"No," I interrupt before she can finish the thought.
But then her eyes widen and she latches onto my fingers, pulling me closer. Someone behind us whistles, a jerk expecting to get a show. But Bridge ignores the catcall, placing her lips almost against my ear, asking, "Is he pressuring you?"
"No!" I jerk back, shaking my head. "Not at all."
"Well, because I want you to know that if you're not ready, he can wait. And if he can't wait, he can be replaced."
I smile at the protectiveness in her tone. "Bridge, really, Patrick is great. I'm just a little tired, there's nothing going on that I can't tell you."
"Promise?" she asks, earnest, holding up her pinky finger.
I latch my pinky finger around hers, tightening the hold, binding the agreement. "Promise."
"Good," she says. And then adds, wiggling her eyebrows, "So, what do you think of my date?"
But before I can answer, the DJ's voice blasts over the music. "One minute until midnight, everyone. Let the countdown begin!" All the screens in the room flash from the view of Times Square to a blinking clock.
Sixty.
Fifty-nine.
Fifty-eight.
"Oh no!" I shout to Bridge. "Did you realize it was so close to midnight?"
"No!" she shouts back.
The booth where Patrick and gym-boy wait is all the way across the club, and it would take far more than a minute to get there.
Fifty-one.
Fifty.
"What should we do?" I ask.
Bridge is chewing on her lip looking around, shrugging. And I know what her silence means. There's nothing we can do. I've ruined yet another New Year's Eve.
Forty-four.
Forty-three.
I look around, eyes scanning the crowd. Maybe Patrick is on his way here. Maybe he'll surprise me. Maybe the night won't be ruined after I put so much hope on starting the new year the right way—as a new me.
Thirty.
Twenty-nine.
My eyes stop, narrowing, zeroing in on a boy turned away from me. His shaggy hair looks liquid black in the strobe lights. His head swivels enough to reveal cream skin illuminated blue then purple then pink. He's looking for someone, just like I am, scanning the crowd. He shifts a little farther.
His nose is familiar. His jaw is too.
Ollie?
Twenty.
Nineteen.
I take a step forward. Is that Ollie?
My heart pounds, louder to my ears than the music, thrumming with anticipation. Did he come for me? And I know the answer to that question is yes, because there's no other reason he would be here, searching the crowd. No other person he would want to find. My fingers tremble. My lips tingle. I want to kiss him at midnight.
I have a boyfriend.
I don't care.
Not when Ollie finally wants me.
Fifteen.
Fourteen.
Ollie turns. My heart stops. Sinks. There's an empty hole where it rested, a concave feeling in my chest. Hollow.
It's not Ollie.
I blink, shaking my head, taking in the face turned fully in my direction. The dark hooded eyes, the light of recognition for finding someone else in the crowd. The jaw, the nose, the lips, all nearly the same. But his eyes. His eyes are totally different.
Idiot. I step back. Of course it's not Ollie. He's never wanted me like that, not like I've wanted him.
Eleven.
And then the entire room pauses, shouting in unison, excitement palpable.
Ten.
Nine.
But I'm fading, disappearing in my own skin, shrinking away from the happiness piercing the room all around me. How could I be so stupid? After everything? Thinking Ollie would come after me—I'm delusional. And I need to get him out of my system, once and for all. I need this year to be different. I need this year to be more.
Six.
Five.
A hand grabs my fingers, twisting me around. And for a moment, I wonder if I was wrong. But it's Patrick. Smiling, wonderful, possibly in love with me, Patrick.
Four.
Three.
"You found me!" I shout.
He grins, honey eyes warm and meant only for me. "Of course."
Two.
I don't wait for midnight. I grab Patrick by the face, crashing his lips against mine, kissing him to make myself forget, to force myself to forget. The room erupts around us as the countdown ends. Noisemakers. Shouts. Fireworks echoing from the television screens overhead. And I know this is when I'm supposed to break away, to speak, to say something.
But I don't.
I wrap my hands around his neck, pressing against Patrick, deepening the kiss. Urgent. And he's the one who breaks away.
"Happy New Year," he whispers.
I breathe heavily into the silence, teetering on a precipice, not sure if I'm ready to fall. But it seems like no matter what I do, I'll be tumbling one way or another.
I meet Patrick's curious gaze with a hungry one all my own.
"Want to get out of here?" I murmur, and then I swallow the knot of panic back down.
His brows lift, surprised, but then he blinks and his whole face softens into a smile. "Yeah. Sure. Let's get out of here."
Half an hour later, he's slipping the key to his apartment into the lock and turning the knob. We don't wait until we're inside. Once the door is open, our lips are locked together.
Patrick kicks the door closed with his foot.
My jacket falls to the ground.
His coat follows.
Then his shirt.
Then my shoes.
And we're stumbling to his bedroom, leaving a trail behind. We stop against the door, him in his boxers, me in my bra and underwear. And I know once we're inside, those are the first things to go. Patrick's hands are exploring my skin. His lips leave a blazing fire down the side of my neck. Even in the heat of this moment, I close my eyes to see the vision of someone else pressing me against the wall, someone else holding me, someone else wanting me.
Turquoise eyes burn behind my lids.
I open, gazing into the hazel eyes before me in real life.
We're both breathing heavily.
We both know it's my move.
I reach back, fumbling with my fingers until they find the metal knob. I turn. The door creaks open behind me, sending a blast of cool air against my bare skin. A shiver shoots up my spine. Goose bumps rise along my arms.
Patrick still waits for my move.
I take a step back, tugging him forward. And he doesn't need any more motivation than that. He doesn't know I'm a virgin. I never felt comfortable enough to tell him. But on some level, he must know something. Because as soon as we cross the threshold, the power shifts and Patrick takes control.
We ease slowly onto his bed.
Smoothly.
There's no awkward movement. Patrick knows exactly what he's doing. Which is good, because I'm diving into unknown territory. And the closer I get to hitting the bottom, the more panicked I become. The heat beneath my skin shifts, constricting my breath. My heartbeat surges, pounding against my chest, painful. I grow dizzy, lightheaded, until I'm barely aware of what's happening around me.
But I press forward.
Every sigh that escapes my lips sounds of pleasure.
I have to do this.
I want to do this.
Patrick pauses above me, and I find his eyes. "Are you ready?" he asks.
Yes.
I want to say it.
One simple word. Yes.
Maybe if I do this, I can finally move on. It's the one thing I haven't tried. I close my eyes, Ollie's face appears. I open and it's Patrick. My eyes shift in rapid succession until the two images begin to blur.