Crushed

Chapter 3

Yeah, right.

He ran a hand through his hair. It pushed back from his face, then fell forward again like a curtain to hide his eyes. With an absent motion of his head, he shook the hair to one side of his face. He hadn’t gotten lucky in months. Why should tonight be any different? He wondered if condoms had expiration dates on them. If they did, he thought it was about time to throw out the ones he had—how long did they last unopened, anyway? He wasn’t sure, but if he didn’t meet anyone at the party, he was coming home and pitching the whole damn box in the trash.

Tom had said to be at his place by seven, so that was the time Nathan left his apartment. Nothing like being fashionably late. Tom only lived a few miles away—he shared a house with Cindy in the west end of the city. Nathan’s apartment was on the south side, and he pulled onto his friends’ street just around quarter after. Cars lined the sidewalks up and down the narrow street, the party already well under way, and he slowed as he drove, looking for a place to park.

Tom’s house sat on a corner lot by a service alley, and Nathan managed to squeeze his car into a tiny spot on the lawn, just behind the house. But when he opened the door, he hit the car next to him. “s**t,” he muttered, rubbing at the tiny scratch in his paint as he glanced around. Music poured from the house; every room on the lower floor was lit. At least out here it was dark, and he was far enough away from the few people hanging around the back porch that no one could’ve seen him hit the other car. Nevertheless, his heart hammered in his chest as he approached the house, and when someone called his name, he almost jumped. “Nathan!”

It was Tom’s girlfriend, Cindy Prewitt, hurrying down the porch steps two at a time. She wore a pair of tight jeans that left little to the imagination and a fluffy pink sweater that made her look bustier than she was. Her long hair was pulled back into a blonde ponytail, the way she usually wore it, and her face glowed from sweat or makeup or both.

Shoot me now. Nathan rolled his eyes but when she came closer, he flashed her a bright smile and kissed her cheek. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she told him, taking his arm before he could object. “Tom said he told you seven—”

“I was running a little late.” Nathan tried to disentangle his arm from hers, but it was no use. She had his elbow in a death grip; she dragged him up the steps and into the house as if convinced he would run the instant she let him go. I just might. “Cindy—”

“I’ve got a ton of people I want you to meet,” she said, pushing through the crowded kitchen. Nathan caught a glimpse of liquor bottles set out on the table, faceted glass filled with alcohol winking at him in the overhead light, and then he was being led into a hall swamped with people. Did Tom even know everyone here? Nathan saw a few letterman’s jackets from State, a couple of fraternity pins from Tom’s old chapter, some girls in the corner he knew worked with Cindy in customer service, but all the faces swam together and made his head spin. I could really use one of those drinks back there.

Hip-hop party music filled the house, the bass so heavy and the beat so strong that Nathan couldn’t distinguish words from the rhythm that pounded like surf around him. The people in the hall jostled each other in some semblance of dancing, and the only way Nathan could move through them was by wiggling his hips and dancing along. He couldn’t hear the music so much as feel it beat in his chest like a second heart and throb in his head like blood through his veins. “Cindy!” he called out.

He knew she was still somewhere ahead of him—he could feel her hand on his arm, but he could barely see her in the dim hall, cloudy with cigarette smoke. When he managed to catch up to her, he leaned down and yelled into her ear. “Is Tom around? I just want to say hi. I can’t stay long.”

She turned and smiled at him. “There’s this guy from my department,” she was saying over the din, her voice coming to him in waves. “You’ll like him. He’s your type.”

Nathan suspected Cindy had no clue what his type might be. This is why I don’t come to your parties, Tom. “Cindy, really…”

Pulling him up beside her, she patted his arm and gushed, “He’s so sweet, Nathan. Nicest guy I’ve ever met. If I wasn’t with Tom and he wasn’t…well, you know.” She arched her eyebrows and gave him that look of hers that said, he’s gay, you’ve just got to like him. God. Why me? “You know what they say about Latin lovers—”

“No, I don’t.” Nathan tried to wrest free from her grip.

Cindy laughed. “They say they’re mah-velous in bed. Didn’t you read the last issue of Cosmo? I’ll show you the article.”

Like a good f**k is genetic. Against his will, he followed her into the living room. The DJ Tom had promised was in one corner, stereo equipment spread out around him like a booth at the fair—lights flashing, speakers pumping, stacks of CDs tottering above the tables. One look at the disc jockey and Nathan prayed…Please, no. The guy was too old, for starters, with bleached spikes that stood up from his head as if shocked he was trying to pull off such a heinous color. “Cindy—”