“Thanks again for inviting—”
He’s still talking, as he always does. “Was worried about you, man! Everyone else got here before the doors were even open, saw them lurking in the lobby like a bunch of creeps, but hey, better early than late, huh?” There’s a bite to his last statement.
“You can blame me for our tardiness,” Summer says sheepishly. “I held us up.”
Kamal does a double take, as if he’s suddenly realized I’m not alone. He scrutinizes Summer from head to toe, and there’s nothing subtle about the way he does it. His eyes linger on her cleavage. They linger even longer on the diamonds in her hair.
“And who might you be?” he finally asks.
“I’m Summer.” She extends one delicate hand. “Colin’s girlfriend.”
Kamal’s eyebrows soar. He takes her hand, but rather than shake it, he brings it to his lips and kisses her knuckles. “Pleasure to meet you.”
Her smile looks forced. “Likewise.”
He releases her hand and turns to address me. “You never mentioned you had a girlfriend.”
I shrug awkwardly. “Well. Yeah. It didn’t exactly come up in the interview.”
“No reason why it should have,” Summer says lightly. “Job interviews are about the candidate’s résumé, not their personal life. Right?”
“Right,” Kamal echoes. Once again, his tone has a bite to it. And his expression is darkening by the second.
I can’t figure out the source of his displeasure, but the longer he looks at Summer, the more his demeanor changes. I swear I see the corner of his mouth curl in a slight sneer. I guess the source is Summer? But I couldn’t tell you why.
“Is it just me, or is this really uncomfortable?” Summer hisses in my ear an hour later. She’d dragged me onto the dance floor and looped her arms around my neck, leaving me no choice but to rest my hands on her hips and pretend I know how to dance.
I understand her motivation, though—it was the only way to unglue ourselves from Kamal’s side. He hasn’t let us out of his sight since we arrived. That’s not to say he hasn’t been mingling. He has, only he’s been dragging me and Summer along with him to every conversation. The other job hopefuls trail behind us like baby ducklings, and I feel bad for them because he isn’t paying them a lick of attention. He seems utterly fascinated by Summer, yet at the same time I sense animosity rippling beneath the surface.
“It’s not just you. He’s acting strange.”
“No, he’s acting like a dick.” She bites her lip. “I feel like he’s judging us. I can’t really explain it…” She trails off.
I know precisely what she means. I’ve felt it too.
The song ends before I’m ready, and panic jolts through me when the bluesy lead singer announces they’re taking a ten-minute break. Summer laces her fingers through mine as we walk to the edge of the dance floor.
“Don’t hate me,” she says, “but…I really have to pee.”
I grip her hand. “Nope. You can’t abandon me here with these people.”
She giggles. “You say the word ‘people’ like it’s a disease.”
“People are a disease,” I grumble.
“You can survive without me for five minutes.” She kisses my cheek and then rubs her index finger over it, I suspect to wipe off the lipstick stain she left. “I’ll be right back. Promise.”
I watch in defeat as she saunters off. At the bar, I order a Sam Adams and a very efficient bartender in a white shirt and black tie hands me a bottle. “Thanks,” I tell her.
I’ve barely taken a sip before Kamal appears. I’m surprised he didn’t leech on to me the moment Summer and I stepped off the dance floor.
“That’s some dress your girlfriend’s wearing, Colin.” He swishes the tumbler of bourbon he’s holding. It’s not the first one he’s consumed tonight. I’ve seen him order at least three drinks since I got here, and who knows how many he ingested before that.
I make a noncommittal gesture, a cross between a shrug and a hand flutter, because accepting a compliment on Summer’s behalf feels weird.
“Who are you?”
The question comes out of left field. I furrow my brow and search his expression, but I can’t decipher it. “What do you mean?”
“What I mean is…” He throws back the rest of his drink and then slams the glass on the bar. “Another one,” he barks at the bartender.
She flinches at his sharp tone. “Right away, sir.”
“What I mean, Colin,” he continues, as if the woman hadn’t spoken, “is that I thought you were one of us.” He gestures to the other three job candidates—two males, one female. All college-aged like me. “Neil, Ahmed, Robin. Me. You. The outcasts who turned to video games because of people like the girl you showed up with tonight.”
My shoulders stiffen.
“All my life I’ve had to deal with those people. The pretty people.” He accepts his fresh drink and takes several deep swigs. “The jocks and the cheerleaders and the popular assholes who think they’re entitled to do whatever the fuck they want. They bully without consequences. They get everything handed to them on a silver platter. They float through life and expect everyone to step aside for them.”