I’m hyperventilating. I can feel my ears filling up—the few sounds in the bar muffled by the oncoming panic attack. I’m going to pass out if I don’t do something, so I crouch down behind the bar and sit with my knees pulled up by my chin, forcing myself to take in deep breaths. I can’t believe this is happening—I’ve survived so many more stressful situations, and this one…this one...is the one that’s going to take me off my feet? I can hear Ben’s laugh—his cackle—and it makes my entire body wash over with a wave of nausea.
I lie down completely now on the slip pad on the floor, my knees bent, and my forearms draped over my head. This is not happening! I can barely hear their voices, but I know the entire band is here. I bet they spent the afternoon listening to Mason talk about me, and how easy I am.
“Avery? What the hell, you’re on the floor!” Claire says, a little louder than I would have liked.
“Shhhhh, just shhhhh!” I say, waving my arm over my head. “I’m fine. Got dizzy. Please, don’t draw attention to me.”
She comes over to sit next to me on the floor, and puts a towel filled with ice on my head and neck. The coldness shocks me a little, but I’m suddenly hearing again and the room is no longer closing in on me.
“Thanks,” I say, wincing at her.
“You should go home. And you shouldn’t drive. I can get Max, let me go get him from Mason,” she says, and I react by grabbing her arm—my fatal error. Claire’s eyes narrow on my grip, and I can see her piece everything together in seconds, and all I have left is my ability to beg.
“Oh. My. God!” she says, again, louder than I’d wish. “You…and Mason!”
“Claire, I’m begging you. Pleeeeeeease!” I whisper roughly, pouring on my best pleading look—hoping she has some line drawn somewhere in her mind that sets off when she’s making her best friend uncomfortable.
“I just need the bare minimum,” she asks, smirk on her face. She’s bribing me—only this time, instead of dirt on someone else or some cute new guy at the bar, she’s strong-arming me for embarrassing details about myself.
“We…kissed,” I say, keeping it very vague. When her face lights up, I know I’ve given her enough. But I also know I’ll be spilling everything soon.
Claire stands back up and continues to act naturally at the bar, looking down at me every few seconds while I work to sit up and get to my feet.
“Where is he?” I ask, now sitting with my legs crossed and my eyes right at Claire’s knees.
“He’s still over in the corner, with Max,” she says. I take a giant big-girl breath and smooth out the loose strand in my hair. I was banking on the few extra minutes alone to really get my legs back, and to figure out whether or not I want to be angry or coy, but he’s already spotted me and is headed my direction.
“You’re here,” he smiles, like nothing’s wrong. Of course I’m here; I’m always here. Jackass.
“Yep,” is all I say. All that time stewing, all of those pretend conversations, giving him a piece of my mind, and that’s the best I can do. Yep. At least I was short, and I can tell he knows I’m pissed.
“Come with me,” he says, grabbing my hand faster than I can pull it away, and walking me around to the front of the bar. I’m expecting him to walk me outside so we can talk about what a mistake last night was privately, but instead, he stops in the middle of the restaurant, pulls out a chair, and proceeds to climb on top of it, reluctantly letting go of my fingers. My brain is telling me now would be a good time to run, but my heart is literally drumming in my throat, and dizziness is threatening again.
“Excuse me, everyone! Guys? Hey, can I have everyone’s attention?” he’s yelling, waving a hand over his head. The bar isn’t Friday-night kind of crowded, but there’s a good amount of people here—at least thirty or forty—and they’re all looking at the unshaven man with the mortified girl standing below him. Just to be sure everyone is watching, Ben stands on a table at the other end of the room and whistles with his fingers.
“I got your back, buddy,” Ben winks and holds up a bottle of beer.
“Thanks, man!” Mason says, his smile huge. He’s loving this—whatever this is. “You all know Avery here, right?”
A couple of whistles have my face absolutely burning with embarrassment, and I cover my face with my hand, staring at my feet.
“She’s cute when she’s shy, isn’t she?” he says, and somehow I know I am now even redder. Oh my god, what is he doing?