Daily Excerpt Post: Day Three

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Daily Excerpt Post

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The party dies down around four o'clock in the morning or so, which is a bummer, because Scott is really starting to enjoy himself. Sober Scott hates dancing but apparently Mildly Drunk Scott loves it, because he's in the center of the makeshift dance floor, Liana Burke pressed against him, his arms around her waist. He's not exactly sure how they'd ended up in this position, because he'd maybe exchanged twenty words with her this entire semester, but he's not complaining. Tomorrow they could both pretend they'd drank too much to remember. When the speakers kick out, she twists around, not breaking contact with his body, and presses her hands flat against his chest.

“Do you want to come back to my dorm?” she asks meaningfully, staring at him through thick eyelashes. He has to admit, she makes a damn cute jazzercise instructor.

But he's meeting his dad tomorrow for lunch, and it's a two hour drive out there, and homework on top of that, and besides, Liana's roommate is a sort-of ex-girlfriend of his. “I can't,” he says, apologetically, carefully peeling her hands away before he's forced to change his mind.

Her face hardens. “Is it because of Charlie?”

Scott doesn't mean to laugh, but, well, six beers and a tequila shot. Liana seems to take that as an insult and she abruptly pulls away from him, turns hard on the spot, and takes off across the floor, Scott shouting at her back, “No! No, it has nothing to do with Charlie!”

As if he'd summoned her, five seconds later, Charlie appears at his elbow. She smiles up at him brightly. “Why so glum, scumbag?”

“Liana Burke invited me back to her room.”

“And you said no?”

“I said no.”

Charlie pulls him in for a hug, a gut-crushing, neck-squeezing hug. She might not be drunk, but she's flushed and slightly sweaty and her pinkish hair is sticking to her neck. “I'm proud of you!” she whispers dramatically in his ear, and then she slings her arm around his back, and he tucks his around her shoulders, and they head out into the chilly morning air, holding onto each other for warmth.

“Where we going?” Scott asks in a singsong voice, not walking quite as straight as he would've liked. One of the Greek gods outside the dining hall seems to have lost a crucial part of his toga and for some reason, that's incredibly hilarious.

“We're putting you to bed, drunky.”

“But I don't want to go to bed.” Scott can hear the whine in his voice. The petulant ten-year-old inside of him tends to come out, just for these occasions. “Let's watch a movie. A scary movie. You can spend the night.”

“And listen to you snore all night long? No thanks.”

“I don't snore.”

Charlie pushes him in the right direction, just enough, and he stumbles a bit, but her arm around him is solid. He's not the only drunk guy heading back into the dorm tonight. He's also not the only drunk guy with a girl under his arm. But he's probably the only drunk guy with a girl under his arm that's inevitably going to be sleeping alone.

“You snore when you're drunk.”

“Well, then, I'm not drunk.”

“Please. You're wasted.”

“Schwasted,” Scott corrects, because that's a much funnier word.

Charlie snorts. “Point proven,” she says, and then ushers him inside.