Reckless

Chapter 18| Dakota Anderson [REWRITTEN]

    "You're a fucking idiot," I cursed myself, because that's all you could be in love.

    Even if Connor was just experimenting then what did it matter that it was with Esme? She was kind, gorgeous and sophisticated. Her travels had provided her a wealth of knowledge into different cultures and a high education made it easy to have a conversation about anything with her. Was that something Connor wanted?

    A part of me deflated a little at the thought of Connor being with someone else. He wasn't mine, but now that I wanted him to be, it hurt.

    I finally began to drive just before the light turned red again. "Whatever. It doesn't matter."

    Connor could have Esme. He could have fancy cars and money and pretty dark curls to run his hands through and-

    "Hey, man. What's up?" Keegan answered the phone after only the first ring.

    My hands clenched around the steering wheel, my phone cradled in the holder next to it. "Call everyone. I don't care who turns up. Just make it happen."

    "Not that I don't appreciate a good party," Keegan said slowly, "but are you okay?"

    "I'm fine." The odometer clicked over eighty. "Are we doing this or not?"

    "Okay, yeah. I'll make the call." Keegan said, somewhat carefully. "See you soon."

    I ended the call and focused on the drive home. If I couldn't have the one thing I wanted then I was damn well going to have the distraction.

***

    "Not that I don't love your spontaneous side," Quinton yelled over the blaring music three hours later. "But what inspired you to throw an out-of-the-blue party at ten o'clock on a Friday night?"

    Alcohol was quickly working its way through my bloodstream, giving the edges of my vision a nice rosy haze. Everything was flashes of blinding lights and colour beneath the smokescreen of tequila.

    "What are you talking about?" I slurred. Somehow I'd ended up on the outskirts of the living room, my friends on either side of me. That was weird. When had I moved from the kitchen? Or the living room? Or the back deck where I'd been aggressively flirting with a football player I was sure had been into me since ninth grade.

    Keegan leaned against the wall on my left, half-watching at least six-dozen drunken teenagers scream the lyrics to a song by The Weeknd. He looked back to me and said, "I think he's asking what brought on this sudden desire to fill your house with people you haven't spoken to since you were sixteen."

    "Oh, please," I scoffed, nearly tripping over my feet as I moved to look out across the living room and pointed, "That's Sammy from Bio. Christian from Maths. That...is the weird kid who ate a whole peanut butter jar on a dare and then threw up in the science lab. What was his name again? Darren? Dustin? Either way. He's known as Butter Binge Boy now. Do you think they ever found the vomit he left in Mr Hanforth's de-"

    Keegan hauled me back into the dark hallway. I hiccupped once at the force before crashing against the wall, laughing stupidly. "What? I'm just stating facts."

    "Dakota," Quinton said, and he sounded concerned. I hated that.

    Reaching out, I used my fingers to push both sides of Quinton's mouth up, forcing a smile onto his face. "You shouldn't frown so much. You're too handsome to let that smile go to waste. Hey! Question. Do you think Esme gets to see him smile? I mean, he's so pretty. And it's so easy to make him laugh." My hands were moving in big gestures now that I didn't remember deciding to do. "Do you think she makes him laugh? I want to make him laugh. I want to make him smile all the time, like, you don't even know. I would burn bridges for that smile."