Lauren poked me as I settled onto the couch and picked the perfect pillow to cuddle. “Do you want to be a hipster or do you want to get drunk?”
“Neither.” I hoped she didn’t, either.
Lucky for my peace of mind, she accepted the veto with good grace. “So what do you want to do tonight?”
I shrugged. “I’m open, as long as it doesn’t cost a lot.”
“There go most of our options.”
In a town the size of Mount Albion, there were college parties of variable quality, two cinemas, numerous bars and one dance club, which was usually a waste of time. But there was no cover. So I said, “We could hit up the Majestic.”
“Eh.” From her expression, she wasn’t enthused but couldn’t think of anything better.
The problem was, the Majestic had been a theater back in its glory days, then new owners bought and gutted the place. They kept the baroque charm on the outside and turned the inside into an industrial mess—all exposed pipes and dummy wires—their idea of where “college kids” would party down. The dance floor was decent, the booze was watered down, music tolerable, but since it was an 18+ club, there were a lot of high school seniors. Management made it easy to spot them by the neon-blue wristbands. People with proper ID got a hand stamp.
“I don’t feel like sitting around tonight. Let’s check it out. If the DJ blows, we can leave early, come home and watch more Storage Wars.” Though I didn’t love the show, Lauren did, so this was a good offer. Left to my own devices, I’d binge on Vikings.
“You’ve convinced me. I could stand to dance.” I sang “I Hope You Dance,” until she attempted to smother me with a pillow.
“Don’t quit your day job,” she advised.
“Wouldn’t dream of it. Without teaching, I’ll be forced to rely on the hope that some rich businessman will decide to keep me as a pet.”
“You should never be allowed to watch Pretty Woman.”
“It’s a terrible movie,” I agreed.
“I hates it, my precious.”
For lunch, I made grilled cheese and salad. Lauren and I watched TV while pretending to study until it was time to get ready to go out. Later, Angus and Max came in, but we were already in the bedroom.
A knock sounded, then some scratching. “Nadia? Lauren? We miss you. It’s so lonely out here.” That was Max. He thumped against the door for a few seconds, then we heard him shuffling away with noisy, exaggerated grief.
Lauren laughed. “Is it me or is he better this year?”
“It’s not you. Maybe give him a shot?” I’d told Max I supported his Lauren-crush, and it seemed unlikely I’d get a better segue to put in a good word.
“Are you serious? He’s such a man-whore.”
“Hey, we’d get pissed if someone slut-shamed one of our female friends. We’d argue that it’s totally okay for a woman to hook up for fun. But since Max is a dude, it’s fine to judge?”
“What—”
Talking over her attempted interjection, I concluded, “I don’t think Max lies to get girls in bed. They wouldn’t stay friends afterward if he did. Remember how they showed up with food for the party?”
The one he threw for you. But I couldn’t say that.
Lauren frowned, looking utterly bewildered. “Do you like Max?”
“As a friend. I just think we’re both hard on him. Granted, he was a tool our freshman year, but he’s settled down since then.”
“Maybe you’re right. He’s been a better roomie than I expected.”
At that point, I dropped the subject because if I listed all his good points, Lauren would know something was up. Beyond this convo, I couldn’t help him anymore.
After my shower, I dressed in old jeans, knee boots and a red wrap top. My battered leather jacket completed the outfit, much more my style than the white dress I’d worn out with Ty. Lauren went with a flirty miniskirt, paired with a sparkly T-shirt and open-crochet shrug. She also put on a pair of leggings because otherwise, the way she danced, she’d probably end up flashing a high school kid before the night ended. I did a quick nod at makeup with lipstick and eyeliner, put my hair up in a tousled twist and called it a day. It took her a bit longer, so I ambled to the living room to wait.
Angus was cooking some kind of rice dish. He turned as I went by. “Going out?”
“Yeah, we’ll see if the Majestic is any less lame tonight.”
“Oooh, dancing. If you give me half an hour, I’ll come.” Since he’d been pretty bummed from the whole Josh thing, it was the least we could do.
And Lauren would probably take that long on her hair, anyway.
“No problem. I’m driving, though.” I’d promised we could leave early if it sucked, but if Angus was having a blast, he might not want to take off.
“Am I invited?” Max asked.
“Do you seriously want to hit up the Majestic?” I raised a brow.
The answer shone in his dark eyes: Duh. Lauren will be there. It was weird that I was the only one who saw it. His answer came across indifferent. “Better than sitting home.”
We ate Angus’s mushroom pilaf, then he got ready, which involved a quick shower, cologne, a new outfit and some major wailing about his hair. It was more like an hour, but nobody was complaining. Finally, we piled into my car and I drove us to the club. The parking lot didn’t promise much excitement, but maybe it was better inside.
When I stepped in, I saw it hadn’t changed much, the same flashing lights and iron pipes overhead, black dance floor, sparsely populated at the moment. However, the DJ was playing Beyoncé, a good start. Max went to get a drink while Lauren, Angus and I hit the floor. None of us could resist doing a slightly campy version of “Single Ladies.” When that song ended, the DJ went straight to KE$HA; though I didn’t like her music that much, I couldn’t argue that it was catchy and danceable.
In addition to being the best bad dancer ever, Angus could move well when he was being serious—to the point that people loved watching him. Generally speaking, somebody always was. I hadn’t been kidding at the party when Josh accused me of wanting to kiss him and I answered, Who doesn’t? Have you seen him? Angus had dramatic good looks that made folks turn their heads: shining blond hair, vivid green eyes, tanned skin, fit body. His sweetness only made him a bigger catch once you got to know him.
For once, the Majestic was on point, musically. By now, usually they’d be playing hair metal or some old, outdated power ballads that drove everyone under forty off the floor. It was beyond me how people danced to that, though my mom said you didn’t; you just flung your hair around a lot and screamed. I didn’t like picturing my mom in the club scene, but there was no denying she’d spoken with a certain authority.