New Romantics

Chapter 6

I wondered if the events on my balcony set off a reaction.

Before, the Universe refused to allow Leo and me more than a few seconds together.

Now, we were seemingly thrown into the same situation everywhere I turned. If I weren't so buzzed, I would ask the Universe what it was planning.

"What are you doing here?" Leo asked, his voice clear despite the erratic thumps of the music. My dizziness and the closeness of the crowd made it impossible to step away. Those mixed with the force at which I tripped made it feel as though I was still falling, and I gripped his forearm for dear life, my body buzzing from the heat of his touch.

What is with guys and feeling like portable heaters?

"I'm stalking you, of course," I said. When I looked at him, there was a trace of horror on his features that quickly disappeared when he realized I was being sarcastic. "I'm having a good time. At a party." A hiccup forced its way up my throat. "Aren't you supposed to be in—like—Boston or something?"

"Boston?" Leo repeated, confused.

"That's why you missed training, right?" I asked. Was I speaking gibberish? Leo couldn't make it to his shift. But he sure could make it to a party. I craned my neck to look over his shoulder in the hopes that my admirer was still interested. It was hard to properly focus in the dimly lit room; each flash of colorful light made it harder to balance.

Leo tensed against me. "What are you doing?"

I snapped back to my senses. In my search for the stranger—as I craned my neck to get a look over Leo's shoulder—I leaned all the way forward into his chest. My chin brushed his collarbone. The sickly sweet, alcohol-saturated air turned earthy from the mixture of sweat and cologne. He was hard and firm against my body.

My heart catapulted into my throat.

I pushed him away.

He caught me by the wrist before I landed on my ass.

"Thank you," I said, breathlessly, sure he couldn't hear me. For a moment, I went from good drunk to bad drunk, and my head swam. What was I doing here? I tensed when another hand brushed my shoulder. Unlike Leo, this hand was cold, and I shifted my weight to one leg, my heel sticking to the sticky floorboards, and turned. Delight flooded through me.

His hair was styled in a short, white-blond fade that contrasted beautifully against his dark skin. With my heels, we stood the same height, and his pearlescent smile sent a bolt of giddiness through my stomach, switching me back to good—no, great—drunkenness.

"Are you good?" he called over the music. I eyed the second drink in his hand, the DTE stitched on his polo and smiled. That smile dissolved when instead of letting go, Leo tugged me closer to him.

"I'm good!" I said. My words were meant for both of them. For my admirer, it meant: I would like to kiss you. For Leo, it meant: You can let go of me now. Leo's scowl deepened; he didn't drop my wrist. He stared at my admirer with hardened suspicion. The music changed into a dangerous drumming in my chest. The air thinned around me. The other boy's smile never once faltered.

"Leo!" He raised his drink. "Glad to see you're okay!"

Leo's mouth twitched in a half smile. "No, you're not, Jordan!"

My lips parted. Oh, great. There was nothing more chaotic than two drunk guys who didn't like either other. It either turned into a preening contest or a fistfight. Usually, hand-in-hand. But why now? Why here of all places, dammit!