She pulls her phone from her cleavage and taps on it. “Ten of midnight. Why?”
“I think the music’s too loud for this time of night. We have neighbors. I’m worried someone’s going to call the cops.”
“Whose phone is connected to the speakers?”
“Ollie’s I think.”
I head back toward the bonfire to where Ollie stands with a group of people.
“Ollie,” I yell over the pounding bass, waving my hand in the air. “Hey, Oliver!”
“Heeey!” He throws both his hands in the air. His dance partner, Logan, takes the opportunity to put his hands on Ollie’s hips and slide up behind him, getting intimately close. I’m almost embarrassed to watch as they rock their hips in perfect rhythm to the music. But I steel my nerves and grab my best friend’s hand anyway.
“We need to turn the music down,” I shout. He seems to sober up a little, but not enough to get him to stop dancing. “Someone’s going to call the cops.”
“Okay, mom,” he giggles. “I’ll let the DJ know.”
I roll my eyes. “Where’s your phone?”
“I don’t know. Logan, where’s my phone?”
“I think it’s on my dick,” Logan says.
They both start laughing.
“Ollie,” I say harshly to get his attention. “Turn the music down.”
“Nat, dance with us.” He grasps my hand and tries to get me to dance. I pull away, frustrated and about ready to lock myself in my room until everyone leaves.
“Just give me your phone,” I yell.
He fishes his phone out of his pocket, fails to unlock it twice, then hands it to me. “You really need to chill.”
“I’m chill,” I snap. “Totally chill.”
I unlock Ollie’s phone with his pin and lower the music volume, prompting a bunch of people to start booing. Among his notifications, I spot two unread text messages from his dad. Before I can pull them up, he takes his phone back.
“Take a selfie with me,” he says.
“Take one with Logan.” I direct Ollie’s attention to his eager dance partner and head back to the house to perform more damage control. Thankfully most of the party guests have managed to keep their trash in the vicinity of the bins.
I pick up a crushed beer can and toss it into the recycling, frowning at a stain on the linoleum. After all the work we put into the house, it’s painful to see the condensation rings on the wood furniture, and the beer splashed on the hardwood.
I tie up a garbage bag and haul it toward the back door. Just when I think my luck might be shifting in my favor, Toby walks into the kitchen.
“Nat, baby, I’ve been looking all over for you,” he slurs. “Where’ve you been hiding?”
“Nowhere, Toby. I’ve been right here the whole time.” I paste a tight smile onto my face as I plop the garbage bag down by the steps in the garage.
“Get out,” I yell, holding the door open for them. When they stare at me without moving, I gesture for them to leave. “Out of my room now, people!”
They bitch and moan on their way out. As soon as they’re gone, I throw the door closed and immediately strip off my comforter. I’m under the blanket with my face pressed to the pillow when I hear a knock on the door.
I sigh heavily and turn over, ready to tell whoever’s knocking to go away. But the door opens before I can respond.
“Hey,” Toby says, his easy smile back in place. “You look good tonight. Did I tell you that?”
“No,” I say flatly. “I actually need a minute alone, Toby, so could you close the door on your way out?”