He follows me, not once taking his hand from the small of my back as we make our way across the room. I try to walk faster, only to get back at him for what he did to me on the dance floor, but he squeezes my waist and keeps up with me.

We sit down on stools at the crystal-encrusted bar and I order drinks for the both of us. A Hugo cocktail for me and a red wine for him. He seems like the type to drink it.

Our drinks arrive pretty quickly, but I’m startled to see him refusing his and ordering a bottle of water instead.

“Wait.” I stop the barman with a raise of my hand, while my eyes are glued to Elias. “Why?”

He shrugs and I pout. I always grab a drink when Mom doesn’t pay attention, although tonight feels different. I’m not drinking as a distraction, I’m drinking because tonight feels good.

“Who’s going to drive?” he says.

Now it’s my turn to shrug, absently playing with the straw in my drink. We can easily call an Uber, but I think it must be an excuse for him to get out of here sooner.

I always drink alone and I thought that today, maybe, I’d have someone to let loose with. I shake my head at my selfishness, knowing it wouldn’t be fair to force him.

“You know what? Forget it,” he says and moves his chair closer to mine. “Thank you.” Elias says to the barman, picking up his wine.

I try to stop the smile from spreading across my face, but I can’t help it. He smiles as well, and I take a sip from my drink.

“My dad used to drink a lot when I was little,” he says.

The statement catches me off guard. Tom didn’t seem like the type. Even imagining him having a drinking problem seems impossible. He looks healthy and happy, but I guess that’s only the outcome of what he’s been through.

“I try to avoid drinking as much as I can.”

I nod, still looking down at my drink, feeling bad for making him keep his wine.

He places the tip of his index finger under my chin, lifting it and forcing me to make eye contact, then lowers his hand and grabs a hold of his drink, drawing circles with it on the counter.

“That period wasn’t nice for any of us, and Mom hates the smell of alcohol.”

He watches my reaction intently. I’m wearing my lenses, but his gaze is strong enough to pierce through them.

Elias points towards my glass. I take a sip and he takes one. But it doesn’t feel fun anymore. I don’t want his mom to be mad at him and I definitely don’t want to bring back bad memories.