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Let him fucking watch.

Summer: I’d love to see you try. Come out, come out, wherever you are.

He takes a couple of seconds to respond.

SF: Is that a dare?

I respond the only way I can in my drunken state.

Summer: Fuck you.

SF: I plan to, pretty girl. Real soon.

Good. He’s kept me waiting for two years.

I gently nibble on my lips, a smile forming on my face. This is exactly the version of him I had been hoping for. The side of him that is playful, the one who lovingly calls me his pretty girl. It’s this side of him that never fails to make me squirm.

My mask gets hot, hotter than simmering coals, and my skin heats like molten lava.

I slip my phone into my purse and turn to Dani, who’s dancing with some guy, who has a suspiciously similar build to Xander, looking like she’s about to rail him right on the dance floor.

Even in her drunken state, she’s always been the protector of my things. I nudge her shoulder and raise my purse in her face. She knows what I need without me even having to say it.

She tilts her head, sensing that something is amiss, but grabs my purse and casually slings it over her shoulder, resuming her grinding. I lost my purse that had my credit card and phone in it one night when we were out in Amsterdam. This shouldn’t be a surprise to her, especially since I’m a cheap drunk.

I glance back at Grant, who’s waiting for me, and I stare down at Grant’s poor fingers. I don’t like Grant, and I’m not ready for Grant to lose a limb, but I also don’t appreciate SF’s attempt at sabotaging my date.

Knowing that SF is watching, I step toward Grant and twist my body so my ass is pressed into his center and flip my hair to my side.

Closing my eyes, I sway to the music. I smile because, as tough as SF thinks he is, there is no way he would try anything right now.

There is nothing he can do.

We don’t talk. I grind on Grant the way every girl here is grinding on every guy, giving an added thrust and sexual oomph. I’m not sure how much time goes by, and I seem to get swept up in the music.

Grant’s hands, which are already around my middle, begin to roam to places they shouldn’t, and I can’t move. I can’t say no, I can’t do anything. My body is foreign to me.

I turn to him, but a wave of tingling and nausea washes over me. Whatever he gave me is kicking in, hardcore. I can barely see. The lights are dancing. Masks swirl everywhere and his body is nice. Really nice…

“I need some air,” I tell him and push away before he can protest, disappearing into the crowd before he can follow me.

If I stay near him, he’ll do something, and I can’t let that happen.

The music is so crisp as I float through the crowd, through the sea of masks and limbs and sex. Just a swirl of blurry burlap faces until my head spins and mouth dries up.

I stumble to the side of the room, suddenly regretting my choice of footwear. I lean over and what little I have in my stomach comes boiling into my throat. My heart is racing a million miles an hour.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I’m so high.

I can’t stand still. My body needs stimulation, it needs to move. Almost speedy, like the pill was laced with something.

I run my sweaty hands over my head and face, and deepen my breath as the panic sets in. I yank the mask off and suck in a breath, gasping for air. My hair hangs over my face, and my hairline is drenched with sweat.

The drugs are too much. The room is spinning, the walls closing in, and an overwhelming thirst consumes me—all I can think about is water.

I squat down and rest my hands on my knees, and when I lift my gaze, in the swirling lights and motion, my soul is vibrating.

My mouth goes dry as I whip my head up, and that’s when I see someone watching me.