Dave: Junior Year (Three Daves #2) (6 page)

She took a better look at the CD once she was inside her apartment. On the case was simply scrawled:
For Jen

In her jammies and snug in her warm bed, Jen knew that high or not, there was no excuse for how Dave had treated her. After he sobered, he’d realize that. And if he thought gaining her forgiveness was a matter of a simple apology, he was in for a surprise. She wished she could’ve mustered up an ounce of this indignation back in his bedroom, but when he called the next day, she’d be better prepared.

He didn’t call.

He didn’t call the next day either, or the next.

Chapter 7

After a week and no word from Dave, Jen realized there would be no apology. The scumbag probably didn’t even know he’d done anything wrong. She wondered if he still might call one day, oblivious to Jen’s fury, and tell her to meet him somewhere. Next time she wouldn’t run to him like she always had. If he ever wanted to see her again, he’d have to come to her—on his knees.

As more days went by and she still didn’t hear from him, she became tempted to call him to force the issue. Then she remembered David’s warning to not call him. What would she even say if she did get ahold of him: “Hey, just so you know, if you ever ask me out again I’m going to say no”?

When she reached the two week point of not hearing from Dave, she admitted to herself that she wanted him to call. It wasn’t that far of a stretch to think he might. He certainly seemed to have enjoyed himself last time they were together. She couldn’t help but wonder if her anxiety about his silence was made worse because of how far she’d gone with him. His calling would be a vindication of her actions, proof that she hadn’t been completely used.

The last week in February, Jen crossed paths with Dave on a sidewalk between buildings at the south end of campus. At first she didn’t realize it was him. He was bruised around his eyes and had a large scab on his lip. She was only a few feet away by the time she recognized him. In the half a second before he looked at her, she steeled herself to stay strong under his persuasive powers.

Dave acknowledged her with a half nod and continued walking.

Jen would’ve preferred an actual blow to the gut rather than the simulated version that ripped through her as he moved away. He hadn’t even said hello. She pressed her books into her stomach and stared at the ground in disbelief. Even though she’d had no intention of going out with him again, and even though she’d doubted he had any more interest in her, this confirmation of how little she’d meant to him was demoralizing. She’d only ever been a game to him.

She made it back to her apartment in a blur, not remembering exactly how she got there.

“What’s wrong?” Maria asked as soon as Jen walked through the door.

Jen hadn’t filled her roommate in on recent events with Dave. She hadn’t wanted Maria to know how right she’d been. Now she was beyond caring. “You’re right. Dave’s a dick.” To herself she added,
and he also has one, and it spewed in my mouth a couple of weeks ago.
She felt like throwing up. Maria’s eyes narrowed, but Jen stopped her before she could say anything. “Look, I really don’t want to hear it. I’m just going to lie down for a while.” She dropped her books on the table, walked into her room, and shut the door.

She lay on her bed and waited for tears to come. They didn’t. But thoughts of all the terrible ways Dave had treated her and all the excuses she’d made for him marched through her brain like a long, torturous parade. She got up to pop in her earbuds and scrolled through her music, selecting the most un-Dave-like selection she could find. Cranking up the volume, she fell back onto the bed. Despite the peppy tunes assaulting her ears, numbness settled in as she lay on her side, staring at the worn fibers of her beige carpeting.

Two hours later, Jen was in the same position on her bed. She’d clicked off the
Pitch Perfect
soundtrack before it had even finished its first play through. It was far too energetic for her current mood. She’d fallen asleep for a while, and when she woke, she simply lay there with no desire to get up. For the past few months, her mind had played a constant reel of Dave—would he call; what would she say to him; when would she see him again; what would she wear when she saw him? Now that she knew there was no Dave to anticipate, she saw absolutely no point in even lifting her hand to wipe away the glob of drool that slowly worked its way across her chin.

She sighed and rolled onto her back, staring at the nothingness between her eyeballs and the ceiling, sinking herself deeper into depression by recalling the excitement and possibility she’d felt the first night she’d met him. Her bedroom door flew open, and Maria, Kate, and Chris stormed in. Chris carried a wad of clothing in her arms and dropped it onto Jen’s floor.

“We’re going out,” Maria announced. “Chris just brought over the IDs.”

Jen groaned and threw her arm over her eyes. “Go without me.”

“Nope.” Maria pulled Jen’s arms so that she was forced to sit up.

Kate kneeled on the floor in front of Jen. “Come on, Jenny. We need this.” Her big, blue eyes carried a sadness of their own. The previous week, Jake had told her he’d been accepted into a sixteen-week law program in London. As if being separated by an ocean for four months wasn’t bad enough, he’d also hinted it might be a good idea for them to “take a break” and see other people while he was away.

Jen wiped the drool from her chin. “Don’t call me Jenny.” She started sinking back onto the bed. “I don’t want to run into Dave.”

“We won’t.” Kate grabbed Jen’s hands to keep her upright. “Please. I won’t go without you.” Kate rarely went out with the girls, and she really did need this, probably more than Jen. Jen couldn’t say no to that pitiful, beautiful face.

“Fine,” Jen relented.

“Yay!” Kate suddenly didn’t look quite so pathetic. “And don’t worry—Dave won’t be where we’re going.”

“Where’re we going?” Jen asked.

“The Ritz!” Chris shouted as she connected Jen’s phone with the speaker on her dresser and blasted the
Pitch Perfect
soundtrack.

Jen smiled. The Ritz wasn’t her favorite place, but Dave definitely wouldn’t be there. It was strictly a dance club—no punk allowed.

Chris pulled out various blouses from Jen’s closet, shouting over the music, “We’re raiding each other’s closets!”

Jen’s room became a flurry of mini-skirts and off-the-shoulder sweaters. They dug heels from the back of their closets. While the girls teased and flat-ironed their hair, Maria called Tom. Jen heard her say, “Sorry, hon, girls’ night.” She slammed down her phone and ran for a bottle of Malibu rum, which the girls passed around, taking swigs as they got ready.

“Let’s call a cab,” Kate suggested. “We’ll never make it there in these heels. Especially not with our rum buzz.”

“Tom’ll drive us.” Maria picked up her phone and called her boyfriend again. Twenty minutes later, he picked them up and drove them to the Ritz. As they piled out of the car, Maria told him not to wait up—they’d call a cab to take them home.

“Have fun, girls,” Tom said. “But not too much fun.” He raised an eyebrow at Maria.

As he drove away and the girls stepped through the door, Maria announced, “Get ready boys—here we come!”

Their first stop was the large, three-sided bar, where Chris ordered four Blow Job shots.
How apropos
, Jen thought, forcibly reminded of her last night with Dave.

The bartender set four shot glasses of pale, chocolate-colored liquor in front of the girls and topped each one with a large dollop of foamy whipped-cream. Jen inhaled deeply before tightening her lips around her glass and lifting it into the air with no hands. She downed the sweet, sticky liquid in one gulp and placed the glass back on the bar using nothing but mouth. Chris and Maria met with similar success, but poor Kate wasn’t as practiced as the other girls and struggled with her shot. She’d only managed to skim off the top portion of the whipped cream when the glass slipped out of her mouth and slammed back onto the bar.

Jen came to the rescue. “Leave it to me—I’m a
professional.
” She sucked down Kate’s shot, receiving applause from a group of guys across the bar.

The girls agreed to take turns buying shots throughout the night. This way, they could maintain their buzz without having to hold drinks while they danced. In between Slammers and Sex on the Beach, they boogied to extended dance versions of Lady Gaga, Frankie Goes to Hollywood, New Order, and God help them—Justin Bieber.

During their trips to the bar, the girls acquired a fan club. A group of slightly older-looking guys had staked out a section of the concrete counter. Since the bar was shaped like a U, they had a perfect view of the girls whenever they came back for another round of shots, and they cheered each time. During the girls’ fourth trip to the bar, one of the guys called across the open space that this round was on him.

“Four sets of Slippery Nipples,” he shouted to the bartender.

Kate had given up on the shots and merely took a small sip before passing hers to Jen.

“We should go thank them,” Maria said after they’d down the creamy, licorice flavored drinks. The other three followed her around the bar. The guys introduced themselves as graduate students at CIU. Kate cut the conversation short, saying she had to go to the bathroom. She’d given each of her friends a pointed, wide-eyed look that said she expected them to join her.

They bypassed the line for the stalls, going straight to the mirrors, where out of habit they reached automatically for their lip glosses. “You know those guys are more likely Townies here to scam on undergrads, right?” Kate said. “I mean, how many graduate students do you know who go out to dance clubs unshaven and wearing flannel shirts?”

“Have you not noticed Tom’s new beard?” Maria asked. “Facial hair is in.”

Kate shook her head. “Tom’s beard is nicely manicured. These guys look more like they either lack hygiene or their razors are rusty.” She gave a dramatic shiver. “You had to have picked up on their lower-Illinois drawl.”

“People from Central Illinois go to grad school,” Jen said.

“Sheesh, Kate. I think your fancy lawyer boyfriend has turned you into a snob,” Chris added.

“Believe what you want.” Kate peered into the mirror, giving her pale blond bangs a fluff with her long fingernails. “I’m just telling you to be careful.”

The girls left the bathroom and headed up the spiral staircase to the upper level. Jen gripped the railing and tried not to look down as she circled upward. Her head swam. Not only had she been drinking double shots because of Kate, she hadn’t eaten anything for dinner.

The foursome pushed their way to the balcony railing and watched the dance floor. Their fan club at the bar craned their necks to keep their eyes dutifully on the girls. Kate sniffed and looked away while Jen blew the guys a kiss. Chris let out a high-pitched screech when the DJ played a song from the soundtrack they’d been singing along with while they’d dressed at the apartment. She pulled down on Jen’s and Maria’s shoulders, yanking them back from the railing as she formed a one-woman kick line.

She flung her leg into the air, and her shoe—a size too big because it was, in fact, Jen’s—flew off, over the rail and fell onto the pulsating dance floor. Chris screamed, and the other girls doubled over in laughter until Jen, getting a good look at Chris’ remaining shoe, remembered it’d been raided from her closet. Even worse, it was from the pair she’d purchased at the local mall to wear at her brother’s upcoming wedding.

Jen shot up straight and scurried down the spiral steps, taking deep, cleansing breaths along the way. Barreling through the dancers on the floor, she reached the area where she thought she’d seen her shoe disappear. She crouched and searched, trying to avoid getting smacked in the head by gyrating hips. She saw it, just a few feet away. Enthusiastic dancers stomped and swayed dangerously close, threatening to crush it. Jen lunged to the ground, reaching out and grasping the prize. She rested back on her knees, clutching the strappy heeled sandal to her chest and breathing a sigh of relief.

Rising back to standing in the middle of the press of moving bodies proved difficult. Her inebriation didn’t help. Neither did her extra tight, extra short mini-skirt. She was about to grab onto the dancer next to her for support when she detected a swatch of green flannel moving toward her. A man broke through the dancers and held out a hand. Jen gaped at him and stayed kneeling on the ground, holding the shoe up toward him as if to explain why she was down there. It was all very Cinderella.

Jen grabbed onto his strong hand, and he pulled her up in the middle of the dance floor. “Want to dance now that we’re out here?” he asked. A new song was melding into the end of the current one.

“Sure. Your one a’ the bar guys—Sippery Nipples?” Jen slurred.

“Uh-huh.” He nodded.

Jen looked at him while they danced, closing one eye to bring him into better focus. He was sort of cute. She rubbed a hand against the whiskers on one side of his face. “I think you’re manicured.” She giggled. “
Man
-icured.”

He quirked an eyebrow and one corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. Jen noticed a gray T-shirt peeking out from under his flannel shirt.

“Are you hot?” she asked, raising her voice above the music.

“I don’t know,” he replied, his smirk widening. “What do you think?”

“I think yur hot.” Jen was too drunk to catch his innuendo and fumbled with the buttons on his outer shirt. “Take this off.”

He finished unbuttoning his shirt and peeled it away. Then he wrapped it around Jen’s waist, using it to pull her up against him. A thousand spots of light swirled all around them, but Jen paid them no attention as she pressed against the stranger on the dance floor.

Jen half yelled into his ear, “How’d you know I needed you? With th’ shoe?”

“I’ve been watching you, sugar. C’mon, let me buy you another drink.”

He led Jen off the dance floor and took her to a corner of the bar, away from his friends. Jen noticed him nod to the other guys, so she waved. They snickered and waved back. Her dance partner placed a hand at the small of her back and didn’t take it off. “How about sex on the bar?” he asked.

“Wha’?”

“I mean, Sex on the Beach,” he corrected with a smirk.

“I’ve had that a’ready,”

“Oh, right. How about a real drink, then?” He waved over the bartender. “She’ll have a Long Island Iced Tea.”

The bartender mixed seven shots of who knows what and handed her the deluxe beverage in a curved glass. Jen was thirsty and the drink was sweet and delicious, so she drank it down. Her head spun. The only things that cut through the spinning and into her awareness were the pumping beat of the music and the hand on her back. She knew she’d come with friends but didn’t have any idea where they were. Apparently, this hand was going to take care of her now. At least that’s what the voice that was attached to the hand told her as the hand directed her toward the door.