If I Can't Have You (20 page)

“You’ve got to get over this,” Whit tells me. “It was just a summer fling.”

“No it wasn’t.” It wasn’t a summer fling to me. I’ve thought about Elliot every day for the last three months. Not only thought, I have dreams about him and right after we left Paradise those dreams used to wake me up in the middle of the night. I’d be gasping for air, drenched in sweat, and sometimes I’d even yell so loud that my mom would have to come in and comfort me.

I know it all seems juvenile and silly, but I can’t help the effect Elliot had on me. The effect he still has on me.

When we’d arrived home from Paradise I tried again to contact him, but he changed his cell number. Then I’d even tried to friend him on Facebook, but he declined the request. That led me to believe that he was done with me. That he never wanted to see me again. That I should just try to move on. But I found out even though I told myself I was going to do those things I couldn’t. I couldn’t move on.

I’m not afraid to see him out in public. I’m not afraid to talk to him. What I’m afraid of is his reaction to seeing me. What if I try to talk to him and he ignores me? What if he says something dickheadish? Or worse, what if he’s already with another girl? That would be too much for me to handle. I am sure of it.

“Listen.” Whit sits up and I look over at her. “So I know this bouncer at a club a few miles away from campus. He said he could sneak us in through the back. I mean you have to be twenty one to get in, but he kind of has the hots for me so he’ll do whatever I want him to. I’m gonna go tonight, you should totally come.”

“I’ll pass.”

Whit stomps over to me and rips the pencil out of my hand. “You’re coming.”

“Give me my pencil back,” I demand.

“Nope.” Whit lifts her arm and wiggles the pencil, tapping her shoulder with it. “I’m not giving it back until you agree to come with me tonight.”

“Whit, I really don’t want to.”

“This is non-negotiable. You either agree or I’ll wait until you go to the bathroom and then I’ll hide your book and your pencil.”

I exhale and shake my head. “If I agree to this, just this one time will you leave me alone?”

“Maybe.”

“Fine.” I reach up and snatch my pencil from her hand. “I’ll go out with you tonight just this once, okay.”

A smug grin curls on her lips. “That’s my girl.” Whit puts her back to me and digs under her bed for something.

“What are you doing?”

Whit swipes her shower basket out from under her bed. “I’m going to take a shower.” She lifts her arm up and sniffs her armpit. “Ugh. I reek.” I laugh and shake my head as she walks to the door. “After my shower I’m going to take a nap. You should too, Robs.”

“I’ll think about it,” I say, my nose back in my book.

“No seriously. You pulled an all-nighter. Tonight is going to be epic and I think you’ll want to stay awake for it.”

“You think?”

Whit sighs, “Robs, sarcasm? Seriously?”

“All right. I’ll take a damn nap with you,” I say gruffly. I know Whit and the only way to get her off my case is to agree with her when she has an idea.

“Great.”

Whit stalks down the hall to the showers and I take another swig of my red bull. I have to agree with her on one thing; whether tonight turns out good or bad it’s definitely going to be epic.

~29~

Love puts the fun in together, the sad in apart, and the joy in a heart.
 
~Author Unknown~

The club is called The Hideaway and as Whit and I cross the street I notice that the line is wrapped around the side of the building. This definitely must be the place to be on a Saturday night.

“Are we going to have to wait in that line?” I ask Whit.

“Of course not,” she says as she grabs my hand pulling me to the front of it. “I told you before, I have connections.”

We come to a halt at the front of the line. The bouncer is a tall, chubby guy with sandy blonde hair. He clutches a clipboard with both of his massive hands, staring down at a list of names and Whit clears her throat, commanding his attention. He lifts his eyes and a hint of redness floods his cheeks. Whit bats her eyelashes and reveals a flirty grin. Then the bouncer whose name is Ted (and I know this because Whit told me on the way here) eyes the line of people before leaning close to Whit’s ear. “Go around the side of the building. The exit door is open,” he whispers. “I’ve left two wristbands under the rock that’s holding the door open.”

“Thanks, doll.” Whit gives him a peck on the cheek and we walk around to the side of the building. Sure enough when we get there, the door is open and I notice the hint of pink from the wristband peeking out from under the rock.

I snatch the wristbands and we both put them on, walking through the side entrance. “That wasn’t right,” I tell Whit as she closes the door behind her.

She scrunches her eyebrows together. “What wasn’t right?”

We walk down a long, darkened hall and the sound of thumping music vibrates the walls. “You shouldn’t lead that guy on like that. It’s obvious that he really, really likes you.”

“Who says I’m leading him on?” She says with a devious grin.

I stop walking, grip her arm, and shake my head. “Are you forgetting that I know you better than I know myself?” Whit has a tendency to flirt with guys she’s clearly not attracted to, to get something she wants. In his school she used to flirt with this kid named Marty Flannery who was even nerdier than me. He had translucent skin and was always blowing his nose and Whit would flirt with him to get all the answers to her math homework because she never did it.

“Look,” Whit says. “Can we discuss this later? Listen to the chaos going on inside. We’re missing out on all the fun because you’re having a heartfelt moment.” Whit pulls her arm out of my grasp. “And besides, you of all people should talk.”

I know she’s referring to the summer and my little love triangle with Drake and Elliot so I shoot her a nasty that says don’t-even-go-there.

She takes one look at my face and changes the subject. “Can’t we just forget about all the boy drama and enjoy ourselves?”

I nod, even though I’m still a little pissed off and follow her into the club.

It makes me mad that she’d even compare what happened with me and Elliot to this situation. For starters, Whit uses guys to get what she wants and I didn’t. I didn’t use Elliot or Drake. I was confused about my feelings for them, there’s a difference. But I suppose she’s right about one thing; I’m definitely not the right person to be handing out advice on guys.

When we reach the end of the hall, Whit comes to a sudden stop. She brought up Elliot and thoughts of him have my mind in a whirl. I’m staring at my feet, and reminiscing about his words, his touch, and his kiss and I’m totally not paying attention to Whit’s movements. So when she stops, I smack into her back and she stumbles forward.

“Hey!” she snaps. “Watch it, Robs.”

“Sorry,” I mutter, eyes still on the floor. Then I left my head slowly and gasp at the sight of my surrounds. “Oh. My. God. This place is amazing.”

Whit nods. “I know, right?”

The club is split into four sections. Lining each side of the massive, open space are VIP sections with red, crushed velvet couches, roped off entrances, and they are secluded by walls of glass. In the back portion of the club is a stage-like area with more of the velvet couches and bar that’s whole counter is lit up.

Colored lights flash. Red, white, and purple. Music blasts through speakers that are hanging in all four corners of the room. The wide dance floor is packed with couples dancing, gyrating, and swaying back and forth to Jason DeRulo’s
Don’t Wanna Go Home
. There’s another bar a few feet in front of us with a lit up counter just like the one in the back.

Whit grabs my hand and leads the way, stopping at an open spot at the bar. She faces me and shouts over the music. “I’ve got the first round! What do you want to drink?”

“I don’t want anything!” I shout back then lean in close to her ear. “What if they card us?”

“Chill!” She lifts her hand and dangles her wrist with the pink wristband in my face. “We’re cool.”

The bartender approaches us and I tune Whit out as she orders us drinks. I pay close attention to the couples on the dance floor. Even though I assume most of them aren’t actual couples the way they move so close to one another and touch each other so intimately seems so beautiful. Even if they are grinding together in a drunken haze.

Witnessing the PDA makes me think of the way I used to feel when Elliot’s hand would glide over my bare skin. How his touch would make me shiver in delight and fill me with such an overwhelming sense of joy that I thought I might burst. I miss that feeling. I miss his touch. I miss his smile. I miss the way he used to bit his bottom lip when he was perplexed. I miss every part of him and I’m aching inside because of it. So when Whit hands me my drink, I bring it to my lips and chug it down with one gulp.

“Jesus, Robin!” Whit shouts over the noise. “You’re supposed to sip your drink!”

I face the bar, ready to order another. It doesn’t matter where I go or what I’m doing. Elliot is always there, taunting me with flashbacks of his beautiful face. His poetic words replay in my mind like a skipping record. And at times I swear I can almost feel his hands caressing me. The bartender comes over and I order three more drinks. Two for myself and one for Whit. I tell myself that if I can’t forget about Elliot when I’m sober then maybe I can forget about him if I’m drunk.

So when the bartender comes over and hands me the three drinks. I pay for them and include a generous tip. Then I turn, handing Whit hers and down my next two in record time before ordering another.

After three more drinks I’m not really sure how much time has passed because I’ve reached the point where everything is starting to melt together. People’s faces fade in and out of focus, the lights are a mixture of who the hell knows what color, and I can’t even distinguish if the person singing the song that’s blasting from the speakers is a man or a woman.

Whit laces her arm through mine and she pulls me out to the dance floor. We squeeze ourselves in between a few couples, making our way to a slight opening in the middle. I laugh as Whit takes my hand and spins me around in circle. It’s like we’re in own little world. It’s like the entire club is abandoned and it’s just us, having the time of our lives.

I spin Whit toward me in a sloppy ballroom style move and dip her backwards, trying to be slick. The only problem is that I’m way too wasted to try and be slick and when I dip her I can’t get a firm grip on her and she falls from my grasp onto the floor. Her drink spills all over her shirt and I stifle back a laugh by throwing my hands over my mouth.

I expect her to be extremely pissed, to throw her hands up into the air and should obscenities, causing a scene. But she doesn’t. Instead, she yanks on my arm and pulls me down to the floor with her. For a good ten minutes we both sit there on the dance floor in the middle of that packed club laughing our asses off while several dancing couples stop to look at us.

As I scan some of the disgruntled faces of guys and girls I realize that I don’t care that they are staring. I don’t care that I’m on the floor in the middle of the club laughing my ass off like a drunken idiot. This is the first time since summer vacation where I’ve felt like I’ve had fun. The first time that I’ve forgotten about Elliot, the way he makes me feel, the situation I created between me, his brother, and him, and the drama that came with that situation.

And it feels good.

Whit stands up first and stumbles a little. After she catches her balance she extends her hand to me and helps me to my feet. I stagger backward slightly, but Whit grips my arm tightly, steadying me. I’m still trying to contain my laughter, but I’m slap-happy and silly and so out of breath from laughing so hard that there’s a throbbing pain in my side. I place my hand against my right ribcage, pressing onto it as Whit leans in toward my ear. “I’m going to get another drink,” she shouts. “You game?”

The massive room starts to tilt from side to side and I have to blink a few times to see straight. I think I’m good as far as drinks go. “No,” I tell her. “I’m gonna stay here.”

“Okay! I’ll be right back! Stay here!”

After Whit wanders off a slower song is played and I close my eyes, letting the music infect my soul. It fills me up with relaxation and serenity and I sway back and forth, losing myself in it.

It’s amazing how music can make your mood shift. It’s amazing how one minute you’re bopping around to some pop song and the next a slow seductive number is played and you feel your body start to go limp. My eyes are closed and I snake my fingers through my hair. I’m completely tuned out to my surroundings and If I was sober I’d laugh at someone like me who is in the middle of the dance floor having a slow, romantic dance with herself.

But I’m not sober so who the hell cares.

I stretch my arms backward then do a lil spin, but during that spin my fingers connect with something and I hear a guy scream, “What the fuck?” Oops.