“I have faced worse.”
“Yeah, I bet you have.” I glance at him for a second under the light, trying to figure out what Tex was so weirded out about. I did warn her that he was strange. Maybe he's stranger than I thought.
I open the door and we're blasted with noise and heat and the smell of smoke and sweat and booze. It's overwhelming. I breathe it in, wanting to drown in it. Parties always have that effect on me. I don't want to go and then I get there and don't want to leave.
“You're going to be okay, right?” I check to make sure he's not freaking out. He is unruffled, as always.
“Yes.” I had hoped for something more reassuring, but he isn't a very reassuring person. Noctalis.
I look for her, but Tex has already been swallowed up in the mayhem.
“I am right behind you.” I hear his voice even though the music is loud enough I can feel it pulsing in my veins. I have the instinct to grab Peter's hand so I won't lose him, but I suppress it. He sticks out, and not just due to the fact that he isn't wearing a wife beater or a Hooter's t-shirt like every other guy. The air around him is different, or something foreign seeps from his pores. It's easier to see when he's standing in a room full of human guys.
“I should have told you what to wear. It's a theme party.” He stays silent as we walk into the melee. “I'm going to find Jamie.” I yell so he can hear me, which is stupid. Of course he can hear me.
I thread my way through the party, finding Jamie watching a game of beer pong, as usual. He's done the cleaner version of white trash, with a white tank top and some sort-of ripped jeans. Along with some weird sunglasses and an empty beer can in a cozy that says Life's a Beach on it, he's the classiest trash I've ever seen. His eyes widen as he looks me up and down. There's a lot of skin to look at. I blush under all the glitter, wishing I felt less naked.
“Hey,” he says after he's done examining me. It takes him a second to register Peter.
“Jamie, this is Peter. Peter, Jamie.” I gesture to each in turn, crossing my fingers that this will go better than the Tex intro.
“Oh, hey.” Jamie holds out his hand for a shake. Panicking, I try to catch Jamie's eye to tell him that's a no go, but he's staring at Peter.
“It is nice to meet you.” Peter puts his hand into Jamie's. My mouth drops open. I struggle to close it as Jamie takes his hand back, frowning. I have to bite back a bunch of things I want to say to break the moment and distract Jamie. He does it for me.
“So, how did you two meet?” He examines his hand as I die a little inside.
“I spilled a soda on him at Miller's a few weeks ago.” I'd come up with the story while Tex was doing my hair.
“Are you from around here?” He directs this question to Peter, looking him right in the eye. Bold.
“New York, originally,” he says without so much as a blink. Jamie stands tall like he's sizing Peter up.
“What brings you to this neck of the woods?” My hands keep twitching so I hide them behind my back.
“My mother has always wanted to live in Maine.” He never told me that. I wonder if it's true.
“Hey, I'm going to get a drink, you want to come with me?” I say, trying anything to end the awkward conversation. I hope Peter will take the hint.
“I'll come with you,” Jamie says. Dear god, will this ever end? What the hell was I thinking?
“Have you seen Tex?” he says as we wind our way back to the kitchen.
“No, she's probably dancing.” I look at the dance floor, but there is such a mishmash of people I can't pick her out. I hope she doesn't get wasted, because she's supposed to be the designated driver, and I'm terrified I'm going to crash her car.
“Do you want a drink?” I ask Peter, hoping he doesn't think I mean the blood variety. It's just a courtesy, since I need to make him look as natural as possible.
“No, thank you.” His eyes stay on mine in that unnerving way he has. I'm going to kill Tex for convincing me to wear this thing. I've gotten more than a few looks and a whistle. Not that it isn't flattering, but I don't like guys I have to see on Monday in geometry thinking about me that way.
I grab a beer from the sink full of ice. Looks like I'm going to need it. Peter stands next to me, looking at all the people. It didn't even occur to me that he might want to, um, feed. That a room full of sweaty teenagers might not be the best place for someone who feeds on blood.
“Hey, J, can you come help me man?” One of Jamie's teammates, dressed in a NASCAR shirt and a Budweiser hat tipped sideways stumbles over. Probably needing help with a kegstand or something. Jamie glares at Peter, as if to issue some sort of man challenge. Peter seems immune.
“I'll see you later.” He gives Peter one last glare before following his drunken buddy. I crack the top of my can and take a swig for spite as soon as he's gone. “Sorry about him, too,” I say to Peter. “This was a bad idea.”
“It is all right.”
“How is it you're always so calm? Nothing phases you.” The beer needs lime, but I can't find any.
“I have been through many things. A party is nothing different.”
“I guess.” I drink again. The beer zips through me, warming my blood and making my face hot. Peter and I stand in awkward silence. He seems a million miles away.
“What are you doing back here?” Tex bounces over. Her skirt is all over the place, but compared to some of the other outfits, her's is mild.
“Just getting a drink,” I say, holding up my beer.
“Come on, you need to dance.” Ignoring Peter, she grabs my arm and pulls me along to the next room where most of the dancers are going nuts. The music pounds, making me ache to dance. I'd missed my chance at the last party, thanks to Jamie. All I want is to move and lose myself in music and let my body do what it was made for. I miss it.
I know Peter's right behind me. I'm getting better at feeling the disturbance he causes in a room.
“You can leave if you want. I'm sorry I dragged you into this.” I whisper it, but I know he'll hear. His hand skims my shoulder accidentally. Nothing Peter does is accidental.
“I will stay with you,” he says in my ear. He's much closer than I thought. Goosebumps errupt on my skin.
“I'm going to be dancing.” I turn to face him. Tex is already going at it, twirling in her skirt, hands in the air. I hope no one takes pictures of this. I search for his eyes. It is even harder to find them in the dark, strobe-lighted room.
“May I dance with you?” His head does that side thing, and my lungs find it hard to function for a second. He wants to what?