Chapter 22

An arm settled on my shoulders, and I would have jumped, but the heaviness weighed me down. Max glanced between Hunter and me. He was already wobbling, and my brain muddled through an escape plan that didn't include something as crass as shoving him away from me.

"We're doing shots, people!" he said.

I tried to wriggle out from under his arm, his stale whiskey scent spurring my actions. Not as concerned with politeness, Hunter pushed Max, not hard or threatening but enough so he stumbled backward a step and his arm untwisted from my neck. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't strangle her to death."

Max's eyes lit up as he directed his grin at me. "I've never seen him so feisty." He turned back to the group, unconcerned with Hunter's physicality. "Gather round, fuckers. Everyone's doing one!"

The other girls were part of our group now, and they joined the circle while Max flagged down the bartender. I moved closer to Hunter to make room for everyone else, and when my shoulder pressed against his chest, it brought me an unfamiliar feeling of relief compared to all the other bodies threatening to engulf me. When I looked up at him, he was staring down at me, his eyes wide and unblinking.

Hunter picked up the nearest shot glass. "Alice? Your thoughts on Jack Daniel's?"

I hated whiskey, but I still took it, scooting even closer as Max reached across me to hand one to someone else. I hated the color. I hated the smell. I hated the taste. I hated that it reminded me of a certain rich prick, but I clinked my glass with everyone else's because Hunter was grinning now, and everyone's laughter was loud and contagious.

We all tipped them back, and I immediately pressed my hand to my lips as I swirled the awful taste around my mouth, my eyes watering.

Hunter's gaze darted between my cheeks and throat in horror. "What are you doing! Swallow it!"

I started to laugh and clamped my hand tighter against my mouth so I wouldn't start coughing everywhere. It became even harder with his wide eyes on mine, but when I did manage to force it down, Hunter was already ordering soda from the bar and shoving it in my direction. "Jesus, that was painful to watch."

I chugged the soda in desperation, only surfacing when I finished it. "That was just as disgusting as I remembered it being."

* * *

The first few notes played,heavy drums and aggressive guitars, and people swarmed the stage. The crowd bumped into us from every direction, but we didn't follow. Hunter's friends' priorities consisted of accessible alcohol, so I wasn't surprised when we remained perched against the bar, watching with mild amusement as the crowd fought and pushed for standing space.

The makeshift black curtains separated, and it reminded me of a puppet show Chris and I had put on when we were younger. We'd rigged up a curtain, but it got hitched on something during the performance, and the whole thing had come tumbling down. We were both devastated, but my mom had clapped and cheered as if it was all part of the show.

The right curtain opened, but the left one didn't move, and the band members exchanged panicked glances as the bass player yanked on it. I hoped for a repeat of our puppet performance like the terrible person I was, and when the curtain fell, swallowing the bass player whole, I was part of the crowd that burst out laughing. The rest of the band kept playing, glancing sidelong at the bass player fighting the curtain as if it was a hunting net, and when he finally emerged, I brought my hands to my mouth and cheered as loud as I could. I was still caught up in the hilarity, and when I finally surfaced to see who else was watching, Hunter and Hudson were both staring at me. Hunter was grinning, but Hudson was looking at me as though he couldn't make sense of me.

As soon as the singing started, the crowd roared, and I turned to Hunter in confusion. The lead singer's voice was grating, half singing and half screaming, but it was all wrong. "Hang on, I know this song."

Hunter's eyebrows shot up. "I thought you mostly listened to musicals."

I inspected the band again, pushing onto my tiptoes to get a better look. "Well, I think you and my brother might have the same taste in music. Who is this?"

The bass player had made a full recovery and now jumped around the stage with the four others. They each had the same Mohawk hairstyle in various pastel colors, the bass player's a little worse for the wear. Every so often there was a cringing bad note, but either no one in the audience noticed or they didn't care. Max jumped and flailed around in the space in front of us, headbanging with enough enthusiasm to cause brain damage.

Hunter stepped closer to yell in my ear, "They're a cover band." He looked at the stage and then back at me. "And they're fucking terrible." He flinched at a high note, and I grinned. Despite their apparent awfulness, the crowd loved them, and it was so intoxicating that I loved them too.

Every time I looked back at Hunter, he was watching me instead of the stage. I smiled at him over my shoulder, so broadly my cheeks hurt. Instead of smiling back, he kept his expression blank. I'm not sure if it was the alcohol or the crowd or the music, but I twisted back around, not remotely concerned by his vacancy. They started their next song, and I pressed farther onto the balls of my feet, craning my neck to get an even better view.

I turned back to him. "Do you like to dance?" I asked.

Hunter's chest was just behind me, and he inhaled sharply. Instead of answering, he stared back at me, lost in thought, before his gaze dropped to my lips. "No."

His shoulders were so stiff I didn't even think dancing was possible, and I laughed at the thought. Max was still headbanging in front of us, his arms flailing while he jumped to the music.

Hunter's eyebrows drew together as he watched me watch him. "Do you ... like to dance?"

I smiled like a jack-o'-lantern, wide and horrifying. "I used to love to dance." Margo and I had always been the first to dance—parties, sleepovers, school dances—it didn't matter. The roller rink used to do dance party Wednesdays, and we'd been there without fail, twisting into each other in mutual agreement that we'd always be designated partners.

I hadn't realized how close Hunter and I were standing as we'd been yelling into each other's ears, but his arm was touching mine, and once I did notice, it became all I could focus on. When he met my gaze again, he looked away, his expression pained and his cheeks flushed.

I shifted an inch. I hoped he wouldn't notice, but as soon as I moved, he glanced down at the space between us. My shifting was like the butterfly effect, one small movement that set off a chain of events. Someone bumped into me the next moment, knocking me forward, and Hunter's hand shot out to grab me.

I felt light-headed, unable to determine if my brain had hit the inside of my head too hard or if it was his hand on my arm. His fingers were careful at my elbow, barely applying any pressure at all. His touch was the complete opposite of his personality. He was always confident and hard, but his hand was soft and unsure. I felt the subtle twitch of the muscles beneath my skin, but I didn't pull away. We stared at each other, his breathing heavy with effort.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, fine."

He didn't take his hand away, and I must have been drunk, because I didn't want him to. The revelation was so shocking I didn't know how to reroute my thoughts. A boy was touching me, and instead of flinching away, an insane part of me wanted him to move closer, maybe slip his fingers into my hand and never let go.

I stared back at him, and if I was any different, I think he might have kissed me. At least he looked as though he wanted to. He licked his lips and glanced between my eyes and my mouth, searching for permission while assessing the distance between us, but Hunter didn't lean forward. And for the very first time, I considered that he might be as nervous as I was.

At that moment, all my fears felt as insignificant as a drop in the ocean. He stared at me and I stared back at him, and his gaze was so patient I thought it would kill me worse than if he'd demanded something of me. The thing was, I knew Hunter. He was still a guy, but I knew he didn't jam his unwanted tongue down girls' throats. And I knew he didn't whisper in girls' ears like Brian had whispered in mine, begging me with pretty words to take my shirt off even though I had my arms wrapped around myself.

And I didn't just know Hunter; I remembered him.

Out of nowhere, his hand jumped from my arm as though I was an electric wire, and I wondered if I had the entire thing wrong, because he was looking at me as if he was as afraid of me as I was of him.

Margo's words crashed into place in my head, and despite the cup of beer in my hand, I could still taste the shot of whiskey—taunting and disgusting. One of us was going to destroy the other. And as I stared up at him, his eyes wide and unsure, I realized with a sickening jolt that it wasn't going to be Hunter doing the annihilating.