the glowing shades of blacklight. Stella’s platinum ponytail lights up like a Christmas tree, thankfully making her easy to spot. The last thing I need is to get lost in the drunk mass around us.

A new Ed Sheeran song pumps through the speakers and both members of my girl squad start moving as though they’ve been dancing their whole lives.

Confession time: I’ve never danced before.

I mean, technically at school I learned the four square and a couple steps of the jig, but I’ve never danced, like, for fun before. Music was never important in my household growing up, and by the time I became a teen, my love for alternative rock was ingrained. Don’t get me wrong, I can play the air guitar like the best of them, but when it comes to swinging my hips? I am a newbie. Fresh on the dance floor.

Now that we’re here, I realize I should have taken the time to google tips and tricks for beginners. Or at least watched a Shakira music video. Because it turns out, faking it is a lot harder to do when you don’t know how to fake it.

Deciding to learn from my squad, I study Porsche’s movements for a few seconds. The rapid succession of arm bends starts to give me a headache, but I force the throb aside and do my best to follow.

“Ow! Watch the flailing, Uma Thurman.” I wince apologetically at the cute guy standing nearby. Cross arm movements off the list.

I turn my attention to Stella, my eyes widening as I take in her effortless hip sways. Back and forth, side to side, clockwise, counter clockwise; my roommate’s lower body never stops moving. Throwing me a wink and twirling around, Stella looks like she is having the time of her life. All I can do is stare, mesmerized by her fluidity.

At the moment, there are only two things I know for certain: Stella’s hips do not lie. And I may have a new girl crush.

Focusing on Stella’s movements, I try to swing my hips from side to side. Too much momentum carries me far right, and I take down the brunette beside me.

“ARE YOU OKAY?” Screaming in my ear, Stella hauls me off the sticky ground. My pants feel strangely damp, and I pray to God it’s just spilt beer. I don’t want to know what other substances are on these floors.

I nod yes to Stella’s question, and over her shoulder I catch sight of a couple dirty dancing as if their lives depended on it. The guy’s hands are around the girl’s waist, pulling them flush together while they move perfectly in synch. I say move, but I guess the technical clubbing term would be grinding.

I’m not the only one watching the couple thrust, er, grind against each other. The crowd as a whole seems to be captivated by the striking couple; the confidence oozing from them seeping into the energy of the club itself.

The girl’s dark cornrows contrast beautifully against the guy’s bright white t-shirt - cue the blacklight glow - and his fair skin is barely visible as her hands clutch his midnight-coloured hair. Doing a double take as I register the dark locks the girl is holding on to and flick my eyes to the biceps circling the girl’s torso.

It’s Wes.

Wes

This chick can move.

I’m always down for grind time, but every once in a while, you find a partner who fits perfectly against your body, and the whole night gets taken to the next level.

Here’s some Wes wisdom for ya: clubs are a fantastic source of foreplay. I can sense your disbelief but think about it: the alcohol, the hormones, the over-stimulated senses, the flirting, the dancing; my list could go on forever. Clubs are the perfect way to scout out a good lay; you can test what fits without so much as taking off a shoe. No muss, no fuss.

The best part is most girls are here looking for the same thing: no strings, no promises. Hell, half the time I don’t even get a phone number by the end of the night. It’s purely symbiotic, where two horny parties come together as a means to an end.

Pun intended.

Honestly, Simone’s ass rubbing against me is just what I need to get the whole courtyard situation out of my head. How my innocent intentions to check on a friend almost turned into a make-out session is something I still do not understand. One second I’m using my big brother status to name all the flowers, the next I’m being pulled like a magnet to Trip’s slightly too full bottom lip.

Shit. Now, I’m thinking about that bottom lip again.

Grind time. Focus on grind time.

I roll my hips in time to the music and Simone is right with me. Damn. If this keeps up, this might be the best night I’ve had in a while. I lift my head to nuzzle her neck and see a flash of neon hair. What the…

Keeping my hips moving in time to the beat, I do a sweep of the room, my eyes landing on platinum hair whipping back and forth in the highest ponytail I’ve ever seen. I smile, immediately recognizing Stella’s tiny stature. My gaze drifts over to the two girls she’s dancing with and I’m instantly amazed by the Asian’s TikTok moves. Her arms hit every musical beat, and there’s no awkward transition from one move to another. Consider me impressed.

I shift my gaze to the third girl in their group and I try not to cringe. The poor girl shuffles painfully from side to side, completely out of time with the rhythm. I would bet she doesn’t normally listen to pop music.

Studying the girl from across the room, something strikes me as familiar. Loose golden-brown curls fall around her pretty face, the sexy bandeau emphasizing a decent sized rack, and black skinny jeans show off her long legs. I’m intrigued, even while half my attention is on Simone, and that’s before me and the terrible dancer make eye contact.

The girl I can’t get out of my head is here.

The realization drop kicks me in the face and I stumble over the next two beats of music. It’s not hard to fall back in rhythm with Simone, but suddenly, I don’t want to fall back in rhythm with her. There’s someone else I want to see.

Abruptly stepping out from Simone’s embrace, I give her a quick kiss on the cheek, and she nods in understanding, “If you change your mind, I’ll be at the sorority house tonight. Maybe with company, maybe not.” Giving me a smile full of bad intentions, Simone winks and wanders off in search of her next partner.

Taking note of that tidbit of information, I turn and make a beeline for Trip. Like a drunken sailor, I stumble my way through the crowd until I reach my grey-eyed siren.

“Someone’s quite the irresponsible student. Don’t you have a ten-page paper to write?” Bending to yell in her ear, my senses are immediately overwhelmed by her coconut vanilla shampoo. Jesus, where does she buy that stuff?

“I could ask you the same thing.” The wry look on her face brings a grin to mine. I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed riling someone so much.

The wrinkle that forms between Trip’s eyebrows? Gets me. Every time.

“I finished my paper two hours ago.” Her eyebrows shoot up and I shrug with nonchalance, “Procrastination isn’t my style.”

“You mean you’re a nerd.”

“That depends. Are you into nerds?” Trip recoils as if my sexy studying habits are contagious.

“Not where you’re concerned.” I clutch my chest and stumble back, bumping into dancers around us. Trip snickers at my antics.

“WES! IT’S SO GOOD TO SEE YOU!” Stella screams in my direction and I throw two thumbs up in her direction. With a quick wave to the TikTok star, I turn my attention back to Trip.

“Why aren’t you dancing?” I lean back down to her ear, partly so I can smell her shampoo again but mostly so she can hear me over the thumping bass. Which seems to be getting louder. Or maybe I’m getting sober.

“I am dancing.” I narrow my eyes in concentration. Unless she counts the barely visible side shuffle she’s got going on as dancing, I see nothing.

“Sorry, but last time I checked a nervous tick doesn’t count as dancing. You look like you need to pee.” She immediately stops shuffling and puts her hands on her hips.

“I don’t remember asking for your opinion.”

“Touché, but wouldn’t you have more fun if you let loose a little?” She mumbles something, ducking her head.

“Sorry gorgeous, I missed that.” The glare returns full force.

“I said, I don’t know how to dance. There. Happy now?” It takes a second for her words to sink in.

“You mean you’ve never gone clubbing before?”

“No, I mean I’ve never danced before. Besides high school gym classes, the whole move-your-body-time-to-the-beat thing is something I’ve never done. Or been taught. I literally do not know how to dance. Especially in an unsupervised setting.”

I pause to do something I’ve never done before: I think before I speak.

Choosing my next words carefully, I throw out a suggestion. “Okay. Between the two of us, we can get through this. Let’s break it down step-by-step.” Grey eyes watch me skeptically.

“First thing is the feet. I want you to step-touch your right foot to your left.” She follows my movements and I feel a strange surge of pride.

“That’s it! Perfect. Now, let’s add a little motion to the upper body. Shoulders, arms, anything you want.” I throw up jazz hands to make her laugh.

The burst of laughter works just as I’d intended, sending a boost of confidence straight to her dance moves. Stiff arms and legs start to move vigorously, and I’m pretty sure I see an attempt at a hip swing. Hard to tell for sure, because her jerky movements are similar to those of a seizure victim, but hey, you can’t expect someone to move like JLo after five minutes.

“Wes, I think I’m getting it! I’m dancing!”

The joy radiating from Trip as she tears up the dance floor with her God-awful moves has me grinning so hard my cheeks ache. There’s nothing better than seeing insecurities fly away and confidence take its place. From rookies on the lacrosse field to girls who’ve never danced before, the real magic happens once we forget to be self-conscious.

“Hey man! Didn’t think I’d be seeing you here tonight.” A hand claps my shoulder and I turn to see Hunter shaking shaggy hair out of his eyes.

He told me the young Justin Bieber look is back in style, but looking at the trendsetter, I’m not so sure. Guy looks more like a golden retriever in need of a haircut than a prepubescent popstar. His pale blue eyes sweep the room, looking glazed and a little confused.

Not going to lie, if it weren’t for his varsity status, Hunter would be a full-on stoner. As it is, he can only smoke for a couple more weekends before our tournament season begins. It’s safe to say Hunter has been making the most of these last few weekends.

“Gotta let out the rookie stress somehow.” My response draws a laugh from Hunter and he turns his attention to the girls. Something tightens in my chest as his gaze passes over Trip, only easing once Hunter’s stare moves to linger on Stella.

The relief in my chest is unfamiliar, the source completely unknown. Either my five minutes of teaching has transformed me into a possessive dance mom, or I was experiencing my first bout of jealousy.

Nah, it was definitely the dance mom theory. When in doubt, always go for the MILF.

Getting momentarily distracted by Stella’s hip control, I don’t notice the other person join our dance squad until Trip speaks up. Well, screams at the top of her lungs is more accurate, but you get my point.

“HEY CODY! IS THIS A TEAM OUTING OR WHAT?” I whip my head around to find my team captain glowering in our direction. Shit. Are rookies not supposed to club off-season?

Perspiration forms on my forehead as I see my chances of winning rookie-of-the-year slip through my fingers. I should have followed Nico’s example and stayed home tonight. I’ve never seen Cody look so harsh. And the guy’s got a jawline for crying out loud.

“Hey, Trip. I was checking on my pups to see if their leashes needed to be reined in.” I try not to flinch as I meet Cody’s unforgiving gaze. Thanking my lucky stars, I swiftly register that Cody isn’t looking at me, but rather over my shoulder. I turn, following the flickering embers of death his stare leaves in its wake.

Dancers, more dancers, Hunter lip locked again, dancers… Wait. My gaze shoots back to Hunter and the girl he’s playing tonsil lacrosse with. Well, would you look at that. Hunter’s tongue has found its way down Stella’s throat.

For the record, there is nothing wrong with a good game of taste mingling. I’m all for sharing the love whenever and wherever the need arises. But looking at Cody’s expression, he does not feel the same. Although it is strange that Hunter’s sexual prowess at the house party the other night didn’t bother him. Unless… oh. Oh.

Someone call me Sherlock because I just cracked this shit wide open.

The captain’s got a thing for Trip’s feisty roommate.

Feeling smug about my mental boy plus girl calculations, I’m about to crack a joke when Cody heads straight for his lip-locked Juliet.

Crisis mode: Do I run to the convenience store for popcorn or call the ambulance for Hunter’s soon-to-be dead body?

Turns out, I don’t even have time to grab my phone for a video because in the blink of an eye, Cody grabs Stella mid make-out – the saliva trail was there, believe me – and throws her over his shoulder, fireman carrying her to the exit. Her kicking legs whack a few people on the way out and after recovering from my shock, I snag Trip’s hand and we follow the fuming couple outside.

The exit door bangs open with a wave of cold air and fresh oxygen. Man, you don’t realize how muggy it gets on the dance floor until you’re back outside.

Finally putting Stella back on the ground, the furious freshman whirls around and lays it out on my captain.

Upper chest punch. “How dare you think,” torso punch, “you have the right,” abdomen punch, “to carry me like some sort of pet.” Big yikes. That one was borderline pelvic bone. Protect the balls my man, protect the balls.

Finishing off her impressive boxing career with one last shot to Cody’s stomach, I make a mental note to never get on Stella’s bad side. Even my abs aren’t hard enough to take that beating.

Cody remains silent and still, patiently waiting for Stella to finish her pummelling. Only once the raging pixie finishes does he hold up his hands in surrender, “Look Stel, I’m sorry for making you feel like a pet. But I’m not sorry for getting you away from that creep.”

The chest punches must have given him a concussion because the creep in question is one of the rookies Cody personally pickedfor the roster this year. Talk about awkward.

“I made a promise to your brother when he made me captain. I promised him I would look out for you, keep you out of trouble. What do you think Mo would have said if he saw you tonight?”

Hold up. Did Cody just say Mo? As in Taber lacrosse royalty, The Mighty Mo? He’s Stella’s older brother? Shit, I didn’t even know there was more than one O’Brien prodigy.

“That’s not up to you, Cody. And if Mo were here, he couldn’t say a damn thing about my situation because his wild streak lasted four years.” She’s not wrong. Mo isn’t known for being mighty only on the lacrosse field. Rumour has it the guy was the hardest partier Taber has ever seen. Apparently, he ran the naked mile along University Drive after hitting four funnels and beating a bunch of frat guys at beer pong his freshman year. And that’s just the tame stuff. When it came to girls? Left, right, and centre. There was no ‘some Mo didn’t try out. The man is a legend.

Sighing, Cody runs a hand through his fauxhawk. “You’re right, I may have overreacted. I’m sorry if I ruined your night.” And there’s the even-headed team captain I’m used to.

No matter how pissed or how tired Cody may be, there’s never been a time when I haven’t seen him smooth things over with his natural peacemaker tendencies. Except for the fireman carry – which, for the record, looked hella sick – Cody is the politest person I know. Even when he’s being painfully honest, he always manages to deliver it in a way that leaves a positive impact.

Basically, he’s the master of the compliment sandwich: Outer slices lathered with compliments while criticism is cleverly stashed in the middle.

I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again: the man is white Gandhi.

Silence descends the group as Cody’s apology hangs in the air. With a sigh, Stella pats him on the arm, “I know you mean well. I’m sorry for punching you. But the next time you lift me off the ground like a damsel in distress, my fists of fury will aim lower. Much lower.”

The threat has me instinctively shifting to cover my package but Cody just tilts his head with a smile. Jesus. The guy must have balls made of vibranium.

“We’re good?”

Stella replies with a sigh, “Ya, we’re good.”

I make eye contact with Trip and raise my eyebrows in question. Shrugging, she mouths Gym Bros as if that explains the assault charges we just witnessed.