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Author's Chapter Notes:

After three additional cocktails, making out with Nick in a dark corner, coaching Angela through an emotional moment in the bathroom and dancing with A.J., Coll found herself leaning into Nick on the edge of the dance floor, marveling silently at how he still smelled amazing even after so many hours into the evening.

“I’m a little tipsy.” she whispered into his ear.

“What?”

“I’m tipsy.” She repeated it louder.

He laughed, “I know.”

She bit her bottom lip into her mouth, attempting to keep some words in, her drunk mind no longer sure about why that was her default.

“Do you want to go back?” He asked.

“Do you?” She inquired thoughtfully.

“It’s whatever you want.”

Oh my god. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“Saying what?” He asked as he watched a lock of her hair fall in front of her shoulder.

“Telling me it’s all whatever i want?” She couldn't tell what her tone was, but she so desperately wanted an answer and she was too far under the influence to overthink it. Maybe that's a good thing. It's okay if it's a little messy.

“Because it is.” His eyes met hers and held her gaze for several unending seconds.


--

She had barely even picked up the receiver of the payphone when Nick appeared and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, nuzzling his face in her neck.

“I’m glad you came by last night.”

She felt heat rush across her skin. “Me too.”

“Tonight?” He asked, resting his chin on her shoulder.

She smiled, “That’s the plan.”

She turned around in his arms and he kissed her.

“I really do love kissing you.” He said.

Her heart fluttered uncontrollably and she nodded again, “I love it too.”

--


“What do you want?” She finally asked.

“I want to do what you want, the way you want to do it.” he said seriously. “Not just tonight.” He took her hand in his and pulled her in even closer.

She felt her heart in her throat and she knew her face was probably conveying things to him involuntarily.

“Are you sure?” She asked.

“I don’t always trust myself, but i always trust you.”

Yes. He nodded as his other hand slid across her cheek. The sound around them was drowned out, the only things that mattered right now were the things that happened in the space between them.

“I’m not rushing you.” She said quietly.

“I’m not rushing you either.”

She nodded. “I know. But I want to know what you want …” Her filters were compromised but it felt okay.

“I want to be the person who knows your favorite things.” He said. She felt the teetering again. “And sends you pictures of dogs.”

She shook her head with a smile, “You can be so much more than that. If you want to be.” Said too much.

His stomach hurt.

“I trust you.” Didn’t say enough.


Across the dance floor, in a less crowded part of the club, Howie was lacing his fingers into Becka’s under the table at a semi-circular booth the two of them were sitting in.

“When did you learn Spanish? In school?”

“Some in school. My mother spoke it sometimes. But I am mostly self-taught…”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I started when I was about twelve, maybe thirteen.” She paused, considering how she had definitely made herself out to sound like total mixed up mess of a person all night, “I know it’s weird. Surprising.”

“It is a little.” Howie said, “impressive.”

“I know you’re probably wondering why.”

“Honestly there is a lot I’m wondering about with you… in a good way.”

She blushed as she leaned into her elbow on top of the table. She lifted her eyebrows at him.

“Alright, so, why? Why did you want to teach yourself Spanish?”

“I had this fantasy that I would flee- run away to somewhere and be someone else.” She explained wistfully. “I wanted so desperately to be someone else for so long. I figured I could just leave, settle in somewhere else and create a new persona. Change my name.... My name is so lame.”

“At twelve years old you wanted to run away to another country and speak another language and develop a new persona?”

She nodded.

“Okay … why?” He laughed.

“Because my life was a shit show. I know now it was a distraction. I mean I was twelve, so every twelve-year-old girl’s life is already a shit show and mine was like a bigger shit show.” She looked away from him, “I just thought, like, someday I would run away and drop every difficult and dented thing about me and leave it all behind. But then I grew up and I realized you can’t really do that. You can run from people, you can meet new people who won’t know what you don’t tell them…” she paused and looked at him again, “but you can’t forget yourself. I can’t change my past.”

“Right.”

“So now I’m just glad I know Spanish I guess.” She chuckled, “I used it at the airport.”

“Coll said you only speak it when you’re emotional.” He said.

She felt his thumb pressing into her palm.

“Or as needed,” She nodded, “But, yeah, I guess that’s mostly true. I… I don’t know... it just comes out.”

They sat in a mutual silence as the club energy spun around them.

“You don’t seem dented to me.”

“You never feel someone’s dents at first.”

“Becka-“

“See… such an awfully lame name.” She said quickly, redirecting the conversation.

“I like it.”

“I wanted to be a Camilla, or a Pamela. Or a Ruby. But my mother picked Rebecka and I guess that makes me feel at least one positive thing about it.” She explained, “at least my name isn’t Colleen.”

“What’s wrong with Colleen?”

“Col … leen.” She said, “like, Coll tilt? Coll almost fall over?” Becka giggled, “I don’t know, she doesn’t love it either. You get what you get I guess.”

“How do you think I feel?!”

“You were named after your dad!”

“How did you know that?”

“I read it in my Backstreet Boy book.” She said matter of factly.

“Oh... you’re serious.”

“I mean, yeah. I wasn’t going to come here clueless.” She smiled.

“Which one do you have? If it’s unofficial we should go over it.”

“Thanks, professor Dorough.” She teased, “but I’ll just go with the observations and on-site learning.”

“For what it’s worth… I think Rebecka is a good name. It sounds strong.”