Not tonight.
Notmyhouse.
I glanced at Rachel. She raised one perfect eyebrow, like she knew I was about to do something reckless and was already half-proud.
Good.
I cut a glance to Coop, who had trailed me out and was now standing awkwardly near the bar, clutching a cold Coke like he wanted it to be a teleportation device.
Right. He might not be much help at the moment. Fine. I’d do it myself.
I jogged up onto the pool deck, grabbed the mic from the DJ booth we hadn’t used since the first hour of the party, and gave it a tap. The sharp feedback squeal made heads whip around, conversations pause, and several people visibly wince.
Perfect.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” I said into the mic, voice smooth, rich,loud, “and all gorgeous troublemakers in between.”
A smattering of laughs. Confusion. Curiosity. Frankie turned slowly, arms crossed, head tilted in that way she did when she was bracing for chaos. I gave her a wink.
“Since we seem to have forgotten the purpose of this evening—and have instead turned it into a half-baked high school tabloid—I figured I’d remind you all that this is, in fact, aparty.”
A few cheers, weak and scattered.
I tsked into the mic. “No, no, no. That was lukewarm at best. This ismyhouse,Frankie’sparty, and you are all dangerously close to being the worst crowd this zip code has ever seen.”
Rachel whooped. Bubba let out a bark of laughter. The DJ hit the volume on the music. Good job!
The bass thumped louder. The beat kicked up. Lights that had been set to moody golds and muted pinks shifted suddenly—neon blues and sharp white pulses painting the backyard like a beachside rave.
I pointed to the pool. “I want cannonballs, I want bad decisions, I want someone to start a synchronized swimming team in the next ten minutes.”
Then, my voice dropped just enough to draw focus like a magnet. “And if any of you are still more interested in talkingaboutFrankie than talkingtoher, let me remind you—she didn’t light the match.”
I let that hang. Sharp. Clear.
“She’s just fireproof.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then someone—maybe Maria, maybe that sophomore who always tried too hard—started clapping. Then more joined in. Laughter, cheers, a whistle from the shallow end. Someone launched a pool float like a missile.
The energy flipped like a switch.
And Frankie?
She smiled. Not big. Not for everyone. Just for me.
It was sharp-edged and weary and a little disbelieving, like she couldn’t decide whether to kiss me or kill me. I raised my brows. Offered a shrug.You’re welcome.
Setting the mic aside, I jogged back down and crossed over to her and held out a hand.
No mic now. Just my voice and her name.
“Dance with me.”
She blinked. “You’re kidding.”
I stepped closer. “Have I ever looked like I’m kidding?”
