Dumping the contents of my to-go bag on the counter, I found the compact to blot the oil off my face. I blotted and breathed, trying to calm my nerves after making a fool of myself in front of Brent. God, he probably saw that I was drunk and wrote me off as an idiot. I am kind of an idiot, I thought. I reapplied mascara and hoped it would be enough.

I also hoped Brent would not be at the party when I went back in.

The party was still in full swing when I slowly crept back down the stairs. No one glanced at me; they were all consumed with themselves. Laughter and chatter filled in where the music didn’t, and I could almost hear distant cheers from another room. Probably more beer pong.

In every room, there were party goers dancing, drinking, or playing a party game. Some dressed like I did, a glammed up mini dress, while others opted for more casual party attire. Heels and flats, dresses and shorts, and the men chose heavily varied levels of formality.

Board shorts all the way up to suits.

Wild.

A figure approached me. Garrett. His medium-length sandy blonde hair, dressed in blue chino pants with a cream linen top, and a smile that dazzled. “Hey, you.” He pulled me into a small embrace, kissing my cheek. “Thought you ditched after beer pong. Sorry they made you drink so much.”

“It’s fine,” I said, leaning into his warm touch. I was definitely drunk if I started thinking about how nice it would be to take him upstairs. Note to self, no drinking around guys. “I’m new to parties, remember? I’ll need a big strong man like you to help me out.” I shot him a little pout.

“Can this big strong man invite his girl to dance?” He held out his free hand to me, offering a dance.

“Maybe one or two...” I smirked as he pulled me into the space people were dancing in.

I swayed a bit to the beat and did a small spin while keeping hold of his hand.

“She can dance?” he asked.

“I’m interdisciplinary. I do favor classic dances like the tango, though. Did you know I participate in ballet?”

We continued to sway to the beat while I allowed him to direct most of my steps. He seemed to have a sense of dance to him, but most rich kids had training in multiple areas to appear cultured. “Well, let’s dance then.” He placed a hand at the top of my hip and interlaced his other in mine.

As the bass pulsed in the room, he led me through a series of spins and dips, never taking his eyes off mine. His hands were steady as we glided across the dance floor, a laugh erupting from my throat.

“Wow,” I breathed. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew your way around a dance floor?”