“So generous,” I told him, taking the wine and twisting the cap off.
Dixon cuffed Warren on the head. “Stop being a dick. And, uh, Elle, message from Levi—he couldn’t get someone to take his shift at work, so he’s not gonna make it.”
I groaned, mouth twisting in a frown. I’d been looking forward to seeing Levi, given that we hadn’t hung out in a few days—not since graduation, really. It hadn’t even occurred to me that this last-minute party might clash with his work schedule. I’d have to remember to text him later, or tomorrow. Maybe he could come out to the beach house later this week to hang out…if he and Noah were still okay with the idea of being in the same room.
Quickly, I put my best party-hostess smile back on. “Well, at least you guys made it!”
“It’s a Flynn party,” Olly laughed. “We couldn’t miss it. Plus, no parents around to come barging in and breaking it up! I still can’t believe you guys have this place to yourselves all summer.”
“And you and Noah are living together,” Cam added with a disbelieving look. “Like actual, proper grown-ups. Talk about getting serious. How crazy is that?”
“Not,” Warren declared, “halfas crazy as this party. COME ON!” He threw one arm around me, the other around Olly, and herded us to where the rest of the party was happening.
Standing just by the doors to the pool with Ashton, Lee raised his can and yelled to the crowd both inside and out, “To our last summer at the beach house!”
Cam was glugging from the bottle of wine, and I took it off him to join the toast.
“Hey, Elle?” I turned around to find Jon Fletcher pointing a thumb over his shoulder and cringing. “You, uh…you might wanna…Um, Noah’s kinda getting into it with some dude?”
I started to ask what exactly that meant, but someone called Jon’s name and he turned around, grinning, for one of those slap-on-the-back guy-hugs, leaving me to brace myself and hurry outside by the pool, the guys following me eagerly.
We found Noah and some guy I vaguely recognized from a rival high school football team squaring off against each other. Noah’s hands were scrunched tightly into fists, and a small group was hollering, jeering, egging them on. Through all the noise, I could just about hear them snapping at each other—and, unless I was hearing them wrong, it was aboutme.
“…told everyone at that party senior year she was off-limits, what, just so you didn’t have any competition?” the other guy jeered at Noah. “Bro, you know howpatheticthat sounds? The only way you can get a girl is to threaten to beat up any guy that makes a move on her?”
“Or maybe,” Noah growled back, “I just didn’t want her having to put up with assholes likeyou.How many girls did you bring as your date to that homecoming game? Four?”
“Oh, man, Ilove itwhen Flynn loses his shit,” Warren said near my ear, grabbing the wine off me to take a swig. He shoved the bottle at me to cup his hands around his mouth and yell, “Someone throw a punch already!”
The other dude tried to shove Noah, and Noah knocked his arm away and threw a punch—which was, predictably, met by a chorus of cheers. They both dived forward. A fist clipped Noah’s jaw; his elbow caught the guy’s shoulder.
I guessed I shouldn’t have been so surprised, but I stepped forward, grabbed the back of Noah’s shirt, and snapped, “Hey, meatheads, break it up!”
They stopped almost immediately, stepping back and settling for glaring at each other.
“I’m sorry, who invited you?” I asked the guy.
He mumbled, but got the message, cussing at Noah and marching out.
Noah looked at me uncomfortably, saying quietly, “Elle…”
“Save it, you big jerk. Just try not to beat anybody else up, huh? I’m your girlfriend, not your babysitter.”
He flushed, and I made my way back inside. Isodid not want to deal with his attitude right now—or an apology that was too little, too late. I really thought that going to college had made him grow out of that kinda stuff.
I heard a smash from the rumpus room and cringed. This could be a long night.
Or…
I took another gulp of wine.
I could worry about the state of the beach house, or I could make that tomorrow’s problem, join in the fun, and be a real part of this “housewarming” party. Didn’t I have enough on my plate already this week? Didn’t I deserve one night of letting my hair down before everything got serious and stressful again?
It wasn’t a difficult decision.
Although, honestly, when I dragged myself out of bed the next morning and picked my way through plastic cups and empty cans and bottles to the lounge and kitchen and saw what a disaster the place was, I kind of regretted not doing a little more to keep things under control.
(Maybe our parents were right. Maybe we reallyweregrowing up.)
