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They said lightning never struck twice in the same spot. That’s why Alex knew that when he lost Isabelle, he would never get her back.
She was lightning. She was thunder. She was the whole damn storm. And don’t get him wrong, he meant that in the best way possible. She took him by surprise every minute they were together, every minute he knew her actually. They had started dating just a couple of months before he left to play football at college, hundreds of miles away from their hometown.
It had been easy for a while. She came to visit him sometimes and he came home on the holidays. They texted all day, Skyped every night, and she watched his games on TV when she couldn’t make the trip down to Alabama. She came to the national championship game his freshman year, watching them kick Oregon’s ass. And then without any warning, everything had fallen apart.
Okay, maybe there had been some warning. It was her senior year of high school, and she was stressed all the time. She wasn’t related to Madeline Fuhrman for nothing, and it seemed like all she could think about was going to college. He had football and classes and parties, and he was answering her phone calls less and less, although not on purpose. He was just busy.
Of course he was surprised when she broke up with him. Over text, nonetheless. It was actually just a couple of weeks before he was due to come home for the summer. He had been in the library studying for finals when she called him.
Hey, he texted her. Can’t talk now. What’s up?
You know I love you, right?
Of course. I love you too. What’s going on?
I just… can’t do this anymore.
A few more texts and that was it. A yearlong relationship over. His best friend gone. For a while he acted like he didn’t care, like he was okay. All high school relationships ended eventually, right? He didn’t let himself think about the fact that Isabelle was more than that, more than just a high school relationship.
And then he went home, packing his dorm room into liquor bottle boxes and waiting for his dad to come pick him up. He was excited to go, sure. Madeline and Leven would be home for the summer too, both of them coming back from California for a few months. Madeline had had a great first year, of course. No one had doubted her. She’d come out of her freshman year at Stanford with a 4.0 and a whole lot of achievements. Leven had done some waitressing, bartending, temping, trying to figure out what she wanted to do next, and it sounded like she had loved every second of it.
He was worried about seeing Isabelle though. There was no way to avoid it, really, not since Madeline was his best friend. He’d heard through the grapevine (i.e. slightly stalking her Instagram and Twitter) that she was going to the University of Wisconsin-Madison, close to home on a full scholarship. She was just as smart as Madeline, if not more so. And he knew she would be around this summer, trying to spend as much time with Madeline as possible.
He tried to hype himself up for it, telling himself over and over that it wasn’t a big deal, that they’d ended on good terms, that they could still be friends. And even though he told himself that, even though he thought he was prepared, even though he had convinced himself he was ready for it… he really wasn’t.
It had been like a bolt of lightning straight to his bones when he saw her for the first time. He had gone over to the Fuhrmans knowing it was a possibility, knowing that she would probably be floating around somewhere, no matter how much he wished she weren’t. Madeline hadn’t mentioned her at all since the break up, knowing Alex was crushed, even if he was trying not to show it.
He was sitting in their kitchen, head propped up on his hand, waiting for Madeline to finish making cheesy eggs. He had been craving them all year. No one made cheesy eggs like Madeline did, not even in the south.
“Could you please hurry?” he whined, spinning his phone around on the counter absentmindedly.
Madeline reached across the stove, grabbing it away from him. “You’ll get your eggs when you get them. It’ll go a whole lot slower if you rush me.”
“I’m not rushing you, I’m just saying. I’m a growing boy, I need my protein.”
“If you ever use the phrase ‘growing boy’ ever again, I swear I will—”
But he didn’t hear what she was going to do to him because all of a sudden Isabelle was standing in the doorway behind her, sucking all of the air out of the room. “I… hey,” she stuttered, clearly having been on a run, sneakers in her hand, dangling from the laces.
He just gaped at her, no words jumping out at him. She had been his girlfriend for the better part of a year, his friend much longer than that. He knew everything about her: that she liked mushrooms but not on pizza, that she wanted to run a marathon, that she wanted to like camping but hated it on principle. That she was deathly scared of living in her sister’s shadow for the rest of their lives. What she looked like in his bed, her skin glowing like she was lit up from within. He knew what she did every second of every day, what classes she had, what grades she was getting, what she had for lunch and dreamt about at night.
And now, he didn’t know anything.
Before he had the chance to form any words, she turned and fled, going up to the safety of her room, somewhere he wasn’t allowed to be anymore.
“Well,” Madeline said after a few moments, putting his eggs in front of him. “That was weird.”
* * *
Alex had moved to New York City right after graduating, and just like they had always planned, Madeline and Leven came with him.
Nothing else had gone according to plan. He had wanted to play professional football. That had always been his goal. But during his senior season, just as he was seriously thinking about entering the draft, he got hurt.
Damn Georgia. They had always been the bane of his existence: at the bench-clearing fight his freshman year on the field, during their heartbreaking loss during his junior year, and now, of course, they would be the ones to turn his ACL. He knew the prognosis. He listened to the doctors tell him that he would most likely never play at a professional level, that even if he could recover fully he would never be as quick again.
It had crushed him for a while. Most of his senior year had been spent in a drunken haze, until Leven came to see him and told him he needed to shape up, that they were going to New York together after graduation whether he liked it or not. So he got up, put on a suit, and went to interview after interview, finally landing an internship at a big sports agency.
It took a lot of planning, a lot of Facetime calls and group text messages and arguing about apartments. They finally settled on one in Manhattan, nothing big or fancy – they were brand new college graduates for Christ’s sake. But it was perfect.
They built a life there, the three of them. Madeline was at a big marketing firm, Leven went to NYU and bartended at night, and Alex was working with athletes, trying to sign them and keep them happy once he had. They went out on the weekends. They slapped pictures up all over their apartment, surrounding themselves in memories. They even had brunch sometimes. And he was happy, as happy as he could be, trying not to let the overwhelming bitterness in the pit of his stomach swallow him up completely.
* * *
He knew something was up when he walked into the kitchen the afternoon of New Year’s Eve to see Madeline and Leven sitting at the counter, hands folded, looking nervously at each other.
“Um…” He put his elbows down on the fake marble countertop, rubbing his eyes. It was too early for whatever they were up to, and he was far too hungover. “What sort of evil have you come up with now?”
Leven looked affronted. “You’re really gonna act like you didn’t have a good time last night?”
“Don’t even talk about last night, Lev.” He could feel the sour taste of Fireball and regret rising up in the back of his throat just thinking about the night before. Leven had convinced them to come to the club where she was working, promising them free drinks and plenty of single girls Alex could hit on. The whole night got a little hazy after the fifth round of shots, Alex pulling girls up to the bar with him and wheedling Leven until she just rolled her eyes and started passing drinks across the counter.
“You had fun,” Madeline said, taking a sip of coffee and only wincing slightly at how strong it was. Never let Leven make the coffee. It was the first thing he had learned after they all moved in together, the little idiosyncrasies cropping up quickly.
Leven took a bath every single night, usually with a candle and a glass of wine and a magazine. She said it relaxed her, and they wanted her relaxed for fear that she might snap and kill them all in a fit of exhaustion. How that girl went to school and worked full time, Alex would never know, but they would be lucky if she didn’t murder them both.
Madeline ate sugar cubes straight out of the box and put batteries in the fridge and constantly had papers spread out over the coffee table. Alex had tried to move them one time, just push one aside to put his beer down so he could watch a hockey game, and she had about bitten his head right off.
Alex was a kitchen control freak, something the three of them, himself included, would never have guessed in high school. But four years of eating college cafeteria food had instilled in him a deep love of cooking, and he freaked out if anyone else even touched his spice rack. It wasn’t even a metaphor for anything. He just really loved that fucking spice rack.
They learned how to live with each other quickly, and it was perfect. Except when he was hungover and Leven’s coffee could burn a hole through the cup and his two best friends were staring at him like he’d grown an extra head.
“Look,” he said. “I didn’t throw up in the bathroom or the kitchen sink, and I didn’t accidentally leave your phones behind in the Uber, and I didn’t bring anyone home because I know you guys hate that, and I didn’t—”
“We don’t hate it,” Leven said, rolling her eyes at Madeline. “We hate it when we can hear you guys through the wall because apparently you continuously forget that this is the world’s tiniest apartment.”
“I hate it when they spend all morning in the bathroom and I can’t get to my war room meeting on time.”
“And I was not overly fond of that time I found that stripper from Dream Girls using my Tatcha Water Cream.”
“Okay!” Alex held his hands up in surrender. “It was one time, and you’ve never let me forget it.”
“It was seventy dollar moisturizer, you fuck face.”
“Did I or did I not buy you a new one?”
Leven sat back, pouting and mumbling to herself.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Alex grabbed Madeline’s coffee cup, pulling it towards him. “So what’s going on? And what are we doing tonight? I need to know if I should text someone to come out so I don’t have to kiss one of you fucks at midnight.”
“Yeah, about that…” Madeline looked up, a shadow of anxiety flitting across her face.
“Spit it out.”
“Isabelle is here.”
Out of all the things that could have come out of Maddie’s mouth, that was the last thing he expected. He was assuming they were gonna tell him that Leven had to pick up a shift tonight or that Madeline was too tired from her work week to go out, the same kind of boring shit they pulled on him at least once a month. But this was in a whole different league.
He didn’t realize that he was just standing there staring at him until Leven flicked him in the throat, bringing him back down from his panic high. “Who is what now?”
“She, uh…” Madeline shifted uncomfortably on her stool. “Well, you know she graduated a few months ago and she… she is thinking about moving here so I told her to come out and then it kind of all happened last minute and we meant to tell you but…”
“But strippers were stealing my Tatcha Water Cream,” Leven muttered, not so under her breath this time.
“Lev!”
“Sorry. God.”
While they were arguing, Alex backed out of the kitchen, thankful (for once) that his friends had the shortest attention spans ever. He hightailed it into the bathroom, locking the door behind them even though he knew Madeline could pick it in a matter of seconds. He turned the water on, letting it run hot while he stripped his clothes off and hopped in before he froze to death under that stupid air vent that was the bane of his existence.
He propped his arm up against the wall, resting his head against his forearm while the water ran down his face, pooling at his feet. He’d seen Isabelle, of course, a couple of times every summer when he went home. She’d gone off to college and come back with a boyfriend or two, and Alex did his best to avoid her, trying to push away the feelings that had been clouding his mind for way too long.
Everything between them had felt unfinished. They had never had an in-person conversation about how things had ended. Alex had never really apologized to her for what he had turned into, for being so focused on making his dream work that he forgot she was part of it too. And now he didn’t have her and he didn’t have professional football, and he tried not to think about it but he did. Of course he did, in the small parts of the night when he couldn’t sleep.
He’d dated, sure. If you asked Leven or Madeline, they would tell you that he dated a lot, which would be an exaggeration. He liked girls. He talked to girls. He brought one home every once in a while, although he had tried not to ever since the disastrous Stripper Incident. But he didn’t see any of them more than a couple of times, and he never felt anything for anyone the way he had for Isabelle. She was his thunderstorm, that once in a lifetime kind of love.
And he didn’t talk about it to anyone. Not to Leven, who would try to fix him. And definitely not to Madeline, who was a carbon copy of Isabelle but with a slightly stronger grasp on reality. She loved him and she was his family, but Isabelle was her family, and he didn’t know where he would stand if he tried to talk about it with her, told her all the doubts and insecurities racing in circles around his head.
“Alex!” Yep. She had picked the lock, and he could feel the cool air from the hallway winding its way into the bathroom.
“At least shut the door, Mads, I’m fucking freezing.”
He heard her slam the door shut and sit down on the toilet. “Are you okay?”
He grabbed the soap, desperate for something to do. “I’m great.”
“You’re not.”
“I’m fine.”
“That’s more accurate.”
Alex sighed, putting the soap down. “I don’t really know what to say. I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“I don’t want you to say anything. I just want you to be okay and I want us all to have a fun night.”
He poked his head out, pulling the shower curtain tight around him – Madeline had a nasty habit of trying to tweak him in the balls when she didn’t think his answers to her questions were adequate. “You sure I should go?”
He was glad he managed to block her reach because she definitely tried to smack him. “Of course. You have to come. It’s our tradition.”
They had gone out in New York last year, their first New Year’s Eve living together. It was going to be their tradition, they had decided after a lot of glasses of champagne. No matter where they were living or who they were with or how far apart they might be, they would always be together every New Year’s Eve. No matter what.
He sighed heavily, running his hand over his face and forgetting that his fingers were coated in soap suds.
“So you’ll be there…” Madeline pressed. “And by there I mean here because she’ll be here in a little bit.”
“What?” He was trying to hold his eyelids open under the stream of water.
“So finish showering and go get dressed and try to look hot and everything will be great and no one will be weird.”
Silence.
“Okay?”
“Jesus Christ, Madeline, yes. I’m dying here, so if it’ll get you to shut up and get out, then yes I’ll do whatever you want.”
She left the bathroom with an I love you and a handful of cold water thrown over the top of the shower curtain. He finished scrubbing the bejesus out of his eyeballs as best he could, reaching blindly for his towel and freezing his balls off as he ran back to his room, trying not to freak out because if he started to freak out now, there would be no end in sight.
Their relationship had been… intense. His roommate freshman year used to tell Alex that when Isabelle was around, Alex wouldn’t notice if he was being eaten by bears. Maybe it was because he didn’t see her that often; maybe it was because it was still new when he went off to college. But Alex was convinced that it was just because of who Isabelle was. Everything with Isabelle was intense. She loved hard and fought hard and cared hard. Or at least she used to. He didn’t know her anymore.
The last time he saw her was at Madeline’s college graduation a year and a half ago. Alex had finished up with school the week before, walked at commencement, the whole nine yards, and he made it to California just in time to see Madeline give the valedictorian speech. Her parents were there, and Leven, and of course, Isabelle. He’d given her a wide berth, exchanging a couple of hellos and a how are you, but that was about it. There were enough people around and so many things happening that it was only a little awkward avoiding her. If he was a better person, he would apologize, try to explain himself, make things right. But he wasn’t, and four years had passed. That chance was far gone.
“Which one is it gonna be?” he heard from behind him, whirling around and grabbing his towel to hold it in place.
“Do you ever knock?”
“Obviously not.” Leven bounced into his room and jumped on the bed, grabbing the shirts out of his hand. “Wear the white one tonight,” she told him. “And the Topman jeans. Your ass looks really good in those.”
“News flash, my ass looks good in everything.” He grabbed the white shirt back from her, putting it carefully on a hangar.
“You nervous?”
“I don’t get nervous.”
Silence. “You nervous?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t be.”
“Easy for you to say. I didn’t invite any of your ex-boyfriends to the city without telling you.”
“Because I would rip your eyes out.”
“Turn around.” He waited until she wasn’t looking and quickly threw on jeans and a t-shirt, tossing his wet towel at her and positioning himself in front of the mirror to try to do something with his hair.
“Stop primping.”
“Stop nagging.”
“Jerk.”
“Bitch.”
He could only fuss with his hair for so long and finally just gave up, flopping down on the bed beside Leven and slinging his arm over her waist. “It was gonna be such a good night,” he whined into her neck.
“It’s still gonna be good. Just like old times.”
“Are you gonna run interference for me?”
“Of course.”
“What if she throws a drink at me?”
“I’ll jump in front of you.”
“Yeah, right. With a full face on? Not likely. Not when you’re still bitching about that fucking moisturizer.”
“It was Tatcha Water Cream! And a stripper! A stripper was using my Tatcha Water Cream!”
“Apple was a very lovely lady.”
“Are you even hearing yourself? Her name was Apple!”
They were still arguing about it twenty minutes later when a buzz came at the front door. “Holy shit!” Leven jumped up, dislodging Alex’s arm, his blood running cold. “She’s here!”
She was here. He heard Madeline pull open the front door with a screech, Leven running out to meet them. How long could he sit in here without making it weird? Or any weirder than it already was at least. He turned the television on just in time to hear “pickle Riiiick!” and quickly turned it off. He could either pace around his room like an idiot or he could just go out there.
He opened the door, shut it, opened it again. He did that couple more times before finally taking a deep breath and just going for it.
She was gorgeous. She’d always been gorgeous but now she was gorgeous and grown up and standing in his living room. She didn’t see him at first, too busy hugging Madeline and gushing over Leven’s hair. But when she took a second to look around their apartment, she saw him and all of a sudden all the memories came rushing back.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey.”
“This is weird,” Leven said cheerfully, grabbing Isabelle’s bags and shoving them behind the couch. “You want a drink, Is?”
“Please.”
“I’ll get it,” Alex mumbled, quickly escaping from the living room into the kitchen, pouring a couple of glasses of wine and a vodka tonic for Lev, who was much more bougie than she would like to admit. He stood there as long as possible, trying to work up the nerve to go back into the living room before Leven finally came into the kitchen, grabbing the glasses and pinching him hard.
“Come back,” she hissed to him, balancing the wine glasses in one hand and her tumbler in the other. “You’re making it weird.”
“It’s already weird!”
“What do you want me to do about it?”
“Can I punch you in the face?”
Leven glared at him. “You just did punch me in the face with your harsh words!”
“I hate you so much.”
He followed Leven out into the living room, perching himself on the armchair by the fireplace and realizing too late that he forgot to get himself a drink. What the fuck was he supposed to do with his hands? He sat on them, knowing that if he got too nervous he would pull his phone out and Madeline would rip his head off for it later.
He tried to listen to what Isabelle was saying. She was going into investment banking and looking for apartments on the Upper East Side with another girl who had been hired at the same firm. She had really grown up, Alex thought, and she was doing even better than he ever could have hoped.
He knew Madeline and Leven were side-eying him the whole time, knew that he was being too quiet and weird. It was a relief when the girls got up to start getting ready, turning up the music and pouring shots. Alex slunk off to his room, shutting the door behind him and collapsing on his bed. He felt like he’d run a marathon, like he could finally catch his breath.
He must have fallen asleep for a little while, jerking awake to a knock on the door. “What now, Lev?” he yelled, pulling a pillow over his head.
The door cracked open, Isabelle sticking her head inside. “Can I come in?”
He sat up quickly, reflexively pulling the blankets up even though he was fully dressed. “Uh…” He glanced around quickly, looking at the boxers on the floor and the condoms on the dresser and the giant mess of DVDs and Xbox games by the television. “Please, yes.”
Isabelle sat down on the edge of the bed, as far away from him as she could get. “So… how are you doing?”
The word weird kept jumping to mind. In all the years that he had known Isabelle, been friends with her, dated her, they never ran out of things to talk about. In fact, it sometimes felt like they had never had enough time to talk. When they used to call each other every night, they were constantly talking over each other, trying to say everything they were thinking all at once.
“I’m good,” he said, trying not to look directly at her, felt like he was looking at the sun, didn’t want her to see the hurt behind his eyes.
“You’re a sports agent now?”
“Yeah, I somehow tricked them into giving me a job. It’s crazy.”
She looked down, threading the edge of the blanket through her fingers nervously. “I’m really proud of you. You’ve really… done it.”
“I haven’t done anything, really. Not compared to you.”
It was a stilted, awkward conversation but it was a conversation. They were actually talking. No one was yelling or crying. So maybe there was some hope for Alex’s night.
He didn’t know what to say, so he settled for an innocuous question. Or at least, it seemed innocuous at first.
“So you’re moving here?”
She looked down, her hands stilling. “Yeah, I guess so.” She paused. “I know I should’ve… asked you first.”
“It’s a big city, Isabelle. We probably won’t even see each other.”
He knew immediately that it had been the wrong thing to say. Isabelle stood up, letting the blanket fall from her hands. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” She paused at the door, looking back at him.
“Isabelle, wait.”
“It’s cool. Big city.”
* * *
“You said what?” Leven hissed to him. She had come into Alex’s room right after Isabelle had left, beer in hand, and she had immediately figured out that Alex had done something dumb.
“I know,” he groaned, smacking the beer down on his nightstand and falling back against the pillows, pulling his blanket over his face. “It’s like I couldn’t stop myself.”
“You’re mad at her.” It wasn’t a question.
“Of course I’m not.”
“You’re… what then?”
“I don’t know.” Alex sat up again. “She broke up with me, so I guess I’m upset. But I know why she did it. I could have stopped it actually, and I didn’t even say anything.”
After he’d gotten that text from Isabelle, he didn’t say much, just texted back “okay” and went back to studying for biology, trying to push it out of his mind for now.
Is that it?
I don’t know what else you want me to say, Isabelle. I can’t change your mind.
I don’t want to hurt you.
It’s okay.
And that was it. He didn’t realize until much later that he probably could have changed her mind, could have told her that he would do better and that everything would be okay. Maybe they would still be together. Maybe they would be engaged. Maybe they would be planning their future together, instead of apart. But that’s not what happened, and all the what ifs in the world wouldn’t change a thing.
“Well,” Leven stood up, smacking his thigh.
“Well?”
“Get up, get dressed, do your hair, and… I don’t know, take a couple of shots or something.”
“You’re full of great advice.”
“That’s what they tell me.”
She stood up, flipping her hair over her shoulder. As much as she annoyed Alex sometimes, he loved her more than almost anything else in the entire world, and he had to look away from her, knowing she was able to see through him better than anyone.
“It’s gonna be okay.”
“Get out, Rambin.”
He slammed the door behind her, pulling his shirt off and going to stand in front of the mirror again. You’ve got to get it together, he thought to himself. Otherwise it’s gonna be a really long night. He was never in charge of their going out plans, hadn’t been since one disastrous night where he accidentally got them kicked out of Sneaky’s for fighting, although in all fairness he hadn’t been the one fighting and had just defended himself when he got pushed. Since then, he let Leven plan anything since she was the one with a giant network of bartender friends.
They were going to The Bunker, an underground club that only let three hundred people in at a time max. Leven knew (and by knew, Alex meant hooked up with. He knew she had even though she wouldn’t admit it to him) the bouncer there, which was really the only reason they were getting in. He was actually really excited about it, or had been until the girls dropped the Isabelle bomb on him.
He wasn’t big on New Year’s resolutions. A lot of people made fun of them, saying that you didn’t need to wait for the new year to make big changes to your life, but that wasn’t Alex’s problem with them. In fact, he loved the idea of them. However, he had never once managed to last more than a few weeks without breaking one of them, and he sure as hell didn’t need to make himself feel any worse than he already did. But he could resolve to at least have a good night and have fun with his girls.
“Get your ass out here, Alex!” Madeline yelled from the living room, and he realized with a start that he was still standing in his room in his underwear and should probably get moving. He threw on the jeans and shirt that Leven had picked out earlier, saying to hell with it to his hair and going out into the living room with his beer.
“Shots!” Leven said, jumping up when she saw him, Madeline right behind her, shoving a Bob’s Burgers shot glass into his hand. They were all ready to go, makeup on and glitter everywhere.
“Come on, Is,” Madeline said, grabbing her hand and pulling her up into their circle. Isabelle was wearing leather pants and a shirt that laced all the way down the front and Alex thought his head was going to explode when he looked at her, so he did his best not to, looking back at Madeline instead. She raised her shot glass, the rest of them following suit, clinking them together and throwing back the alcohol, Fireball in Alex’s case. He winced a little as it went down, Madeline taking the glass back from him and refilling it.
It was gonna be a long night.
* * *
Only twenty-two minutes to midnight.
“I am clearly not working. I’m wearing a leather skirt, for God’s sake!” Leven said, vodka Red Bull balanced in one hand as she gestured wildly with the other.
“Maybe you just give off bartender vibes.”
“All I’m saying is if one more person asks me where the bathroom is or for a refill on their ridiculous hipster IPA, I’m gonna start throwing punches.”
“In what universe would you ever throw a punch?”
“Okay, fine. I would ask Alex to punch someone for me.”
“Like hell,” he chimed in. “You are out of your mind if you think I’m ever gonna get in a fight around you guys ever again. You’ve never let me forget it.”
“What happened?” Isabelle asked, leaning forward and grabbing her drink from the trunk serving as a table in front of them. They were sitting in one of the VIP areas, Leven having charmed her way in. Isabelle had gotten increasingly nicer to Alex the more drinks she had, and while she had been a little frosty towards him at the beginning of the night, she was now actually addressing him.
“It’s so stupid,” Alex mumbled, staring down into his Jack and Coke.
“Yes, we thought so also,” Madeline added. “We were at Sneaky’s and I was with Lev up at the bar getting drinks because we thought, you know, that Alex is a grown man and could be left by himself for two seconds.”
“But alas,” Leven chimed in, “we were wrong because we were gone for all of a minute when Alex is screaming at us from the other side of the bar, and we turned around to see him being dragged out by, like, four bouncers.”
“You’re exaggerating,” Alex said.
“We are not.”
“And it turns out,” Madeline continued, “that Alex had actually just gotten in the middle of two guys fighting and got punched in the face and he didn’t like that so much.”
“Would anyone?”
“Well,” Isabelle said, leaning forward and looking right at him. “At least you didn’t start it.”
“Cheers to that.”
Alex drained his drink, setting it down and scanning the balcony for any shot girls that might be wandering around. Sadly, there was not a one in sight. “I’m gonna go get a refill,” he said, standing up. “Anyone else?”
“We’re good,” Leven said, looking up at him, and yeah… her eyes were starting to get a little twitchy, so they were probably getting close to cutting her off.
“I’ll go,” Isabelle said, standing up and grabbing his hand, like it was a totally normal thing for her to be doing. He looked back at Leven and Madeline, but they were whispering to each other, heads pressed close together.
“Okay,” Alex said lamely, tightening his fingers around hers and following her to the bar.
It was a good thing she had come with him really because all the bartenders at the main bar were guys and Alex was sure that no one would have paid him any attention if he wasn’t with a really hot girl. He watched her as she leaned over the counter, getting the bartender’s attention immediately and ordering a couple of drinks, pushing a twenty over the counter. It was crazy to think that this tiny little girl he used to know was now old enough to buy him a drink. It was crazy to think that he didn’t know her in between then and now, the growing up part. Crazy.
Someone in the crush of people trying to get to the bar behind them pushed him or bumped into him or tripped and fell into him, and he was suddenly right up against Isabelle, reflexively putting his arm around her waist to steady himself. He started to pull back, realizing all at once that he was touching her, but before he could move she put her hand over his.
“Here,” she said, turning slightly and handing him his drink before reaching back to grab her change, shoving a few dollars into the fishbowl serving as a tip jar. She beamed a smile at the bartender who looked like he’d just seen the sun. Alex had a sudden urge to punch him in the throat. “Come on,” she said, grabbing his hand and dragging him away from the bar and the mess of people trying to get drinks.
They managed to get out of the melee, Alex opening up one of The Bunker’s secret passages by pulling on one of the books in a bookshelf. They slipped through the door that opened up, shutting it behind them and weaving their way past the back bar, which was markedly less busy.
“That was really cool,” Isabelle said once it was quieter.
He smiled down at her, handing his drink to her. “I have to go to the bathroom. You gonna be okay right here?”
“I will not move.”
He pushed his way past the line of girls waiting for their bathroom, slipping into the men’s room, which was completely empty. He splashed some water on his face, taking a deep breath. He was overthinking this, suddenly remembering exactly what being with her had been like. They had fun, no matter what they were doing, but this was a new experience for him, being out with her in his city.
It was a good thing that she was acting like this, right? Maybe she had decided that they could be friends. That’s what he’d wanted, ever since they’d broken up. Just wanted his best friend back.
The door opened, and he looked up expecting to see another guy stumble inside, but it was her.
“I have to go too,” she pouted at him, putting the drinks down on the sink. “Can you cover for me?”
He nodded wordlessly, going to stand in front of the stall door, holding it shut.
“Hey, Alex?” he heard her say from inside.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry.”
He almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation. “Are you peeing right now?”
“Yes. But I am.”
“You’re breaking the seal.”
“It’s too late now. Can’t take this pee back.”
He snorted. “I’m sorry too. For what it’s worth.”
She pushed on the door, coming out and washing her hands. “I shouldn’t have broken up with you like that.”
“I shouldn’t have let you break up with me.”
She turned, wiping her hands off on her pants, and jumped up onto the counter, taking a sip of her drink. “I just felt like things were falling apart.”
“Well, you weren’t wrong. But it was my fault.”
Isabelle grabbed him by the front of the shirt, pulling him closer to stand in between her legs. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that?”
“Too long?” Alex reached out, touching her waist. The second his hand brushed her waist, all the memories of her came rushing back. His fingers fit in between her ribs, just like they had the first time he kissed her all those years ago in her living room.
“Way too long,” she whispered, pulling him even closer. He leaned down, closing his eyes, going for it. He wasn’t going to let this chance pass him by again.
The door banged open, and he jumped back, Isabelle almost falling off the counter. A couple of drunk dudes stumbled in, barely even noticing them. Alex groaned inwardly. Come on. He’d been so close. He looked back at Isabelle, not sure what to do now. She was looking at her phone.
“Oh shit,” she said quickly, hopping off the counter. “There’s only a couple of minutes until midnight. We better get back.”
Alex cut a wide swath through the crowd, accidentally on purpose elbowing people out of his way. A few girls threw them dirty looks, but he managed to get back to Leven and Madeline without starting a fight, Isabelle hanging onto the back of his shirt.
“Thank God!” Madeline said once she saw them fighting their way up to her. “I thought you were gonna miss it.”
“Never,” Alex said, sitting in between Madeline and Isabelle, Leven on the big overstuffed armchair, swaying back and forth a little bit.
He looked around the club, at everyone dancing and kissing and drinking. Never in a million years could he have guessed that his ex-girlfriend would be here with him as 2018 rang itself in. It was a surreal moment.
It was eleven fifty-nine and Leven jumped up. “Sixty seconds!” she screeched, clearly a little more intoxicated than the rest of them. “Somebody kiss me!”
Madeline snorted. They went through this every year on midnight, Leven running around the bar or party or club looking for someone to kiss. That’s actually how she had met her ex-boyfriend a couple of years ago, an ill-fated relationship that was not meant to last.
“Ten!”
“Somebody kiss me!”
“Nine!”
“Somebody kiss me, it’s midnight!”
“Eight!”
“Seven!”
“Leven, calm down.”
“Six!”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Five!”
“Really. No one is going to kiss me—”
“Four!”
“Even though it’s almost midnight—”
“Three!”
She was hopping up and down, looking around wildly.
“Two!”
“Somebody kiss me!”
“One!”
“Oh Jesus Christ,” Alex said, standing up and hopping over the chest in front of them, grabbing Leven and planting a rough kiss on her mouth.
“Happy New Year!”
He turned, grabbing Madeline and kissing her too. She grinned at him, reaching across to hug Leven.
And then it was just him and Isabelle.
“Happy 2018, Alex,” she said, pulling him down next to her on the couch. And before he could lose his chance for a third time, he kissed her, her mouth warm on his and her skin burning up under his hands. He forgot where he was, that her sister was sitting right in front of them, that they were in a crowded club. He forgot everything except this tiny little girl under his hands, climbing into his lap and kissing the breath right out of his lungs.
Later that night, when they were home and she was stretched out languidly under his blanket sleeping soundly, he got up quietly, wrapping a sheet around his waist and going out to the balcony. It was snowing, had started snowing as soon as they tried to get an Uber – of course.
“Did you do it?” he heard from behind him.
“Jesus, Leven.” He jumped, almost dropping the sheet.
“Aren’t you cold?” Madeline asked, shutting the door behind them.
“Yeah, but look how pretty it is.”
Leven wrapped her own blanket around his shoulders. “I’m proud of you.”
“Can’t your New Year’s resolution be to not get all mushy anymore?”
“If it makes you feel any better, I’m only mushy for you.”
“It does, thanks.” He laughed.
And he stood out there on the balcony with his best friends, his girl asleep in his bed. His whole life had changed in a day, in a matter of hours actually. And wasn’t that what starting the new year was really all about?