Making an assessment

Noah took a breath, still slumped against the wall with elbows on his knees, his phone in his hand, as he debated sending her another text. The line shuffled forward, buzzing with nervous energy, and the hum of anticipation.

His stomach twisted.

It shouldn’t have hit this hard. They had been dating for about two months. As long as he didn’t count the times he just hovered around her, working up the courage to ask her out. Still, they never put a label on it. He never asked.

They’d kissed a lot and fooled around. He knew the shape of her thighs better than the tone of her voice when she got angry. They hadn’t even had the chance to fight about anything yet. He didn’t know what her childhood was like. She’d told him she hated artificial cinnamon-flavored things and that she loved the beach, and the smell of gasoline. They were maybe on the cusp of something more serious, but if he was honest with himself, they were still feeling each other out.

But if he was really honest with himself, he kind of fell for her anyway.

The way she smiled, big, real, toothy, like it hit her whole face at once. The way she grabbed his hand when she wanted to show him something stupid on her phone. The way she curled into his passenger seat like a cat on a pillow.

It hadn’t felt casual. Not to him.

But that was before she walked into that room and let strangers...

He stopped the thought before it could finish.

He wondered if there was a chance she was ****, or maybe she got pressured into doing it.

She hadn’t even tried to text him back. He had seen her twice now. Glimpses of her. She wasn’t trying to run away. Based on the stories he had heard, she was having the time of her life. She’d chosen this. That much he was sure. There were no more stories he could tell himself to think otherwise.

And if she didn’t care, why should he?

Noah stood up slowly. Legs stiff, heart dull and heavy. The guys in line barely noticed him stand up. The door stayed closed.

He stared at it a few seconds longer. Just long enough to burn the memory into place. Then he turned around and made his way downstairs.

The party felt brighter now. Louder. Meaner, somehow.

Someone shoved a Solo cup in his hand. Vodka. Or rum. Or just rubbing **** with Coke. He downed it so fast he barely tasted it.

He pushed through the crowd, his jaw tight, scanning for someone, anyone, to talk to. Or drink with. He just wanted to not think anymore.

He caught a glimpse of Jacob over by the makeshift bar, laughing with two girls, red plastic cups stacked in a pyramid next to them. Noah stormed over, grabbed a bottle of Fireball from the table without asking, and took a long, stupid swig.

Jacob raised his eyebrows. “Whoa. Everything good, man?”

Noah wiped his mouth. His throat burned.

“Great,” he said, voice hoarse. “Fucking perfect.”

Jacob nodded slowly. “Alright then. Pace yourself.”

Noah turned away before he could say anything else. Made his way back toward the hallway.

If Jillian wanted to be that girl, fine.

They hadn’t fucked yet, not really, but if she was giving it away, he decided that he might as well get some too.