Disorderly Conduct (The Academy #1)

“Listen, this isn’t a good scene,” he barks at me over the surrounding laughter and screams. “Why don’t you head on home . . . ?”

“Ever. And we’ll be fine . . . ?”

He sighs, like I just asked him for a loan. “Greer.”

I pat his arm. “Good night and good luck, Greer.”

We turn the corner into the venue and it’s so loud, my molars clamp down. People are pushing their way through the narrow staircase into the downstairs performance space, harried personnel trying to guide the crowd. Once we get downstairs, though, everyone spreads out as much as possible, the music kicking off almost immediately. Nina takes off her shoes and shoves them into her purse, then leads me out to the dance floor. I’m still replaying the conversation with Charlie’s brother, reveling in how he’d sounded so amazed that Charlie had dated someone, let alone bought them a gift. Maybe I was a little special to him, even if he never said it out loud.

I push aside the useless, leading thoughts with massive determination.

There are boys everywhere. They’re a little too hipster for my taste, but I promised myself I would try. I promised my mother. So when a pair of bearded bros move into our circle and start dancing with us, I don’t excuse myself to use the bathroom or head to the bar, like I would do normally to avoid any kind of meaningful interaction. I throw my hands up in the air, close my eyes and let myself have fun. Even if there’s a significant part of myself that never really allows it. A part that keeps dragging me back to the boy with blue eyes who told me he could do better as a friend, if I let him. The boy who kissed me in the park like our lives depended on it.

Half an hour has passed when a prickle blows across my shoulders. I stop dancing to scan the crowd. Am I crazy . . . or do I feel Charlie here? No. I just spoke to his brother outside, which has to account for this odd premonition. Someone takes my hand—one of the guys we’ve been dancing with—and I jerk it away. I’ve been maintaining a careful distance from everyone of the opposite sex, dancing but not touching, and I command myself to stop holding back. Stop. But the feeling of being watched won’t go away.

I’m distracted when Nina gets way too close to her dance partner. Hands on the booty close. Which is nothing like Nina. This is newly single Nina, yes, but it’s out of character for her, making me worry. Her motives become clear a moment later when I see her ex-boyfriend dancing with another girl about twenty heads away, his thunderous gaze steady on Nina.

“Hey,” I lean in and shout so Nina can hear me. “I see what you’re doing there, friend-o. I have the full scope of the situ-sitch-situation.” Okay, maybe I didn’t sober completely. “Do you want to leave?”

“Leave?” She gives me a full, over the shoulder eyebrow raise. “I’m having fun, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” I am enjoying the music and the guy I’m dancing with is funny enough, in a watered-down Paul Rudd kind of way. So, yes. Yes, this is what people equate to a good time. Plus tonight is Nina’s first night out since the breakup, and I owe it to her to hang out as long as possible. “Okay, let me know if you change your mind.”

She doesn’t answer, and my dance partner catches my wrist, spinning me. Once again I encounter the tingle on the back of my neck, but command myself to ignore it.





Chapter 18





Charlie


So this is what hell looks like.

Drinking warm beer while my girl dances with an Urban Outfitters model. Yeah, I’m jealous. I’m jealous as fuck. Ever looks like everyone’s secret jackoff fantasy. She’s literally not even wearing pants. And then she went ahead and stuck some red high heels on, just in case anyone needed extra convincing her legs are two miles long. On top of that sexy little outfit, she’s moving her tight ass like someone might rob it, if she stops.

Today was my first day back after being suspended, and the drills kicked my ass. I kicked theirs, too, meaning I was dead asleep when the text message from Greer hit my phone a while ago. Ever at Webster Hall. Bad scene. I almost broke my neck diving out of bed and pulling on the closest pair of jeans. Of course, my motherfucker of a brother didn’t answer his phone when I called for more details, but I can see with my own eyes now he’d been right. The place is filled well past capacity, meaning the fire marshal is likely due to arrive any minute. Bodies are crammed in tight at the bar, on the dance floor, along the walls. If there’s an emergency, hell will break loose.

So my jealousy is secondary to Ever’s safety, even if it is an evil, spinning ball of shit banging around in my stomach. Truthfully, the green-eyed monster would be seven times uglier if I thought for a second that Ever could be into the guy attempting to dance with her. But every time Bearded Wonder tries to pull her close, she slips away like an elusive kitty cat, tucking hair behind her ear. A nervous gesture that forces me to pound the beer I’m drinking—temperature be damned—because she used to make that same hair-tuck gesture with me. Usually when I was on my way out the door after we’d had sex, and we were working through the goodbye portion. She’d been unsure and I hadn’t even seen it. I’d just bailed.

Someone jostles my shoulder and beer sloshes out onto my shoe, but I barely notice. I’m watching Ever toss that mane of blonde hair around, hips moving in quick circles, the way she used to move them on top of me. Fuck. Bearded Wonder can’t keep up, so he’s literally just standing there like a garden rake, stroking that shit growing from his chin, and watching the show close up. Jesus Christ, I can’t witness it anymore. He needs to stop ogling my girl, and for the love of everything holy, someone needs to give her a decent dance.

Dropping my half-empty plastic cup on the sliver of available bar, anticipation kicks in my gut. Just knowing she’s going to give me those eyes, even if she doesn’t let me touch her, is enough. I’m just relieved I’ll be within reaching distance of her if something goes down.