I smile, and spend the rest of the drive deep in thought, greeting Sin when she gets in. Fab drapes his hand on her thigh as he drives, and she holds tight to his wrist, both of them behaving like they’ll die if they can’t touch, even for one minute.
That’s how I feel about Viv. And now I have to go into the party and pretend I feel the exact opposite.
Fab parks ten minutes later, and like a true best friend, doesn’t move to leave the car right away. He pulls a flask from his breast pocket, passing it back to me. I shake the flask, and arch a brow.
“Vodka,” he answers, “and I think you’re gonna need it if you’re gonna try to forget her.”
Because he’s told her everything, Sinela turns in her seat, her caramel colored hair shining beneath the parking structure lights. She smiles, reaching back to drape a consoling hand on my knee. “My friend Thea is coming tonight. She’s a computer science major, too.”
Obligatory conversation at its finest. “Oh yeah? Where at?”
Sin lifts a shoulder. “Florida University,” she says. “Like you.”
It should make me incredibly happy that a fellowcomputer nerd is coming tonight, that she knows my best friend’s girl and attends the same university as me.
But I’m not excited. Not at all.
“Fab, you got those joints?”
His eyebrows lift, because I’ve never been a guy that partakes in smoking weed. I used to tell everyone in high school that I didn’t smoke because it made me sick, but the truth is, I promised my mom that I wouldn’t.
He passes one back to me, and lights it. I take a deep inhale, then a long pull from the flask, and for the first time ever, I understand wanting to forget.
Chapter Eleven
Vivienne
“Are you sure you don’t want a drink?” Brooke presses, linking her arm with Ricky’s, who is already on her second flute of champagne.
“We’ve only been here like, ten minutes, you guys,” I breathe, trying to keep my voice down as another large group of people filter in through the doors. “I have time.”
Brooke levels her gaze on me, pushing a full flute into my hand. “No you don’t. He just got here.”
My entire body tenses, but my pussy flutters, sensing Reed nearby. Just hearing that he’s here sends my insides into overdrive, nervous flitting against my ribs, my pulse leaping, my stomach twisting. Ricky wraps her arm around my waist, her dress swishing as she guides me to the wrought iron banister near the concierge. “C’mon, let's go upstairs. Did Brooke tell you? She met three guys at Arcane’s lastnight. They’re club members, we’re meeting them in the theatre room in a few minutes.”
Knowing we were coming to the club tonight, I went over all the floorplans available on their website. Of course the floor plans exist for rental purposes, as members can rent the space to host a variety of events. But I looked at them so I’d know all the places I could hide from Reed tonight. The theater room, colored in rich plums and vibrant blacks, is decked out in loungers and couches, the light set romantically low at nearly all times. It’s the perfect hideaway.
“It’s closed, since they want all the young entrepreneur stuff downstairs. Actually, they wanted us to stay near the pool, but they have to know that a party with a bunch of young adults who rarely hear the word no is going to make for a night full of broken rules.”
I drink all of the champagne in my flute in just two swallows. It burns the back of my throat, making my eyes water. “I hate breaking rules. But tonight is the last time,” I say, realizing I’m saying it more to myself than to her.
“C’mon,” she says as Brooke rejoins us. The three of us click our way up the stairs, Ricky holding her gown up so she doesn’t trip. At the top of the stairs, three boys wait, all of them decked out in crisp, pressed tuxedos.
None of them have swoopy chestnut hair, a chiseled jaw and glasses.
But that’s the point, right?
Chaz,Michael and David.
Or was it Chad, Michael and Murray? I catch a snort with the back of my hand.Chad Michael Murray is that guy from that thing, that’s not the guy you’re with now.Dumb Vivienne.
“What are you laughing at? How much champagne did you let her have?” Brooke asks, splitting her questions between me and one part of the Chad, Michael, David trio.
The blonde boy in the nice tux puts his hand on my knee, and the other boy, also with blonde hair, puts his arm around Ricky. She snuggles up to him, her heels on the floor, both of them in one of the oversized theatre chairs. An empty flask rattles in the cupholder as she drapes her legs over his lap.
“You had, what? Three glasses?” she asks, counting the empty flutes littering the floor around me. “That’s not bad.”
The truth is, for as giggly as I am, my wits are, in fact, still about me. Damn it. Stupid champagne and stupid hot guy in the tux that isn’t Reed–both of these things were supposed to be the big, great distraction, things that keep my eyes from sliding to the doors every two seconds.
