“I have no idea who he is. Nice cheekbones, though.” The boy Val’s referring to has ink-black hair and is wearing a pirate’s costume complete with a dangerous-looking sword strapped to his waist. The gleam off the metal hilt seems too real for a costume piece.
“Right? That’s Hiro Kamenashi. His family’s part of the conglomerate of Ikoto Autos. They opened a manufacturing plant two years ago and apparently have more money than some small countries.”
“Is he nice?”
She shrugs. “Don’t know. Heard he has a decent dick, though. Hold my drink. I’m going in.”
I grab her wine cooler before it drops to the floor and watch as Val slides through the crowd and taps Hiro on the shoulder. A few seconds later, she’s leading him into the next room where couples are grinding against each other.
I feel a pull in my belly. If Reed and I were together, we’d be in there. Our bodies would be glued together. I’d feel his excitement press against me. He’d hear my desire in the shortness of my breaths and my soft, irrepressible moans.
We’d go outside and find a dark corner where his fingers would slip beneath my shirt and my hands would map out the hard planes of his muscles. And in the dark, away from the crowd, his mouth would seal itself against mine and we would dance away all my feelings of loss and loneliness.
I lied to Valerie. I have experienced moments of blissful happiness. The problem is that the fall off the cliff of joy hurts like a bitch.
I shake myself to get rid of dangerous thoughts about Reed and look around the room again for my Hiro. This time when I spot Easton, he’s leaning against a pillar on the porch and it’s not Shea between his legs. It’s Savannah, dressed in an ethereal white gown. She looks gorgeous but sad, like the abandoned princess she is.
Easton, you dumb shit.
But I’m as dumb as he is, looking for some guy to put my arms around to make me feel better. Well, I already have someone who cares about me and I care about him, too. And I’m not going to let him make another mistake tonight.
“Hey, Easton,” I say as I approach.
He rolls his head lazily toward me. His eyes are completely unfocused. Shit. I have no clue what he’s on, and the boy is nearly a foot taller than me and a hundred pounds heavier. I can’t just drag him off.
So I improvise. “Val found a hottie and I need a dance partner.”
“Not interested.” His hand slides up Savannah’s side until his thumb rests under her boob.
Her mouth is set in a mulish line, daring me to call her out on this.
And I do, because both of them will regret this tomorrow. “Come on,” I urge Easton. “I’m hungry. Let’s go find something to eat.”
He leans forward and kisses Savannah’s shoulder. He’s done listening to me, if he ever started.
I try Savannah instead. “This isn’t going to make you feel better. They may have the same last name, but they aren’t the same person.”
Her defiant expression wavers for a moment, until Easton drawls in a voice loud enough to carry, “What, you’re the only girl we can pass around?”
A few giggles and a gasp put a smile on his mouth. He’s hit his mark, just as he intended. Maybe he’s not so high, after all. He knows exactly what he’s doing and apparently Savannah does, too.
“Fine, screw up your lives. Both of you.”
My hurt expression must penetrate whatever drug-fog he’s in, because his face pales with regret. “Ella—”
I push past a couple of gawking students and run smack into Jordan, who’s drinking a vodka mixer and smirking at me.
“Jealous that your Royals are moving on? Everyone knows you were always just temporary.” With the glass still between her fingers, she flicks some non-existent speck on my shoulder. The icy liquid sloshes over the brim to trickle underneath the neckline of my jersey and between my breasts. “Slumming it is fun for a night or two, but after a while the stench just gets too strong to handle.”
“You would know, wouldn’t you?” I say tersely, backing away.
“Actually, I’m just hypothesizing, because getting dirty isn’t my thing. Neither is getting wet.”
Jordan smiles as she empties her drink down the front of my jersey.
As outrage jolts through me, my hand shoots out and fists her silk blouse. I drag her to me and rub my wet chest all over her. “Guess we’re both wet now,” I chirp.
“This is a thousand dollar Balmain!” she screeches as she shoves me away. “You’re such a bitch.”
I give her a mean smile. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Then I stalk off in search of Val before Jordan can come up with another insult. I find my friend in the middle of the dance floor with Hiro’s hands all over her butt.
It takes several hard taps to get Val’s attention.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“I want to leave. I can’t stay here another minute.”
Val looks reluctantly at Hiro and then back to me. “Okay. Let me run to the bathroom and I’ll be ready.”
Hiro steps forward. “Why don’t I drive you home? I’ve got Tina and her boyfriend, Cooper, with me.”
Val gives me a pleading glance. “Is that okay?”
“Of course,” I say, but I don’t mean it. I need a friend to lean on. I want someone to hold my hand, brush the hair out of my face, find me a towel. I want to commiserate with someone about what a bitch Jordan is, and for someone to tell me that it’s okay that I don’t like her.
But Val’s my friend and she needs something tonight too, something that I can’t give her. So I offer a reassuring smile and then walk away with the vodka mixer trickling between my boobs.
The crowd doesn’t part for me like a scene in the movie. I have to push and shove past cops, robbers, superheroes, and werewolves. More than a little beer is spilled on or near me, and by the time I reach the front door, I smell like I’ve been dunked in a vat of yeast.
I stomp down the asphalt toward my car. My heel gets caught in a crack and my ankle decides to give way.
Cursing under my breath, I rip off my shoes and finish the rest of the walk barefoot, not even caring that the tiny pebbles stick to the bottom of my feet like little, pointed leeches. When I get to the convertible, I toss the shoes in the backseat and grab the door handle.
“Right? That’s Hiro Kamenashi. His family’s part of the conglomerate of Ikoto Autos. They opened a manufacturing plant two years ago and apparently have more money than some small countries.”
“Is he nice?”
She shrugs. “Don’t know. Heard he has a decent dick, though. Hold my drink. I’m going in.”
I grab her wine cooler before it drops to the floor and watch as Val slides through the crowd and taps Hiro on the shoulder. A few seconds later, she’s leading him into the next room where couples are grinding against each other.
I feel a pull in my belly. If Reed and I were together, we’d be in there. Our bodies would be glued together. I’d feel his excitement press against me. He’d hear my desire in the shortness of my breaths and my soft, irrepressible moans.
We’d go outside and find a dark corner where his fingers would slip beneath my shirt and my hands would map out the hard planes of his muscles. And in the dark, away from the crowd, his mouth would seal itself against mine and we would dance away all my feelings of loss and loneliness.
I lied to Valerie. I have experienced moments of blissful happiness. The problem is that the fall off the cliff of joy hurts like a bitch.
I shake myself to get rid of dangerous thoughts about Reed and look around the room again for my Hiro. This time when I spot Easton, he’s leaning against a pillar on the porch and it’s not Shea between his legs. It’s Savannah, dressed in an ethereal white gown. She looks gorgeous but sad, like the abandoned princess she is.
Easton, you dumb shit.
But I’m as dumb as he is, looking for some guy to put my arms around to make me feel better. Well, I already have someone who cares about me and I care about him, too. And I’m not going to let him make another mistake tonight.
“Hey, Easton,” I say as I approach.
He rolls his head lazily toward me. His eyes are completely unfocused. Shit. I have no clue what he’s on, and the boy is nearly a foot taller than me and a hundred pounds heavier. I can’t just drag him off.
So I improvise. “Val found a hottie and I need a dance partner.”
“Not interested.” His hand slides up Savannah’s side until his thumb rests under her boob.
Her mouth is set in a mulish line, daring me to call her out on this.
And I do, because both of them will regret this tomorrow. “Come on,” I urge Easton. “I’m hungry. Let’s go find something to eat.”
He leans forward and kisses Savannah’s shoulder. He’s done listening to me, if he ever started.
I try Savannah instead. “This isn’t going to make you feel better. They may have the same last name, but they aren’t the same person.”
Her defiant expression wavers for a moment, until Easton drawls in a voice loud enough to carry, “What, you’re the only girl we can pass around?”
A few giggles and a gasp put a smile on his mouth. He’s hit his mark, just as he intended. Maybe he’s not so high, after all. He knows exactly what he’s doing and apparently Savannah does, too.
“Fine, screw up your lives. Both of you.”
My hurt expression must penetrate whatever drug-fog he’s in, because his face pales with regret. “Ella—”
I push past a couple of gawking students and run smack into Jordan, who’s drinking a vodka mixer and smirking at me.
“Jealous that your Royals are moving on? Everyone knows you were always just temporary.” With the glass still between her fingers, she flicks some non-existent speck on my shoulder. The icy liquid sloshes over the brim to trickle underneath the neckline of my jersey and between my breasts. “Slumming it is fun for a night or two, but after a while the stench just gets too strong to handle.”
“You would know, wouldn’t you?” I say tersely, backing away.
“Actually, I’m just hypothesizing, because getting dirty isn’t my thing. Neither is getting wet.”
Jordan smiles as she empties her drink down the front of my jersey.
As outrage jolts through me, my hand shoots out and fists her silk blouse. I drag her to me and rub my wet chest all over her. “Guess we’re both wet now,” I chirp.
“This is a thousand dollar Balmain!” she screeches as she shoves me away. “You’re such a bitch.”
I give her a mean smile. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Then I stalk off in search of Val before Jordan can come up with another insult. I find my friend in the middle of the dance floor with Hiro’s hands all over her butt.
It takes several hard taps to get Val’s attention.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“I want to leave. I can’t stay here another minute.”
Val looks reluctantly at Hiro and then back to me. “Okay. Let me run to the bathroom and I’ll be ready.”
Hiro steps forward. “Why don’t I drive you home? I’ve got Tina and her boyfriend, Cooper, with me.”
Val gives me a pleading glance. “Is that okay?”
“Of course,” I say, but I don’t mean it. I need a friend to lean on. I want someone to hold my hand, brush the hair out of my face, find me a towel. I want to commiserate with someone about what a bitch Jordan is, and for someone to tell me that it’s okay that I don’t like her.
But Val’s my friend and she needs something tonight too, something that I can’t give her. So I offer a reassuring smile and then walk away with the vodka mixer trickling between my boobs.
The crowd doesn’t part for me like a scene in the movie. I have to push and shove past cops, robbers, superheroes, and werewolves. More than a little beer is spilled on or near me, and by the time I reach the front door, I smell like I’ve been dunked in a vat of yeast.
I stomp down the asphalt toward my car. My heel gets caught in a crack and my ankle decides to give way.
Cursing under my breath, I rip off my shoes and finish the rest of the walk barefoot, not even caring that the tiny pebbles stick to the bottom of my feet like little, pointed leeches. When I get to the convertible, I toss the shoes in the backseat and grab the door handle.
