Page 106 of Changing Lanes

The guys still haven’t shown up—not that I’ve been keeping an eye out or anything—so we debate whether we should wait for them or do our own thing. We decide to take our desserts to-go and make our way back to the lawn overlooking the amphitheater that’s nestled just above the river. They can find us. That I don’t doubt for a second.

We meander around for a while, taking in the breathtaking views and snapping silly pics along the way. The three of us finally claim a space in the grass that’ll fit us and the guys, whenever they show up.

I lose myself to the music and the views, just moving to a beat only my heart can feel. One my body doesn’t need to hear to know the lyrics. Having so many people around all the time during my childhood, I began to crave alone time. That’s why my own apartment meant so much to me. I took great pleasure in being by myself there. Even in my new shared apartment, I reveled in my solitude my roommates’ opposite schedules provided. But since growing closer to Beckett, and his friends, the seclusion doesn’t feel as enjoyable as it once did. It’s grown cold and unpleasant, like a day-old steak that never tastes as good as the first time around. There’s a difference between being alone and being lonely, and this week I’ve been lonely as all hell. Maybe even more so than when my brothers were giving me their stubborn ass cold shoulders because as lonesome as I was before, it was never like this. Never had me itching in my own skin to reach out to another. To one other.

I shake the thought away. Roommates by circumstance, friends by accident, Beckett and I are not meant to have a happily-ever-after. At this point I’d settle for a content-ever-after by myself, but even that’s a stretch without adding the 6’6” player to the mix.

I spot Coty, Marc, and Cruz in a group of what looks like a pack of salivating she-wolves, if she-wolves were half naked and so shimmery they could double as disco balls.

Tapping Angela’s shoulder, I point over to them. To my surprise, she just laughs and continues dancing unconcerned. Coty, the ultimate man candy dressed in a dark deep V-neck and jeans that hug his slim hips just right, is surrounded by ravenous girls and she laughs? Maybe this is her part of no worries tonight? We never said your dignity though. She needs to get in there and claim her man.

When I don’t so much as move, Angela stops, shaking her head. “They’re not after him. It’s been like that since we got here. It’s Beckett they’re after.” She watches me closely. “He’s been getting mobbed everywhere he goes.”

Hold on.

Why the hell would they be after Beckett? I mean, aside from how good looking he is. And how sweet he can be. And how well he washes hair.

Okay, I get it, but I don’t want to have to watch that. Especially when I’m trying to let loose and have my own good time tonight. That…doesn’t sound fun. At all. For me.

Marc’s eyes catch mine and his lips tip up as he scans my outfit then nudges Coty next to him, nodding my way. Coty’s face splits into a grin as he takes in my dress, too. I’m glad they think it’s funny. I’m still not sure how the big guy will take it.

“He seems to enjoy it though,” Angela adds, side-eyeing me. “Don’t you think?”

Just then the sea of bodies parts and there in the middle of the estrogen-fueled surf is my tsunami-sized roommate getting his picture taken from every angle, including selfies from a steady line of females ranging from tweens to cougars.

Something about seeing the snap-happy line bothers me. The smile stretching his face bothers me. The fact he’s using it for them bothers me more.

When my gaze finally leaves his face, I see exactly why they’re all gathered around him. The festival is named after Bigfoot himself so naturally all the ‘grammers want to snap a pic with the tallest guy at the venue, especially when he’s wearing a shirt that says Ask Me About My Bigfoot. And yes, he does seem to be enjoying himself. A little too much. Like way too much.

The more flashes go off, the more people join the throng of picture takers. They all think they’re so clever, but if everyone has the same idea, that doesn’t make you unique, it just makes you a part of the herd.

Two girls in matching thongs and bras with butterfly wings attached to the backs step up on both sides of Beckett to kiss each of his cheeks. His smile between the pair grows while vomit fills my throat.

His eyes meet mine for a split second before dropping, lingering for a beat, then snapping back to my face. The smile disappears right off his face and imagine that, I can swallow easier.

This should definitely be interesting.

I harden my stare, aiming my optic daggers at the semi-nude butterflies beside him before throwing him an unimpressed look. Turning around, I get back into the music. Whatever he chooses to do—or who—I’ll still be here, doing my thing, having the best time because I need it. God, do I need it. And I’m not going to let him, or anyone else, ruin that.

I just wish he’d take his sideshow somewhere else. Somewhere I can’t see it.

Several songs later though and I’m back to being alone. Alone in a crowd of thousands. This time I don’t let the loneliness creep back in. Instead I welcome the freedom to move without limitations, to speak a language nobody else can decipher using only my mind and body. The two work in perfect harmony until everything else is blocked out and it’s just me and the music and the music and me.

An up-and-coming rapper named, Julez, takes the stage along with the well-known pop singer, Collette. He’s playing a guitar and belting lyrics while she croons into their shared mic. Their chemistry is palpable even from here and if they’re not sleeping together already, they should be. I can’t take my eyes off them and neither can Cynthia and Angela. Not until an arm snakes around Angela’s exposed midriff. She’s rocking a strappy halter top, a cut off skirt, and Continentals—the girl has a different pair of shoes every time I see her—but my eyebrows nosedive when the guy’s face comes into view.

Soon Angela realizes it’s not her man dancing so intimately with her and tries to throw the unfamiliar arm off but to no avail as it only tightens that much more.

With my arms in the air, winding above my head, I start to lower them when they’re suddenly captured by two unrecognizable hands and held in place as I’m yanked back into an unyielding chest.

Hot breath trickles out like air in a deflating balloon on my neck. “Chill, babe. They’ll be gentle.”

Cynthia, in high-waisted pants, a short tube top, and Converse, tries to move closer to help out but is stopped when a guy steps in front of her. Her wide eyes fly to mine as she’s guided backward, away from our trio.

What’s happening? Divide and conquer? Survival of the fittest? Is that really a method for getting girls? We’re not cattle.

Cracked lips that make my skin crawl touch my ear, whispering, “I can’t say the same for me though.”

Yeah, we’re done here.