I’m a second thought for them—a fixture that will be replaced tomorrow and the day after and the day after that. Still, a tall and lanky guy with straight blond hair that hangs close to his eyes looks me up and down a couple of times, each pass slower than the last. “Do I know you?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
“She’s with me. This is Raegan.” I can’t decide if I prefer the order of those two sentences or wish they’d been reversed.
“Raegan,” the guy repeats my name as though trying it out for size. He nods. “What’s your costume supposed to be?”
“A mathlete,” I say.
A lopsided grin appears on his face as several others repeat the word. “You don’t like sports?”
“I’m pretty sure sexy is her sport with those tits,” a guy with a buzzed head and bulbous nose says, his gray eyes narrowing in on my chest. “They’re pretty nice.”
Lincoln swings his head toward the guy whose smile is cruel and lewd, his fists ball, and I feel his body lean forward, ready to tackle. I link my arm with his, holding onto his bicep with a hold that hopefully appears more casual than it is. “Actually, my real sport is being smart, sexy is just an extracurricular. But, if you’re going to be an asshole, at least be an accurate asshole. I have fantastic tits.”
Several call out their agreeance, others howl with laughter. The guy with the buzzed hair mashes his lips together, wanting to fire back but smart enough not to with Lincoln at my side. Lincoln’s weight shifts back on his heels, his lips a playful smirk as he shakes his head. “Fantastic is the understatement of the year.”
I wink, playing the role like the Academy is going to vote on my performance. “Who are we going to beat, first?”
Four games later, we’re undefeated, a large crowd gathered around the table like we’re in Vegas at a table with stacks of money being bet. Instead, Lincoln is the main attraction, the opposing teams and their gulps of beer our winnings.
“You need to start charging people a fee to watch,” Jamal says, coming up and bumping fists with Lincoln before wrapping him in a man-half-hug. Jamal is also on the team, but I’ve only seen him at the house a couple of times for team dinners, and I’ve never spoken with him. He glosses over me but again doesn’t say a thing. It’s ridiculous and stupid, but it leaves me feeling more objectified than the guy who openly gawked at me. Like he only sees me as a placeholder who isn’t worth addressing.
“I’m going to go check in with Poppy,” I say as Lincoln glances at me.
“It’s getting pretty packed. You want me to go with you?”
I shake my head. “It’s okay. I’ll be back.”
“You better! I have next game!” Arlo yells from a few feet behind us.
I turn without stealing another look at Lincoln, knowing girls are already replacing me in multiples. As time has passed, so have the drinks. A girl with bottle-blonde hair staggers past, yelling something unintelligible. I wait for two of her friends to chase after her, giggling before continuing past a group of guys in their speedos, thinking about Maggie and her idea of rating man bumps. I conceal a grin and continue, spotting the rugby team and Chase, Poppy at his side. She’s smiling, holding his hand that’s draped over her shoulders. It’s ridiculously cute, and I pray he realizes she’s the best thing he could potentially hope for.
I turn my attention toward the crowd dancing, searching for Paxton or Candace. He stopped by shortly after Lincoln and I started our first game and was shockingly calm about my costume, only wincing once when I had to bend over to retrieve the ball after it fell and several guys cheered. He told me he was going to get a drink and some air, but that was well over an hour ago.
The French doors off the dining room are pitched open, and I follow the slight breeze like a moth to the fire, conflicted about the cold rush that feels both better and worse with each step I take. The backyard is dark, filled with overgrown weeds that are starting to crumple with the nearness of fall.
Pax is nowhere to be seen, causing a niggling that makes me feel a little guilty for having spent so much of the night with Lincoln when Pax likely needed him more.
I head back inside, circling the house twice to discover Paxton isn’t the only one missing—Lincoln is as well.
33
Raegan
“Wow! Look at you.” Victoria greets me at her door. We’ve been friends since grade school, our relationship one of convenience, spending time together when alternatives aren’t available. My being here amplifies that reality, allowing the guilt to seep into my chest. Without being able to reach Lincoln, I don’t know if Paxton is with him or not, leading me here for the night.
“Yeah, there was this themed party,” I try to explain, slinging my bag higher on my shoulder.
She steps back, allowing me inside her small apartment with bare white walls and sparse furniture that promises a crick in my neck and broken sleep. “So…” she says, closing the door behind us. “Things seem kind of crazy lately. How are things with your parents?”
“About as good as expected, I guess.”
She laughs, her gaze too inquisitive and prying, assuring me this is only the beginning of her list of questions. “What does that mean?”
I shrug. “If you’re following the news, you likely know more than me.”
“What?” Her question is pointed, my unease at being here growing rapidly. “I mean, who did he even have the affair with?”
It’s the question so many have speculated about, and the thing that has kept me up for countless nights.
“Does it matter?”
“I mean, you’re probably having a really hard time. The news was saying your GPA didn’t really qualify you to be accepted to Brighton.”
We had a weighted GPA system, where I earned above a four-point GPA because of the numerous honors classes I worked tirelessly to excel at. Still, her question stings, hitting the question that’s been loosely bouncing around in my thoughts like a car rattle you can’t quite ignore. “Yeah. You know the tabloids. They’re always looking for new angles to make a story worse.”
Her raised eyebrows refute my words. I already knew people wouldn’t believe I was accepted into Brighton on my own merits—maybe I wasn’t, but I jumped through the same hoops every other student did, my grades and excessive hours of extracurriculars and volunteering making me believe I might have.
“How’s Paxton?” she continues her line of inquiry to her favorite subject—my older brother. She harbored a blatant crush on him for years, making excuses to see him each time she used to come over.
“Um, he’s well. This has been hard on him, but he has a good support system.”
My phone beeps with a text from Poppy.
Poppy: Did you get there safely?
I hate the disappointment that taints my appreciation for it being from Poppy, who loves me so completely she checks on me even though I know her feelings are buzzing about Chase.
Me: Yes. And you were totally right. Victoria hasn’t changed a bit.