Chapter 68

The One With A Loss Of Control

A R I E L L E

“Did I tell you that you look really fit tonight?” James questions from beside me, squeezing my hand in his. I can feel his eyes on me, looking me up and down and so, I turn to meet his stare.

“Maybe once or twice,” I tease, both of us aware that he’s said it probably half a dozen times, like a broken fucking record.

He rings the doorbell and I peek down at what I’m wearing again. I chose to wear a lace bodysuit, form-fitting jeans and my usual leather jacket. It didn’t seem over the top, but the way James keeps commenting on it makes me wonder.

Whatever, I couldn’t care less.

When the front door opens, we’re greeted with somebody that I don’t know. James clearly knows him, however, as he greets the man with his name. “Khalil, this is Arielle, my girlfriend.”

I extend my hand as he does the same. “Just Ari’s fine,” I inform him. There’s only two people that call me by my full name—a thought I’d rather not think about right now.

After that event and seeing Nate, I’d rather forget everything that happened that night. That night was difficult for James and I. He was so patient with me, but I was a fucking mess and it caused me to distance myself from him for about a week. That is, until he insisted that no matter how hard I pushed him away for stupid shit like feelings, he wasn’t going anywhere.

“It’s nice to meet you. C’mon in, guys.” He takes a step back, allowing us to enter his home.

The music becomes louder, booming around in the space. When I enter, the first thing I notice is the tile flooring, which is only making the music echo at a louder volume.

The faint smell of weed welcomes my nostrils and a pang of pain clutches at my chest. The last time I smoked was with him. It only reminds me of the time we got stoned and he literally fucked my tits on his sofa.

Jesus, I need a drink.

Khalil doesn’t hang around for long because someone calls his name and he saunters off in that general direction. “So, is it someone’s birthday?” I inquire as James and I kick off our shoes and toss them into the pile of others.

There’s a lot of people here. People that I don’t care to meet, since there’s no way I’ll remember everyone anyway.

“Uh, Zara’s friends’ birthday. If I remember correctly, her name is Lynn.”

“Do you have any idea who that is?” I chuckle when I ask the question. There’s so many people that I can’t even manage to find Chase or Zara, even though I know they’re already here.

That is, until I hear Chase’s voice yelling out, “That was one fuckin’ time!” from inside the house and my eyes find him sitting on the couch with a few people.

“I’m sure once we find Zara, she’ll point the birthday girl out,” he smiles, fighting back laughter at Chase’s hysterics.

James turns towards me, grabbing my chin in between his fingers to tip it upwards. He presses his lips to mine and any worries I had, any negative thoughts, melt away. If only for a moment.

“Ari!” Chase’s voice is fucking ear-piercing, even stronger than the music booming around us.

James laughs against my lips, pulling away to see Chase approaching us. In typical Chase fashion, he trips on an ottoman, falling to his knees.

He’s quick to stand to his feet, rolling it off as if it never happened. He’s clearly disoriented a little, holding his hands out to balance himself, as if he stood too fast and got a head rush.

When he’s close enough, I note that surprisingly he’s not drunk. Not yet, anyways.

“Damn, girl!” He compliments me, grabbing the one side of my jacket to hold it out so he’s able to get a better look. “You look good. Who’re you trying to impress?”

James presses himself into my side, wrapping a hand protectively around my waist. “Perhaps it’s me.”

“Right,” Chase brushes off, “I always forget you two are fucking.” I laugh at his comment, because he’s not wrong. Despite us having official labels for a few weeks now, Chase still can’t seem to remember that fact. “You know Khalil, don’t you?”

“I do, yeah.” James answers, grabbing the case of beer he brought for himself and the bottle of vodka that I chose to be my poison for the evening. Thank God for ride share services allowing us to both have some fun.

“Have you met Lynn? This is her birthday party.” He searches around the space as he talks, nearly disorienting himself a second time as he attempts to find her amongst the sea of faces. Eventually, he spots a red head on the far side of the house and yells her name out.

The closer she gets to us, the redder her hair becomes. And I’m not talking the orange-red you associate with natural red heads, this is scarlet red hair dye. When she’s only a few steps away, my eyes study the snake tattoo wrapped around her throat.

Okay, she’s kind of really hot.

“Hey, I’m Lynn!” She introduces herself, friendly smile on her lips. Her eyes are rimmed with a bit of redness—either tipsy or stoned, maybe both—as she looks between James and I.

“Ari,” I reply, “Happy birthday.”

James makes an introduction as well, wishing her a happy birthday and offering her one of his beers. She declines it, but he insists since it’s her day and her party, to which she eventually accepts.

“So you know Chase, anybody else you know here?” She inquires, twisting the cap off the beer bottle James gifted her to take a swig of it.

“I might know a few more than Ari will.”

“Zara’s our connection,” I explain. I believe I was told that Lynn is one of Zara’s longtime friends, which would explain how Chase knows her and why James knows some of the crowd.

“Oh, Zara! She’s around here somewhere,” she peers over her shoulder as someone calls her name. I imagine it’s been happening to her all night. When she turns back to us, she offers, “Make yourself at home, guys. Have a good time. I’m sure I’ll make it around to you again at some point.”

I give her a warm smile, observing as she walks away. “She seems nice,” I comment to James and Chase. Although, by the time I turn to look at them again, I realize that I didn’t even notice Chase leave.

“I think I’ve met her once before. I faintly remember her. Most of Zara’s friends are good people.”

“Most,” I fixate on that word, repeating it lowly.

James laughs, “Yeah, most.” He grabs my hand, yanking me towards the kitchen.

I almost feel lost, not really knowing anybody. I’m a sociable person, but it’s still a bit odd to be somewhere you don’t know that’s filled with people you don’t have any prior connection too. Especially when everyone else seems to recognize majority of the crowd.

James grabs me a red cup and some soda, pouring some of the vodka inside with it. He offers it to me to try and I lift the plastic to my lips to taste it. “Too strong?” He questions after I don’t respond.

“No, it’s good.” I take another drink of it, watching him put our drinks into the fridge, ensuring that our Sharpied names are easily visible. “Thank you.”

We move together over to the far side of the island and I simply stand beside him, observing people. Studying who knows who to see who I can make acquaintance with.

We’re not standing together for long when I hear the front door swing open. I focus on the feeling of James’ hand as he dances his fingers up and down my spine beneath my jacket. It’s relaxing and I lean into his touch, enjoying the particular song that’s blaring around us.

Eventually, I lift my head to see who has arrived, unable to hold back my curiosity.

It’s like some movie moment, because I swear to Christ that the crowd parts so that I’m able to get a perfect view.

Of fucking Nate as he enters the house with someone latched onto his arm that instantly makes fire consume me—white, hot and insistent.

Bratalie.

James hasn’t noticed the new guests. Not until he sees me in shock. Not until my red cup falls from my hands and spills all over the tile flooring I was looking at earlier.

I’m not looking at him, but I’m sure he twists his neck to see what has got me so consumed, because I hear him lowly ask, “What the fuck?”

I feel so exposed—his proximity is so incredibly intoxicating it’s like I’ve just been caught with a needle in my arm. He’s a drug, an addictive one, and I’m not sure it’s a habit I can kick. One strong, euphoric hit and I was hooked. All it took was that moment he pinned me to the hood of his car. After that moment, he became my own personal strain.