“Hold your panties,” I yelled. In the hallway, Sasha was standing with a hand on her hip, tapping her foot. The placement of her hand drew back the jacket so we could see the red and black webbing that made up her ensemble.

“Girl,” Ellie whistled, “you look amazing.”

Sasha winked at us. “So do you. Let’s get down to the Garden and dance our bows off.”

THE GARDEN WAS ONE OF two bars in the warehouse district. The other one was a dance club called Mustangs, a hiphop/techno dance club despite the country-western name. None of us were sure why it was called Mustangs, but it was a well-known meat market. Both guys and girls went there, primarily to find a hookup. Dancing was the mating call. I know this because I’ve had my own Mustangs hookup. I’m pretty sure almost everyone has. The Garden, however, was known for its awesome themed parties and cage dancers. Because it was targeted at the GLBT population, it was rare to see a straight guy inside, which made it a safe place for straight girls to come and let their hair down.

The undies parties were legendary, but I’d never attended one before this. I knew you were only allowed to wear underwear or pajamas.

Sasha, Ellie, and I spilled out of the cab and presented our IDs and invitations. Once inside, we stood and waited in the foyer as people took off their boots and overcoats. Ultraviolet light washed the nightclub, and bouncers were marking people’s shoulders as they passed out of the coat check area into the main club.

The hardbodies were out in full force. Acres of ripped and glistening abs stretched from one side room to the other. Special Magic Markers sat on tables and people were drawing on each other, the black lights in the ceiling and in the spotlights making us look like glow-in-the-dark cartoons.

Men and women walked around the bar with trays that hung around their necks. Jello shots, slippery nipples, and Jager Bombs were offered for $5 a pop. Getting drunk at the underwear party wasn’t cheap.

Sasha dragged us through until we found a table to prop our purses on. Cash, credit card, and ID we stuck in our bras. The phones and makeup were left in the purses. Some guys wore long fluorescent tube socks that held their gear. Others had cute fanny packs with the pouches resting at the base of their spines.

Every guy’s package looked alive.

“Cock rings,” Sasha whispered to me.

“What?”

“The cock ring makes the penis stand up. No guy wants to look like he has a sad package here.”

Ellie waved over a waiter and paid for three slippery nipples. We gulped them down and perused the room. The webbing in Sasha’s bra and panties were traced in thin strips of safety tape and in the dark, it made her look nearly naked. She’d make Victoria sorry in this getup.

“Oh my God,” I heard Ellie gasp and she grabbed my arm, hard.

“What?” I asked, reacting to the panic. She lifted her free arm and pointed across the room. Following the path of her finger, I saw an equally shocked Ryan Collins, dressed in what looked like red board shorts. Even at a distance I could see his mouth was slightly open. I wasn’t sure if he was shocked to see us or struck dumb by how gorgeous Ellie looked.

“Goddamn it,” Ellie cursed. “Is he gay? Was he trying to get me to be his fucking beard?”

I didn’t know what to say.

“What’s going on?” Sasha asked. I quickly filled her in.

“Mohawk guy across the dance floor was hitting on Ellie.”

“No way,” Sasha said.

Ellie dropped her arm. “Yes, way.” She looked furious. She pushed her way around me. “I’m going to confront that motherfucker right now.”

She started across the dance floor looking fierce. Sasha and I glanced at each other, our eyes wide, and raced after her.

Ellie stopped right in front of Ryan and pointed her finger against his chest. “What’re you doing here? If you think I’d be your beard for your stupid fucking lacrosse team, you’ve—”

Ryan grabbed her finger and pulled her against him, flush against his body. With her heels, she came up to his nose. The sudden and unexpected action shut Ellie up. Ryan dipped his head down slightly and pressed his mouth over Ellie’s and began eating at her lips like he hadn’t had a good meal in a week. His hands tangled in Ellie’s dark, coarse hair, holding her tightly in his grasp. Sasha and I just stood there, dumbfounded. I think the entire crowd in a five-foot radius was watching with breathless anticipation. It was a Telemundo soap opera, acted out in real life.

Ryan let her go, and Ellie stumbled back. She brought her hand up to her lips, and I saw it was trembling.

“I’m not gay, honey,” Ryan said and then placed his hand on his crotch. “And this is all for you.”

Ellie raised her hand. For a moment it looked like she was going to slap him, but then she turned on her heel and stomped back to our table. Sasha followed her immediately, but I paused. My attention was arrested when Ryan’s face tightened as he watched Ellie walk away.

“Fuck,” he muttered and hit his fist hard against the table, making it rock on its pedestal. A dark-haired guy with washboard abs walked up wearing tight green underwear with a fluorescent band and dollar bills poking out of the waist. He was carrying a mixed drink in one hand and a beer in the other.

“What’d I miss?” he asked, directing the question toward me but handing the beer to Ryan. Ryan took the beer and swallowed about half of it.

“Just me, fucking it up,” Ryan said, swiping a forearm against his mouth.

The stranger held out his now-free hand to me. “Erik. Ryan’s roommate.”

“AnnMarie. Ellie’s roommate.” I jerked a thumb over my shoulder in the direction of our table. Erik peered past me.

“The goddess from geology?” Erik asked. Both Ryan and I nodded.

“She thinks Ryan’s gay and was asking her out to be his beard,” I told Erik, avoiding Ryan’s gaze.

“Why’d she think that?” Erik asked.

“Lacrosse connection,” I said. “She doesn’t like them.”

Erik raised his eyebrows at this and tilted his head questioningly toward Ryan. Ryan just put his head in his hands.

“She has good reason,” Ryan mumbled, but loudly enough so that we could hear. “The lacrosse club is filled with a bunch of assholes.” He lifted his head and looked at me. “I’m surprised you’re even standing this close to me.”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. You don’t seem like an asshole to me.”

“I’m not,” Ryan said, standing up and looking at me. “I swear it, and I’m not trying to have a beard.”

“It’s true,” Erik piped up. “Not gay. I can tell.”

“Dude, everyone can tell he’s not gay,” another guy next to us leaned in to say. Yep, we had quite the crowd.

“It just took Ellie by surprise,” I said in her defense. “Plus you did act all caveman on her.”

This made Ryan put his head down again. “I know. I can’t think right around her. She messes me up bad. I’ll probably be the only one to ever fail Rocks for Jocks because I can’t focus on anything but her.”

“I’ll, ah, go put in a good word for you,” I offered. A few people clapped. I turned to go and then swiveled around. “Just out of curiosity, how do you all know he’s not gay?”

“Oh my God, girl, did you see the hair on his chest? It’s obviously not manscaped.” Erik said this with obvious horror at my ignorance. I looked at Ryan’s chest but saw nothing wrong with it. I met Ryan’s eyes, and he just shrugged as if he didn’t know what was wrong either. Soon we were all staring at him, and Ryan, for all his amazing confidence, became flustered and dragged his hand across his upper chest. The motion made me giggle a little. The whole scenario was kind of hilarious if you thought about it.

“I’ll be right back,” I promised and headed toward my table. This time, a small entourage of interested people, led by Erik, followed me. Ellie stood by the table, throwing back another shot and glaring daggers back toward Ryan.

“Ellie, this is Erik, Ryan’s roommate,” I introduced them. Ellie reluctantly held out her hand.

“I’m sorry you have to live with him,” she sniffed.

“Me, too,” Erik replied. “I was hoping for a gay roommate who’d either fall totally in love with me or go trolling for men with me. Instead I got a sporty lacrosse straight dude who likes to read Shakespeare and won’t wax his chest.”

“You’re a pretty awesome wingman,” I said to Erik after the recitation of Ryan’s assets.

“I know,” he said, without any faux modesty. Ellie’s pissed-off look turned to uncertainty. As she nibbled on her lip, one of our entourage piped up, “Why don’t you give the poor boy a chance?”

“Yeah, just a dance,” another voice said. Pretty soon the crowd was chanting dance, dance, dance. We all looked back to Ryan who, buoyed by the crowd support, no longer had his head in his hands but was walking toward us. Ellie threw her hands up in surrender and pushed through our crowd. Halfway across the dance floor, the two stopped a foot away from each other. The music spun down and there was a lull. Someone else yelled out, “Now kiss!”

Ryan placed his arm around Ellie’s waist and waved his other arm in the air, gesturing for the DJ to spin up another song. He yelled out, “Play that funky music, white boy.”

The crowd erupted in cheers, and Sasha and I dissolved into laughter. The dance floor was mobbed as everyone moved toward it to revel in the little drama that had played itself out. Sasha and I threw ourselves into the crowd, pushing until we found Ellie and Ryan draped around each other like they were trying to absorb each other. We pulled them apart and danced, jumping and grinding and swaying to the strange mix of K Pop and hard rap. As the night wore on, Ryan and Ellie became inseparable. Erik and Ryan had abandoned their table and taken up residence at ours. Sasha’s ex showed up, looking magnificent in pink, her hair teased out and standing a good four inches in a halo around her head. Victoria must have had her own invitation, as Sasha’s fourth went unused. Brian was off with some girl tonight, the opportunity to get laid by one girl outweighing hundreds in their underwear. One shake of Victoria’s hips and Sasha was back in her arms. It seemed like everyone was pairing up.

Despite the sweat streaking down my back and the press of the bodies on the dance floor generating enough heat to warm the entire apartment complex, I suddenly felt cold. Chills warred with the sweat and dizziness hit me. I stumbled off the floor toward the table holding our clutches and drinks.

I looked around me. Everyone was laughing and shouting at each other, throwing back drinks and designing black-light illuminated tattoos on each other. I tried once more to enter the fray on the dance floor, but after one song, I knew I had to go home because the crowd was only accentuating the stinging ache of loneliness.

I grabbed at Sasha to let her know I was leaving. If I told Ellie, she’d demand to go with me, and I didn’t want to ruin her night. Sasha waved me off and said she’d make sure Ellie got home safely.

Out in the entryway, I retrieved my coat and shrugged it on, the cotton canvas sticking to my sweaty body. I plucked at it, knowing that in a moment the material would be a worthless barrier to the chill of the winter night.

“Need a cab?” the bouncer queried.

I nodded my head. He picked up a phone and made a call. “Ten minutes,” he told me, hanging up his cell phone and tucking it into his pocket.

“I’ll wait outside.” I needed a few moments of alone time. He gave me a dismissive nod, his head turning back to ogle the crowd inside.

I took a step outside and inhaled the crisp night air. Initially the cold felt good. It cleared my head, and the quiet of the night, as opposed to the loud pounding of bass from the dance music, was a huge relief.

Only the relief and clearheadedness didn’t last. The ache of being alone crept in again, insidiously, like smoke curling in and around the base of the floor and climbing the walls, silently and menacingly. I wanted Ellie and Ryan to work out because as tired of being ostracized as I felt, I didn’t want Ellie to feel that way. I needed to stop relying on her so heavily, to push her back onto campus and not allow her to regret that her college years were spent in exile with me.

I rubbed my hands along my face. Feeling sorry for myself was worse than feeling lonely.

Chapter Seventeen

BO

THE SITUATION WITH AM WAS confounding me. Given her past, I knew I had to let her make the first move, but exchanging lighthearted banter when I wanted to peel her clothing off with my teeth was wearing what little self-control I had down to a nub. Noah suggested heading down to the old zipper factory. A group of guys met to fight on Wednesday nights—a hump day celebration or something.

There were no crowds there, and if you showed up, the expectation was that you wanted to fight. There were around ten of us there. We could have done this down at the Spartan Gym, but I supposed that Paulie wouldn’t want it to get around that we were trying to beat the shit out of each other instead of “training” or “working out.” But none of us wanted to be the best at exercising. We just wanted the opportunity to whale on each other for five minutes without interruption or judgment. I never asked why any of the other guys were there, and they didn’t ask me. It was bare knuckle fighting. Not everyone was even in very good shape. One guy had a tub in his belly but an iron jaw. My knuckles bore witness to his immovable facade.