The Culture of Hooking Up

CHAPTER NINETEEN

"Hey." I said, taking the open spot next to him.

"Hey," he said before taking a sip out of his cup. A few seconds passed before he passed me another glance. "Do you like this song?"

"No," I chirped and took a swig out of my own cup.

"Oh." He nodded. Another beat passed. "Well, do you wanna dance?"

"Sure," I chirped again, chugged the rest of my lukewarm beer, and then accepted his out stretched hand. And then we danced, and that was it until I left with the excuse of tiredness and headaches and homework to do.

The second night, he was wearing a long sleeve purple shirt with the orange university logo on it. He seemed to perk up just a little more when he saw me, but only just a little bit. Maybe it's only because he was backed into a lonely corner again.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Dance?"

"Sure."

The third night, he was standing next to Chad, and even smiled like him, too. So, I waited for him to come to me, to trek into my corner, this time. After trading some more smiles in between other people and clothing and plastic cups, he finally turned and placed his own cup down on the beer pong table. He either didn't hear or chose to purposely ignore all of Chad's protests as he sauntered on over to me. This time in a navy blue polo and khaki's, which still felt too formal, but it matched his white tennis shoes and the preppy boy crowd he associated with. He didn't say anything. Just smiled and offered me his hand. I accepted it, albeit still clammy, just like the first night.

The fourth night occurred a few weeks later. Not only because life got in the way, but also the campus party crowd decided to quiet down. Everyone knew it was best to lay low because Halloween was approaching and campus security was heightening.

I never planned for that to be the night, not actually in my head, and yet it felt right—like it was enough. I've finally had enough. Sick and tired of all the games because it's not a big deal if I don't treat it like a big deal.

I wore a little black dress with skinny straps. My lacy black bra poked out of sides, under my armpits, but everything else was pretty much covered. It wasn't too tight or too loose, too long or too short. I gave myself just one extra spurt of perfume and a little extra smokey eye in case anyone wanted to ask who I was dressed as. Some did.

"That doesn't really look like a costume," some girl in a little plaid dress with braids and red flats had the audacity to ask.

I took a swig of my beer. "I'm a prostitute."

She didn't like that answer very much.

Brad found me first, casually slinging an arm around my waist from behind as if he actually knew me. As if we were together and not just two strangers who borrow each other for a dance just to escape our lonely corners. He was wearing his red and blue plaid shirt but added two smears of black pant across his cheeks.

"What are you?" he whispered in my ear. I stayed still for a beat, letting him have the upper hand for a brief moment before I whirled around, crunching my now empty cup between our chests.

"A stripper."

He grinned down at me, a mix between his usual shy smile and Chad's. "Sounds good to me."

He grabbed my arm and spun me around and around and around. When he grabbed an extra cup of beer, I followed suit. When Chad handed us shots of vodka, I followed suit, slinging it back. And when it gave Brad the final push he needed, the frat boy ego hidden underneath all those stupid preppy clothes, to start sliding his fingers up my thighs, just barely under the hem of my dress, I let him. I also let him push me back into a dark corner that wasn't very private, especially that night, but was still private enough, and kiss me senseless.