His expression goes blank. “Huh?”
I nod toward the brunette, who’s inspecting us with visible suspicion. I can’t believe Dean has the gall to act like he doesn’t know her. I just saw them talking.
“Oh,” he answers. “Polly? Paula? I didn’t catch her name.”
Of course he didn’t.
“Penelope,” Hannah supplies. “I sat next to her during the game. She’s a massive Dean fan. Talked my ear off about you the whole time.” My best friend smirks. “I finally had to interrupt and tell her you don’t live up to the hype.”
I second that.
“Bullshit. I’m better than the hype.” Even as he protests, he sounds distracted. I can feel him staring at me.
“I’m going to get a drink.” I push away from the table.
“Great idea,” Dean says in an overly cheerful voice. “I could use one too.”
I clench my teeth as he follows me. It’s damn hard to run in these heels, so I settle for a speed-walk and hope I lose him in the crowd.
God, it was a stupid idea to come out tonight. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. If anything, I’m even tenser and angrier than I was before.
A squeak flies out of my mouth when I’m suddenly tugged backward.
Dean’s lips brush my ear as he growls, “If you came here to tease me, it’s working.”
My jaw stiffens. I spin around and level him with a glare. “Contrary to what you believe, the world doesn’t revolve around you.” Except he’s right. That is why I came, and now I feel totally and utterly foolish, because I’m not the kind of girl who plays games.
I should have stayed home. Rehearsal had left me in a bad mood, and then I let the thought of Dean with someone else turn me into a character from a rom com. Dressing up like a harlot to get some undeserving guy’s attention? Who am I?
My self-disgust spurs me to keep walking. I approach the counter, where the throng of men there parts for me like the Red Sea. I guess that’s one benefit of looking like sex on stilettos.
I order a Cosmo, because why not? I might as well live up to the image I’ve created. I brought a little black clutch with me, but when I open it to get some money, three different hands brandishing twenty-dollar bills fly up in the air.
“I got this—”
“It’s on me—”
“Let me buy you a drink—”
Dean rumbles out an annoyed sound. The next thing I know, he’s yanking out his own twenty and shoving it at the bartender. “On me,” he says sharply. He glares at my other suitors, who all avert their gazes.
“Are you going to pee on me now to mark your territory?” I hiss at him.
His eyes flash. “I don’t know—should I? What the hell is going on here, Allie?”
“Nothing.” I take the drink the bartender hands me and swiftly duck away from the counter.
Dean stays hot on my heels, so I walk faster, and then we’re with our friends again and I breathe in relief. Good. Now he can’t pester me for answers anymore.
Penelope immediately rushes over, and my spine stiffens when she latches her talons onto Dean’s bare forearm. The black T-shirt he’s wearing stretches across his perfect chest and shows off his perfect arms. The same arms that were pinning me down the other night when he was moving inside me.
I swallow a mouthful of my drink and try to pay attention to Hannah. She’s talking about her showcase rehearsals and how happy she is that the faculty is letting her sing an original composition instead of pairing her up with a songwriting major.
“I’m thinking of sending out some demos to labels,” she admits.
“Really?” She mentioned a few months ago that she might want to focus more on songwriting than performing, but I hadn’t realized it was a serious consideration on her part.
“Yeah.” She toys with a strand of dark hair, which draws my attention to the neon-green clip holding it back. It’s the only splash of color in her all-black getup. “I love composing. I mean, I also love being on stage, but Dexter and I were fooling around on the piano at rehearsal last night, and when he sang one of the songs I was working on, it was…”
I tune her out. I’m an awful friend, I know, but I can’t help it. I’m far too distracted by the evil vulture that’s pecking at Dean like he’s a juicy carcass. Running her manicured fingers up and down his arm. Stroking his biceps. Leaning in to whisper something in his ear.
In his defense, he doesn’t appear to notice that Penelope is glued to his side. His gaze is fixed on me, and it’s growing cloudier by the second.
I sip my drink and spend the next hour making an effort to be social. But I’m just getting increasingly angry—at myself.