I finally reached her and ordered a drink from the bartender.
I leaned against the bar next to her and tried to subdue the smile on my lips. "It's freezing, isn't it?"
London tilted her head, her usually black hair hidden beneath a beehive-shaped blonde wig that nearly toppled over with the movement.
"The costumes." I waved an arm to myself, indicating the entirety of my getup. Some might say it was overkill, but I always took any opportunity I could to become anyone other than Savannah Goodman. Daughter of the infamous Coach Goodman, coach of the Raleigh Raptors. In other words, completely and totally off limits to anyone who actually had the balls to make a move for me, or too untouchable for those who were scared shitless of what the Raptors would do to them if they tried.
My stomach turned acidic with a fresh raw hurt that still soured my soul. Two months. Two months I’d been with Trevor. I’d thought he was different.
I'd been wrong.
I’d been a fool.
"You do look completely different tonight," London said, her sapphire blue eyes scanning the length of my costume—the intricate details of my butterfly dress, the dark purple of my contacts that, while uncomfortable, gave me anonymity that I craved. Even my usually fiery red hair was stuffed and hidden under an ice blonde wig.
"And you seem happier tonight than I’ve seen you in days." Her eyes turned soft, concerned, and she reached across the bar to gently squeeze my elbow, a silent show of support. She'd known what happened. What Trevor had done.
The bartender slid my vodka soda toward me, and I happily took a few long sips. The icy cool drink with just a hint of lime slid down my throat but did nothing to bury the fire burning within me. Not just the fire from the dance with Hendrix, who had no idea who he was dancing with, but the fire of that hurt I couldn’t seem to shake no matter how hard I tried. And believe me, I had tried. I’d tried to drink Trevor away, Krav Maga him away, and hell, I'd even tried to eat Trevor away.
Not so much the memory of Trevor himself, because he certainly wasn't that memorable, but of what he'd done. Of what he'd had the audacity to do, to participate in.
The adrenaline surged in my blood, and a new idea took shape in the forefront of my mind. Crazy, sure. But if it went according to plan, I’d be the one in full control.
"Oh no," London said, delicately setting her drink on the bar. The music filtered behind us, as did the chatter of every celebrity and athlete in the room. But London made sure she drew my attention, her fingers on my chin forcing my gaze down to hers. "I’ve seen that look before," she said. "And it usually comes with consequences.”
"Since when have I ever steered you wrong?" I asked, tilting my head at her as she released my chin.
She popped that hand on her hip, staring up at me incredulously. From the look of us, we couldn’t be more different. I was tall and long where she was short and petite. I was fire-red hair and dark eyes, and she was dark hair and bright eyes. I was reckless, and she was cautious, but we never let those differences come between our friendship. In fact, she was as much of an influence on me as I was on her. She helped subdue my wild side when most needed—like right before finals, and I helped bring her out of her shell when she seemed content to stay in there forever.
"Oh I don't know," she said with an air of attitude. "How about that time you decided it would be a brilliant idea to break into the campus swimming pool and go skinny-dipping in the middle of the night."
I resisted the urge to snort-laugh. "That was a great night," I argued.
London gaped up at me, shaking her head, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips. "We were halfway through a bottle of vodka, and the entire collegiate swim team ended up catching us there completely nude."
"Oh, please," I said, waving her off. "None of them got a good look at you. Or me for that matter."
"Yeah because one look at your red hair, and they knew who you were. None of them were brave enough to jump in the water or even turn his head."