Stuck In Savannah

3. What are the Odds?

Chapter 3: What are the odds?  

“Sav, this is, like, the best party ever,” Courtney gushed, looking around and taking in the rager going on around us, as if she’d never been to a party like this before (which probably was the mere truth).

Not that I was bragging or anything, but I took comfort in knowing that I knew how to deliver good old-fashioned fun to overworked and underloved high school students. I did toy with the idea of becoming a party planner one day, so it was good practice. Although it also proved to be a very destructive hobby.

“Thanks. Glad you could make it tonight, Courtney,” I fake-gushed as I hugged and artificially kissed said girl’s cheeks, all the while trying not to gag at the smell of her perfume. God, did she shower in the stuff or what?

“Uh-oh,” Hannah nudged me gently in the ribs, took me by the hand and steered me away before Courtney roped me in another inane conversation, dishing out high school gossip I didn’t care much for, “we’ve got a situation, Sav,” she whispered in my ear and I strained to hear her over the loud music blasting from Connor’s loudspeaker system, but as I followed her wide-eyed gaze, there he was…the devil himself.

“On the scale of one to ten, how mad do you think he looks?” I murmured conspiratorially to her, not taking my eyes off him for a second because I was waiting for the moment when he was going to pounce on me and tear me apart – limb from limb. A part of me recognized the fact that I ought to be scared, but I was somewhat amused instead.

“Eleven,” Hannah whispered back without pausing to think it over before she left my side and highlighted it out of here just as Connor reached me, his body literally vibrating with rage.

Traitor, that Hannah.

“Savannah,” he basically growled at me as he grabbed my upper arm, not painfully, but not exactly gently, either, “what did we talk about the no party rule?” he asked, but I doubted he wanted me to answer, considering there was a party in its full swing going on everywhere around us, so the no party rule was kind of…well, null and void.

“Sorry,” I shrugged, then cheekily grinned up at him, not really feeling threatened by him, “I must’ve forgotten.”

He let go of me then, probably figuring that if he killed me now, there would be way too many witnesses. True, drunk witnesses, but witnesses all the same.

“I can’t even…you…I’m not…holy fuck,” he all but stuttered, failing to find a way to put his feelings into words as he ran a shaky hand through his messy hair before his shoulders sagged in an obvious sign of defeat. Probably got reminded of the time when we were still dating. He lowered his gaze before he growled deep in his throat, so deeply, in fact, that I could hear him over the music and the people talking.

“Want a drink?” I suggested innocently enough, offering him my drink as a sign of…well, truce because I had to admit that driving him out of his home, so I could organize the whole thing was a bit inconsiderate (at best) on my behalf, but what choice did I have? Connor was being a total kill-joy and I couldn’t have that.

“No,” he claimed, but reached out for the cup anyways, “but I need it,” he told me, meeting my gaze head on before he downed the contents of the red plastic cup in one go, not caring what was inside.

Okay, so maybe he was a little mad.

Just a little.

“There’s more in the kitchen,” I told him in hopes to appease him, knowing that once Connor started drinking, he stopped caring, so he might even give me a get out of jail free card in a moment of temporary weakness later on.