“Why don’t you come with me and find out?”
Chapter Three
RUSS
Why don’t you come with me and find out?
It sounded good in my head, but now I’ve said it out loud I can’t help but internally cringe. This woman is far too hot to be talking to me and I have no idea how I’ve managed to land myself in this situation.
JJ caught me watching her snoop around the kitchen and gave me a “success with women” pep-talk worthy of an Oscar before pushing me in her direction with the instruction to offer her a drink.
While I’m not totally useless with women, I’m far from the best, which I proved when my first conversation with the attractive stranger in my house was about burglary. I usually need a bit of time to relax before I feel comfortable, which isn’t ideal at college parties. Alcohol sometimes bridges the gap long enough for me to ask for someone’s number, but I don’t drink often, which is why I’m chronically single.
Even with a buzz from my drink, Aurora is just too fucking pretty, which is my excuse for why my brain is scrambling for some engaging conversation. I couldn’t even see her face when I approached her, just long legs and curves covered by a tiny skirt and top. Then her head popped out from behind the door, blond waves framing her face, cheeks flushed pink, emerald green eyes glaring up at me innocently, like someone who got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. And then she smiled, something she’s probably done a million times in her life, but I forgot about my lack of skill with women. I forgot about everything.
I promised myself earlier I would talk to someone if I thought they were hot and, technically, I am doing that even if she’s about to politely reject me. I’m trying hard to channel the artificial confidence my beer is giving me and not crumble beneath her inquisitive gaze as she considers my offer.
She holds out her hand and I have to stop my eyebrows from shooting into my hairline from the surprise. “Lead the way.”
Threading my fingers with hers, I navigate us toward the den repeating fake it until you make it and you’re a hot hockey player and the only person who knows you’re not confident is you in my head like JJ told me to.
I never expected his advice to work, but he looks totally unsurprised as I walk toward the Jenga set up hand in hand with Aurora. He looks a little smug, in fact. I keep her body close to mine, careful to stop drunk people bumping into her until we reach the crowd around the dining room table.
“You ready for this?” I say, although I’m not sure if I’m talking to myself or her.
Looking up at me, her eyes soften and her hand squeezes mine softly. “How much trouble can one game of Jenga cause?”
“My friend Joe is heading to Yale Law School and they asked him what’s considered a felony in California.” Joe didn’t even look surprised. After he read out a list from his cellphone, Robbie and JJ wouldn’t let anyone else see what they were writing on the blocks, giggling to each other like school kids.
“Nothing says college spirit like posting bail. I’m sure we’ve both done worse. Come on.”
She doesn’t let go of my hand as she moves confidently through the crowd, head held high, hair dancing across her bare shoulders with every step. I’m not sure how I ended up as the one being guided, but I follow her toward the gap between Stassie and Emilia.
Stassie waves at me enthusiastically as I come into her view, patting the table beside her. “I saved you a spot, Muffin.”
It’s clear she’s already drunk by the fact she pats so hard the Jenga blocks and shot glasses wobble.
“Okay, Godzilla,” Lola snaps from across the table. “Let’s not take down the tower before everyone’s naked. Jeez.”
Stassie mouths an oops and gives me a dopey, drunk smile as she cuddles into Nate’s side. Her eyes flick down to my hand joined with Aurora’s before flicking up to Aurora, her jaw slacking slightly before giving me an awkward thumbs up.
How am I supposed to fake being confident with women in these conditions?
“Muffin?” Aurora asks as we slot into the space between our friends, letting go of my hand to rummage through her purse for her cellphone. I want to do something with my hands instead of standing awkwardly beside her, but checking my phone is my least favorite thing to do, so I settle for pushing my hands into my pants pockets instead. I watch as she swipes across at her notifications, huffing slightly before pushing it back into her purse and looking up at me.
“It’s a really, really long story.” My and Stassie’s hour long fake relationship feels like a million years ago now and I’m not even sure I could describe the weird but wholesome bond we now share. Even though she says my poor communication skills give her a headache.