You Don't Know Me: A Stand-Alone New Adult Romance by Faleena Hopkins Page A

cough. “You’re truly poetic in the way you phrase things, you know that?”
    “I try. Go.” He jerks his chin toward the bathroom.
    I hold the hem of my dress as I scoot awkwardly out of the leather booth, and cut a last defiant look to my stupid jerk of a brother. Alec is watching me, amused. “I’m normally more graceful than this,” I mumble.
    “What?”
    “Nothing.” Pushing my way through the bodies, I head for the bathroom, unsure of where I’m going.
    I’m so mad at Jack, I can’t see straight, and the whiskey is making me feel loopy. A couple swear words slip out of my loosened lips, but people don’t move out of the way to let me through. Exasperated, I ask a girl with fake boobs, too much makeup and too little clothing, “Excuse me, where’s the bathroom?”
    She eyes me for a second, and points with one fire-engine-red fingernail. “That way.”
    “Thanks.”
    I turn to leave, but she stops me with a grab of my arm. “Hey. Are you with them?” Confused, I look at her hand until she releases me. “Sorry. Was that too tight?”
    “No, it’s fine,” I lie. “Them? Who’s them? Oh… yeah. I guess I am.”
    “I’m a friend of theirs. I’ll come with you.” She slides her arm through mine. “You don’t want to get lost. I love your dress!”
    “Yeah? I wasn’t sure about it, but it’s okay I guess.” I glance down and see our legs keeping time as we head through a hallway littered with people engaged in conversations, voices bouncing against the walls over the beat of the music.
    “I’m Desiree.”
    “Rue.”
    “So, who made you cry?” She holds the door open for me.
    “Wait, what? Cry?” I throw her a weird smile and run to the mirror, remembering I never checked my face after the restaurant. “Holy crap! Oh my God! My face is a disaster! I can’t believe he saw this! I look like a heartbroken druggie after a bender!”
    Desiree leans her hip on the bathroom counter. “You can’t believe who saw this?”
    Snatching a paper towel, wetting it and wiping at the smears, I mutter incredulously, “Alec Gabriel! Oh my God! Just looking at him made my panties fall off and here I was this whole time looking like THIS! How is he ever going to want me now ?” From out of nowhere, Desiree punches me in the face. In the mirror I see it coming at me like I’m watching an alien pop out of the wall. The hard blast of her knuckles cracks me hard and fast in the cheek. My head swings to the side and I drop the soggy paper towel and make a horrible sound of agony.
    I hear her screaming, “Put me down! Put me down!” I spin around to find Alec carrying the crazy bitch, kicking and screaming into the larger of the stalls. “PUT ME DOWN YOU LYING SACK OF SHIT!”
    Oh. So that’s what’s going on.
    He jogs his chin to the older female bathroom attendant in a silent command for help. Wide-eyed, she leaves her counter of necessities–gum, deodorant, hair ties, all available for the price of a tip–and runs over to do his bidding. Everyone knows who he is. Everyone has him in their playlists. Everyone has seen that famous shot of him wearing no shirt on stage in Germany, shiny sweat droplets flying off his hair as he sang their favorite song, I Need You More Than I Need Air . When this guy asks for your help, you help. You want to take off all your clothes and THEN help, because that’s the natural state to be in with a guy who has this much testosterone.
    There are other girls in the bathroom, gawking at the scene. I stare open-mouthed, my hand on my hurting cheek as he commands her, “Hold the door. I can get security to get her out of here.”
    The lady practically jumps on the stall door to hold it shut. On the other side, Desiree is still kicking and screaming, “You fucking liar!!!” She grabs at the woman’s hands. The attendant yelps and moves them, holding the door with both hands flat, her rear sticking out, and her feet staggered like she’s about to take off for a race.