Page 48 of The Make-Up Test
Allison cracked open her sixth Bud Light and tossed it back. Imagine what tonight could have been if Sophie hadn’t railroaded everything. Right now, Allison would be guiding a group of stumped academics through one of the hardest murder mystery games she’d ever seen, like some film noir ringleader. They’d all be laughing and yelling and drunk on delicious sangria, and, on Tuesday, Colin would have had to hear all about it from the outside. It would have been delightful. And one more point in Allison’s win column.
Instead, she was outside without a jacket or leggings in forty-degree weather and only had Bud Lights to warm her insides. She’d considered more than once going back in, but every time her feet refused to cooperate. Her frustration had built up around her like a wall, thick as concrete and steel and pushing everyone away. If she went back in the house to find herself on the outskirts of her own party, it would breakher. Without Sophie to walk Allison through a set of WCS about anxiety and party etiquette, it was easier not to try. Nothing she avoided could hurt her.
Still, when another round of laughter seeped through the open window, it stabbed like a stake in Allison’s heart.
There was only one thing to do. She popped open another beer. At this point, she’d more than bypassed buzzed and was full-on drunk, which meant the Bud Lights no longer tasted like anything (yay!) but her stomach was a nauseous pit (boo!). She gulped, doing her best not to let the liquid touch her tongue. More slid down her chin than her throat.
Like the lady she was, she used the back of her sweater to wipe her face and neck. Somewhere in her, Allison knew she’d regret that choice in the morning, but the cloud of beer foaming her brain didn’t let her care.
Monty growled, and his long tail curled up in attention. Putting more tension on his leash, Allison let her gaze follow the dog’s down the sidewalk as she took another slug of beer.
Most of it ended up soaking the front of her dress. Her drink never reached her lips.
Less than a block away, Colin stood in the dusky light thrown by the nearest streetlamp, his height rivaling his shadow. His phone sat in his long fingers like a compass, but he was staring straight at her.
Just what this night needed: Colin Benjamin. Her hand squeezed the empty beer can until it crumpled against her palm.
He approached her, stepping so close that only a slab of concrete remained between him and Monty. The dog still watched him keenly, but his tail had begun to wag. The traitor.
Allison crossed her arms. “Why are you here?” She glanced up at the window, hoping no one was looking outside. This wasnotthe time for Sophie to discover that Colin was back in her life. Allison did not have the bandwidth to deal with that, especially not while drunk. Besides, she had every intention of doing her damnedest to push him right back out, so it would be a non-issue.
“It’s our weekly meet-up.”
Allison rolled her eyes. “You were uninvited.”
His head tipped to the side. “When?”
“When you decided to try to fuck up my life again by going after this Wales trip.”
Link’s distinctive laugh wafted through the window, drawing Colin’s eyes to the house. “What are you doing out here if they’re all in there?”
“Monty and I are getting some fresh air.” Allison snapped the tab on her beer. At some point, she’d have to go inside for more. Or, perhaps, she’d continue her hermitage and order some cider from Büzer instead. It cost an arm and a leg, but you couldn’t put a price on proper misanthropy.
“Can I join you?” Colin nodded to the steps.
“No.”
“Allison.”
“I have this alone thing down to a science.”
“Allison.”
“Colin.”
“I’ve been trying to text you all day.”
Hence the reason Allison had muted her phone hours ago.
She cocked her head. It made the whole world tilt. “Did it ever occur to you that I might not want to talk to you?” She let her eyes rise to his face, but it was hard to focus on anything beyond his lips. They were pursed and red like fruit punch, and her drunken mind kept trying to remind her what they’d felt like on her skin all those years ago.
Butterflies. Feathers. Flower petals. Silk. Soft and teasing things that sent a swarm of chills up her back.
“I can explain.”
“I don’t care.” Allison didn’t want to hear his rationales about why this situation was different from the Rising Star or why he deserved a chance as much as she did. That award had meant everything to her,and he hadn’t needed it, and he’d competed against her anyway, just to win. Just to further bolster his already massive ego. Now the stakes were even higher—this was her career, her future. Years of her life she’d dedicated to learning as much as possible about her field of study. And he was ready to take it all from her again.
How had she ever thought he cared about her?
