it didn’t match what was playing. I grinned, tossed my beer back, and waded through the sea of girls I’d been chatting with.
“Nice to see you outside of the Internet,” I shouted at her over the music. Shay might have disappeared physically off of my radar, but it was impossible not to see her meme at least once a week.
Shay startled back into another dancing couple, and before she could fall to the floor I reached out and pulled her close. I remember her smelling like peppermint schnapps. It made my mouth water.
Okay…I was drunk. I keep reminding myself of that whenever I recall scene three. I was hammered, plastered, pissed…whatever you want to call it. So when I pulled her tight to my body and started dancing, I was out of my damn skull.
She was shorter than the girls I was used to, and at first I thought maybe that was why it felt so weird to dance with her. Then I realized she was trying to get away from me, pushing at my chest with her wide eyes bugging out.
“Ew, no,” she said, and honestly, it cracked me up.
I dropped my arms and took a step back. “Haven’t heard that one before.” It was a lie. I’d heard some version of that a few times.
“I’m surprised.”
And then, I swear, her eyes scoped me out. (It happened, even though she denies it now.)
“No, you’re not,” I said with a cocky grin. “I bet you find nothing repulsive about me.”
“Just everything that comes out of your mouth.”
She said it with a smile, so I kept my own grin on my face, moving a bit closer to her.
“But my body’s okay?”
“Is that all that matters to you?”
“Well, yeah,” I teased. She started to laugh, then pushed her lips together in a tight line.
“No,” she said, taking a step back. “Not going to give it to you.”
That perked my ears up. After all, it was our third encounter. See, scene three for Mr. Kickass Lead and whatever girl was playing opposite me was the scene that called for a tie-on-the-doorknob prop.
“Give what to me?” I said with thick innuendo. She gave me a heavy eye roll.
“A laugh.”
My brow furrowed. “A laugh…?”
“It’ll only encourage you.”
It did encourage me. “So you think I’m funny.”
She tugged at her red shirt, which, because of my drunken state, had me visualizing things that I’d never visualize sober. I found the short ball of fire, who clearly wasn’t interested,
very
interesting. I wanted to see what she looked like underneath all that red. See if she was as feisty without it as she was with.
“I’m here with someone,” she blurted. “So…shoo.”
She actually waved her fingers at me, and I laughed again but granted her request, backing up with my hands in surrender.
“All right, I’ll get.”
And right before I turned around to pick up a girl I had a better shot with, I caught her laughing to herself. I’ve sort of made it my job to make her laugh every scene we have. She’s made it her job to make sure I fail.
That’s when Shay went from Miss Maybe Gonna Happen to Miss Unlikely in
Jace: The Movie
’s script.
And in the present, Miss Unlikely finally wins the battle over laughter when another car drives past without even looking at us.
“We need to hit a gas station or something,” I say, getting a firm grip on my carry-on’s handle. “Get to an outlet.”
“Can’t be too far, right?” Shay starts down the road, but I reach out for that belt loop again.
“Wait in the car.”
“Don’t you dare leave me alone.”
“You can’t walk on that.” I point to her shaky ankle.
“I’m fine.”
I shake my head, lowering the handle on my carry-on and tossing the backpack straps I’ve never used on this thing over my arms. I keep the bag in front, then crouch down.
“Get on.”
“I can walk.”
“It’s either this or I’m ditching you.”
I get pelted by about a quart of rain before I finally feel her hands on my shoulders. I reach back to support her legs as she throws them around my
“Nice to see you outside of the Internet,” I shouted at her over the music. Shay might have disappeared physically off of my radar, but it was impossible not to see her meme at least once a week.
Shay startled back into another dancing couple, and before she could fall to the floor I reached out and pulled her close. I remember her smelling like peppermint schnapps. It made my mouth water.
Okay…I was drunk. I keep reminding myself of that whenever I recall scene three. I was hammered, plastered, pissed…whatever you want to call it. So when I pulled her tight to my body and started dancing, I was out of my damn skull.
She was shorter than the girls I was used to, and at first I thought maybe that was why it felt so weird to dance with her. Then I realized she was trying to get away from me, pushing at my chest with her wide eyes bugging out.
“Ew, no,” she said, and honestly, it cracked me up.
I dropped my arms and took a step back. “Haven’t heard that one before.” It was a lie. I’d heard some version of that a few times.
“I’m surprised.”
And then, I swear, her eyes scoped me out. (It happened, even though she denies it now.)
“No, you’re not,” I said with a cocky grin. “I bet you find nothing repulsive about me.”
“Just everything that comes out of your mouth.”
She said it with a smile, so I kept my own grin on my face, moving a bit closer to her.
“But my body’s okay?”
“Is that all that matters to you?”
“Well, yeah,” I teased. She started to laugh, then pushed her lips together in a tight line.
“No,” she said, taking a step back. “Not going to give it to you.”
That perked my ears up. After all, it was our third encounter. See, scene three for Mr. Kickass Lead and whatever girl was playing opposite me was the scene that called for a tie-on-the-doorknob prop.
“Give what to me?” I said with thick innuendo. She gave me a heavy eye roll.
“A laugh.”
My brow furrowed. “A laugh…?”
“It’ll only encourage you.”
It did encourage me. “So you think I’m funny.”
She tugged at her red shirt, which, because of my drunken state, had me visualizing things that I’d never visualize sober. I found the short ball of fire, who clearly wasn’t interested,
very
interesting. I wanted to see what she looked like underneath all that red. See if she was as feisty without it as she was with.
“I’m here with someone,” she blurted. “So…shoo.”
She actually waved her fingers at me, and I laughed again but granted her request, backing up with my hands in surrender.
“All right, I’ll get.”
And right before I turned around to pick up a girl I had a better shot with, I caught her laughing to herself. I’ve sort of made it my job to make her laugh every scene we have. She’s made it her job to make sure I fail.
That’s when Shay went from Miss Maybe Gonna Happen to Miss Unlikely in
Jace: The Movie
’s script.
And in the present, Miss Unlikely finally wins the battle over laughter when another car drives past without even looking at us.
“We need to hit a gas station or something,” I say, getting a firm grip on my carry-on’s handle. “Get to an outlet.”
“Can’t be too far, right?” Shay starts down the road, but I reach out for that belt loop again.
“Wait in the car.”
“Don’t you dare leave me alone.”
“You can’t walk on that.” I point to her shaky ankle.
“I’m fine.”
I shake my head, lowering the handle on my carry-on and tossing the backpack straps I’ve never used on this thing over my arms. I keep the bag in front, then crouch down.
“Get on.”
“I can walk.”
“It’s either this or I’m ditching you.”
I get pelted by about a quart of rain before I finally feel her hands on my shoulders. I reach back to support her legs as she throws them around my
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