“I can’t believe you’ve done this.”
For the third time since we arrived at Sun Valley’s only decent pub, Nick huffs loudly, slumping in the booth we claimed with his arms crossed over his chest, muttering something in angry Portuguese before following up in English. “This is a terrible fucking idea.”
Across from Nick and I, Cass sighs like one might at a child throwing a tantrum. “He needed somewhere to live.”
“Dorms exist.”
“Our spare room is nicer.”
“He’s a child.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“Ben is nice,” I interject before the eye-poking, hair-pulling segment of their argument begins. I ignore Nick’s scoff as I crook a brow at Cass. “But you should’ve asked us first.”
“I didn’t think it would be a big deal!”
“You didn’t think it would be a big deal,” Nick repeats, eyes rolling toward the ceiling. “Inviting a fetus to live with us is a big deal.”
“He’s seventeen!”
Nick blinks. “Exactly.”
“Look,” Cass starts and God, don’t I recognize that troublesome tone. “I know anyone under the age of twenty seems like a child compared to you-”
“I am not old.”
“You know who says that? Old people.”
I’m up and sprinting to the bar before the first Portuguese curse can leave Nick’s mouth; I physically cannot listen to another round of arguing without another round of alcohol. They just keep recycling the same conversation.
Cass reveals he asked Ben to move in with us.
Nick is pissed.
Cass tries to explain why.
Nick is pissed.
Cass gets pissed because Nick is pissed.
Nick is more pissed.
Deep down, I don’t think Nick actually has a problem with it. Besides the whole calling-him-old-thing, him and Ben got along well. He–and I say this lovingly–just likes to bitch. And Cass–also, with so much love–likes to make him bitch.
It’s a dangerous fucking cycle, and being caught up in it?
Actual hell.
It’s a hot and sticky tussle to the counter, elbows hitting the wood as a sigh loosens my lips. I want to go home. I never wanted to leave home, actually. I didn’t even want to be in Sun Valley this weekend. With a meagre couple of weeks until junior year starts, I wanted to soak up every moment of fresh, country air I could.
Nick and Cass, however, had other ideas.
An obligatory house-warning night out, they claimed, never mind the fact we technically moved into our new place at the beginning of summer, when we transferred all our stuff from what was essentially a shitty, overcrowded frat house without the official title to a slightly less shitty place for the three of us.
Or, I guess, the four of us now.
Learn to say no, Jackson, I tell myself as I contemplate scaling the bar and pouring my own drink since that seems a better plan than waiting for the bartender—whose devout attention belongs to a group of giggling girls—to shift his focus my way. And after a lengthy wait, when my wish for a fresh drink is finally granted, the relief is short-lived.
A full glass barely graces my palm before a shoulder rams into my chest and sticky liquid sloshes over the rim, half the contents staining one of the only t-shirts not splattered in paint I own.
Typical.
“Fucking hell,” I swear beneath my breath, brows pulling together in a frown that all but dissipates the moment my gaze raises and lands on the culprit.
The strong scent of vanilla overwhelming the acrid tang of beer should’ve given it away before the blonde hair does. Or the eyes with the uncanny likeness to the paint that’s been frequenting my canvas—Spun Sugar, a pale cyan, a complete coincidence. Or the skin stained a sandy brown from the sun. Or the long legs I really, really try not to gawk at but, in my defense, the gem-adorned strappy heels encircling delicate ankles are hard to ignore.
It’s embarrassing, really, that without seeing them, I can recall those features almost perfectly. That I can recall the first time I saw them despite the fact they belong to a girl who’s name I don’t even know.
It was after the last game of sophomore year, a game we won, of course, because losing is not something Cass Morgan is accustomed to. We were celebrating in the local student haunt, as we often do—minus our star player because getting banned from establishments is something Cass is accustomed to but plus the other biggest player on campus because where the women are, so is Nick. I was just sitting there, cringing at my too-loud teammates and trying to politely shuck off an overenthusiastic jersey chaser when suddenly, there she was.
Bright and smiling and so damn pretty it hurt my head.
Robbed me of my speech then too—I barely managed to conjure up a simple request for beer with that smile fixed on me.
Slack-jawed and blurry-eyed, Nick likes to say I was. Tongue hanging out like a dog catching sight of a treat. Wedding bells ringing around me.
The persistent teasing all summer was painful but even worse?
Suddenly, the blonde was everywhere.
It was like I saw her once and I couldn’t unsee her.
Every Greenies visit, she was working. The rare times I was in Sun Valley over the summer—I promised my sisters I’d be home and I’m a man of my word—she was always inexplicably in my vicinity too, all swishing hips and flicking hair and melodious laughter.
I’m not sure why I thought tonight would be any different.
Greenies’ most distracting waitress blinks blankly at the damp spot on my t-shirt, her throat bobbing with a quiet hiccup as she sways on unsteady feet. She’s stationary yet she stumbles over nothing, and I loop a steadying hand around her bicep before she falls on her ass.
“Are you okay?”
Shoulders quaking with a shiver, hazy blue eyes slowly climb upward. Pale brows furrow as though she’s just realizing I’m here. Full lips painted a glossy pink part, slurred words leaving them in an incoherent gargle.
With my umpteenth sigh of the evening, I turn back to the bar. Wouldn’t you know, now that I have a pretty girl by my side, the bartender is quick to appear, ready to take my order with a sleazy smile on his thin lips.
I side-step, blocking her from view. “Can I get some water, please?”
Exchanging a couple of bills for a bottle, I’m checking it’s sealed when the warm skin beneath my fingertips suddenly disappears. I glance up just in time to watch Blondie slip my grasp and stumble away, oddly elegant in her inebriated state.
I’m not the only one who notices her graceful yet wobbly strides; it’s like a hundred gazes swing her way as she ambles through the club. For once in her presence, my brain stops malfunctioning long enough for me to shove through the crowd after her.
Blonde doesn’t notice me looming at her back like a protective shadow as she makes a break for the bathroom—her slightly green sickly pallor gives her away before her wandering feet do.
I don’t touch her. I’m just… there. Hovering. A couple of inches between us. Enough to give her space.
Not enough to give any of the leering creeps the impression we’re not together.
I wonder, briefly, if they’d still be leering if they too watched her drop to her knees and empty her guts into a toilet.
Honestly, probably.
Awkwardly crouching in the sliver of space between her and the cubicle wall, my fingers skim the nape of her neck as they clumsily twist long, wavy locks into a makeshift ponytail. God, I never thought I’d be grateful for Lux’s more rebellious years; they may have been hell on my blood pressure but at least they taught me how to take care of a drunk girl.
“You okay?” My question is drowned out by the sound of retching, followed by a defeated groan as the girl sits back on her heels. When another shiver wracks her lithe body, I wriggle out of the corduroy shirt I’m wearing over my tee and drape it over her shoulders.
Her very bare shoulders.
To go with her very bare body, if I was noticing things like that.
I’m not, though.
A weak smile and quiet thanks draws my attention away from miles of smooth skin. I watch like a damn lovestruck fool as she slips her arms through the sleeves of my shirt, hugs the soft fabric close to her with a small, happy inhale that, God, I don’t know what to do with.
Clearing my throat, I crack open the water bottle and hold it out to her, desperate to prove I’m not a creep despite very much feeling like one. Only a moment of cautious eagle-eyeing passes before she sighs and takes it, sucking down the contents so greedily, she sloshes water all over her chin and her chest and God help me. “If this is roofied, I’m gonna kick your ass.”
My chuckle surprises me, how casually it comes out. “I don’t doubt that.”
Those diamond encrusted death-trap stilettos could take a man down, easy, if wielded the right way.
A satisfied, agreeing hum leaves her as she suddenly shifts, two palms molding to my shoulders as she hoists herself to her bejeweled feet.
I don’t move a muscle. I don’t think I breathe for the impossibly long minute it takes her to right herself, nor the following thirty seconds where she simply… stands. Stares. Smiles.
Winks.
And honest to God purrs, “Thanks, handsome.”
Death by half-hearted, joking compliment.
That’s how I’m gonna go.
Huh.
I don’t get the chance to even attempt a response; she pats me on the shoulder and teeters away before my tongue can untie itself. Slender fingers topped with long, bright pink nails clasp the ceramic edge of the sink, narrowed eyes peering into the cloudy mirror above it. Downturned lips part with a displeased puff of air. “Jesus Christ, Luna.”
Ordinarily, I would revel in the sudden discovery of her name. I would think, God, how fitting she’s named after a goddess.
My brain, however, is caught on the sight of the pearly silk clinging to her upper thighs, riding too high when she stoops to rinse her mouth out with tap water. A hint of curved ass cheek is enough to have my gaze averting. It shoots toward the ceiling for a brief second as I pray the choked noise lodged in the back of my throat isn’t as audible as I fear before returning to her reflection.
Clambering awkwardly to my feet, I shove my twitchy hands into my pockets, watching her straighten that goddamn scrap of fabric and fluff her hair and swipe at the errant streaks of mascara beneath her eyes, all the while cursing and chastising herself for being such a mess.
“You look good.”
Startlingly bright irises dart my way, as wide and surprised to hear the compliment as I was to say it—I was thinking it one second, blurting it the next. It’s hilarious, really, that amidst a sea of instances where my mouth refuses to open around this girl, it couldn’t stay shut the one time I wanted it to.
Something between a smirk and a pout flourishes as Luna straightens, one hip cocked as she flicks her hair over a shoulder, intimidating in a way no one as wasted as her should be capable of achieving. “Just good?”
“Uh,” I cough, gaze inadvertently raking over her.
Yeah. If I looked like her, I’d be offended by good too.
“Beautiful,” I correct myself, the tips of my ears on fire as they presumably turn bright red.
A tiny, sharp intake of breath echoes off the tiled bathroom walls. Luna’s head drops ever so slightly, waves falling forward to hide what I’m sure are but can’t possibly be blush-stained cheeks. It only lasts a split second, the brief lapse in bravado, before she clears her throat and straightens.
“Beautiful, hm?” she croons, twirling a blonde lock around her finger in a way that should absolutely be cringy and obnoxious but somehow isn’t. “Lucky you. Trapped in a bathroom with a beautiful girl.”
Briefly, I wonder if I’m hallucinating. If I’m the drunk one. If someone slipped something in my drink. Because I swear there’s a flirtatious edge to her tone, something sultry and sticky and too damn enticing.
Coy. Curious. Wanting.
God, I might not be Nicolas fucking Silva but I know what a girl looks like when she wants to be kissed. And she, for some unfathomable reason, is looking at me like that right now.
It’s so sudden, so off-balancing, so fucking distracting, I almost forget she’s drunk. I almost forget she’s… her. Any thoughts unrelated to the crystal gaze zoned in on my mouth are pretty cloudy. When her tongue darts out to trace her bottom lip, I almost break.
God, do I want to break.
But then Luna takes a single step toward me and trips over her own feet, and reality breaks through the fog.
I catch her before she hits the ground, holding her at arm’s length but she doesn’t stay there for long. Soft, drunken snickering brushes my neck as she shimmies closer, long lashes casting shadows across her cheeks as she blinks with blatant false innocence. “What, you scared of me or something?”
Terrified, I admit silently.
“You need help finding someone?” I ask aloud.
It’s not a dismissal—it’s more of a plea—but Luna takes it that way. A full bottom lip comes out to play, disappointment found in straight, white teeth kissing loudly. “No.”
It would be a lie, if the universe wasn’t evidently on Luna’s side. The moment the word leaves her pouting mouth, the bathroom door swings open, wood banging against the wall in unison with an indignant shout. “Hey!”
Survival instincts drive me away from the too-drunk girl with lowered inhibitions; she doesn’t get the message. The large step I take, she copies, plastering herself to my side, dead weight leaning against me as one hand loops loosely around my waist in an oddly comfortable way while the other waves lazily at the girl looming in the doorway.
The girl staring at me exactly how you’d expect someone to stare at the random stranger pawing your drunk friend alone in a bathroom.
Dark eyes scrutinize me suspiciously, and when she crooks an accusing brow, I blurt, “I was helping her.”
The responding hum is less than convinced.
“Relax, Kate,” Luna cuts in confidently, a clammy palm patting my hip. “He did not roofie me.”
Kate wears an expression as dry and unamused as her response. “That’s nice of him.”
A croaky, heaving noise I think is a laugh directs my attention to the lump of pale skin and wild, red hair bundled beneath Kate’s arm, and I’m briefly distracted as I wonder how Nick would react if he knew the girl he definitely has absolutely zero interest in was scurrying around the same bar all night.
Very distracting fingers messing with the hem of my t-shirt direct my attention to Luna again. Lashing batting, she does that goddamn purring thing again. “Can you help me into bed?”
“Jesus Christ, Luna.” Kate sighs, briefly pinching the bridge of her nose before crooking her fingers in a summoning gesture. “You’re done. Let’s go.”
Luna puts up a hell of a fuss, whining and slurring incoherent complaints, but she obeys her friend. She stumbles over, tucking herself under Kate’s free arm, letting her half-lead, half-drag her down the hallway.
Right before she disappears from sight, Luna turns. Droopy eyes land on me, one dipping in a wink as clumsy fingers wiggle a goodbye. “Bye, handsome.”
