Read Love Nouveau for Free Online Page B

lead, but I find myself floating weightlessly, dancing in slow motion.
    Try as I might, words fail me. I attempt to respond to him, but each thought is trapped inside my mouth, clinging to the back of my teeth like an insect struggling to free itself from tar.
    My body shakes in Phoenix’s arms.
    Darkness begins in the corners of my eyes and seeps through, taking over my line of sight. A blank page bleeding ink. The crisp music turns murky.
    My brain … slurs.
    My knees … buckle.
    Give …
    Out …
    Heaviness …
    Darkness.

 
     
    THE FIRST THING I NOTICE is my pulse.
    Behind my eyelids is a furious pushing and pulling of angry seawaters beating against a rocky shoreline with each beat of my heart. The morning sun melts through the blinds, cascading stripes against the far wall, and the aura makes my insides heave as I choke back the rising bile in my throat. Slowly, I sit up and fist my hair.
    What the fuck happened last night?
    This is easily the worst hangover in the history of hangovers. I know my limits, but more often than not I just simply ignore them. Case and point? This very moment. With the way I’m feeling, I clearly drank half the party.
    That’s it. I’m never drinking again.
    This time I think I might actually mean it.
    I spy my phone on the nightstand, next to a large glass of water.That’s… thoughtful? I chug the full glass in three gulps.
    I grab my phone to check the time and notice a text message.
     
    Rachel: Hey, girl! Call me when you wake up and I’ll come get you. Hope you had fun with that lickable blond hottie! XO
     
    I don’t think Rachel could be more awesome if she tried. As for the blond … well, that didn’t go as planned. I quickly fire off a reply.
     
    Ivy: Rescue me. Stat.
     
    Moments later she texts back to let me know she’s on her way. Which gives me roughly ten to fifteen minutes to get my shit together and out of this place.
    I examine myself. Clothes, while disheveled, are still on. I look around the room and observe my surroundings and then it hits me—I have no idea where I am. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. Raccoon eyes, bird’s nest hair, sallow cheeks … whatever happened once the shots took over must have been fun because I look, and feel, like hell.
    I sit up to gather my belongings and find a bathroom. As soon as I’m vertical, sea legs hit and I’m woozy. My thighs throb and my entire body aches, clear indication that a good time was had, although I don’t recall dancing all that much.
    When I emerge from the bedroom, the pieces begin to fall into place. Clearly, I crashed at the party, which is rather adventitious of me. I chalk it up to blacking out.
    The hallways are quiet and I am certain there’s no one else awake … that is if there is even anyone else in this house.
    I open a door, praying it’s the bathroom and not a bedroom holding half naked, passed out strangers on the other side, but all I find are rolls of towels twisted like cinnamon buns with extra bed linens and blankets stuffed along the top. I reach for a washcloth and try the handle on the opposite of the closet with success. Quietly, I slip in and close the door, locking it behind me.
    My stomach grumbles, but thankfully it isn’t lurching in the aftermath of a long night of drinking. I ransack the medicine cabinet, searching for something, anything, to help relieve the pounding inside my skull.
    When I spy the bottle of generic aspirin, I can’t get the lid off fast enough. I toss three little white pills in my mouth and stick my face under the running faucet. Next, I splash cold water across my cheeks, wiping the mascara streaks from underneath my bloodshot eyes and make plans to beeline it out of this house as quickly as possible.
    Creeping back into the hallway, I tip toe my way to the living room so I can sneak out the front door. My efforts are foiled with each passing step as the floor creaks beneath me, and a pair of warm hazel eyes meets mine as I