Nevertheless, we try.
The dinner goes well enough. Hamilton gives me his number before we depart, even though I’m not sure what I’d ever have to talk to him about. How much of a dick my brother is? I guess contacts have been built on less.
Sugar visibly deflates once she’s in the car. “That didn’t go so bad. Right? It didn’t seem like they hated me.”
“They didn’t seem to hate you,” I agree. “In fact, they seemed to really like you, and buckle up, because I’m pretty sure you might have more of these in your future.”
She groans, but then looks abashed about it. “It’s not that I don’t like them too, it was just a lot of work.”
We’re halfway across town before I finally begin, “So, hey. There’s this thing tonight.”
She looks instantly wary. “What kind of thing?” The way she says it makes it clear she’s expecting a race or something equally as sketchy.
I shake my head. “Nothing like that. Every now and then, we all like to get together at the lake. There’s usually a bonfire. Beer. Weed. Music. The usual. It’s really low-key, not crazy like the car shows.”
She chews on her lip for a moment. “And by ‘we’, you mean…?”
“The group,” I say, trying to find a way to sum up the Devils without outing us as being Devils. I’d already taken a chance of passing Emory what I’d stolen from Miss Weathers—Preston’s college counselor and holder of the keys to the drama department—right in front of Sugar earlier. I need to be careful. “Georgia, V, Em, Reyn, etcetera and so forth.”
“Oh.” She looks relieved, and then thoughtful. “Is that why Vandy told me to bring a change of clothes?”
“Probably.” I haven’t clued them in on her coming yet, but it’s probably obvious. These things are for Devils and their partners only. Sometimes Tyson brings his girlfriend, and Elana had a guy she was into for about five minutes. Ben’s too on the down-low about liking dick to ask whoever he’s been hooking up with, but everyone would be chill about it. Bringing Sugar tonight is an obvious move. “What do you think?”
I can sense her eyes on me, like she’s searching, wondering what the deal is. The truth is, I’ve never brought anyone to one of these things. Before Sugar, the closest I’d ever gotten to legit dating was probably attending a middle school dance with the daughter of someone my dad was chummy with. Asking Sugar to come with me to this is a bigger declaration than taking her to dinner tonight, or kissing her in the hall.
Which is why when she says, “Okay,” it’s a big freaking deal, even if she doesn’t know it.
Sugar changes on the ride up, right beside me in the passenger seat. It’s a bit of a struggle to watch the road instead of the increasing amount of bare skin that flashes in my periphery, but I do my best.
Still get a nice little glance at those tits. She rolls her eyes when I whistle, but goddamn. Her cleavage has been killing me all damn night.
Emory cheers when we arrive. “’Bout time, you fucker!” From the sound of it, plus the way Carlton has lost his shirt—plus the way Afton looks annoyed—it’s clear these guys are already in the thick of it.
Reyn tosses me a beer, giving me a nod. “All good?”
I nod, knowing he’s asking about the dinner. “Ran into Bates, actually.”
Emory nods. “Where Gwen goes, he goes. Guy’s got it bad.”
They all laugh about it, but I know better. To people like me and Hamilton—guys who come from fucked-up, dysfunctional families—the Adamses are a real nice picture. I can see why they took him in, and I can see why he let them.
We settle into a spot in front of the fire, and Sugar warms her hands. “They were nice. Really normal.” She stares into the flames, and there’s a sadness there. I’m pretty sure it’s reflected back at her when I nudge her shoulder, finding her gaze.
“Want a beer?”
Her nose wrinkles. “Not a fan.” To the group, she asks, “Hey, is it cool for me to snap some candids? I promise to avoid any legal proof of contributions made to the delinquency of minors.”
Carlton instantly starts flexing. “Yeah, gotta document this!”
Sugar gives him an exasperated look that almost makes me jealous. I’m used to seeing that directed at me. “It’s not candid if you’re posing, jackass.”
Despite getting everyone’s permission, she mostly spends the next ten minutes pointing her camera at the fire itself, even walking around it to get different angles. I watch her like that, transfixed at the way she seems to disappear in it, hair hanging around the camera like a veil as she presses the shutter in random intervals that make me wonder what she’s seeing. Jealousy flares again as she points it at the others. Ben, in the middle of a story that involves way too many lewd gestures. Emory as he and Vandy share a whispered discussion across the fire. Reynolds, as he watches them. Afton and Elana as they play a game of rock, paper, scissors for designated driver.
When her lens finally gravitates to me, she’s on the opposite side of the fire. Her figure is distorted with the heat of the flames, but I can see her freeze, surprised that I’m looking back at her.
The way she presses the shutter just then is slow, full of intent.
She returns to my side and puts the camera away. “Do you do that?” she asks, nodding to the blunt being passed from Caroline to Tyson.
I shrug. “Yeah. Why?”
“Just curious.” Her dark eyes spark with the reflection of the fire when she turns them on me. “I’m kind of different when I’m high.”
I reach over to sweep her hair away from her neck, delighting in her responding shiver when I scoot closer. “Different how?”
“Looser, I guess. Less anxious.” She gives me a meaningful look. “Touchable.”
I search her eyes, finally catching on. “Really?” At her nod, I raise a hand, snapping my fingers. “Ty, puff puff pass!” Everyone bitches about me fucking with rotation, but he hands it over, because he knows what’s good for him. I take a long drag from the blunt before nudging Sugar’s chin with a gentle knuckle.
She rolls her eyes when she realizes why I’m holding it in. “I know how to hit a blunt, you giant dork.” Despite that, she purses her lips, sucking in the smoke as I exhale it. She’s such a trooper too, doesn’t even cough. I guess girls in the Briar Cliffs aren’t exactly sheltered little princesses.
On the third shotgun, Carlton must give up on the blunt, because he starts rolling another one. Sugar and I are happy to share what’s left of this one, and I can tell when it hits her, because she starts to get really floppy, head lolled back on her shoulders.
“That’s some good shit,” she says. Luckily Carlton doesn’t overhear, otherwise we’d be subjected to his Ted Talk on why loud is overrated. “Back home, we don’t usually get the good stuff until all you rich fuckers show up for the summer.”
I take one last drag of the blunt, throwing the roach into the fire. “At least we share.”
“Mmm,” she moans. “You know what would be sweet as fuck? A back rub.” When she finally opens her eyes, bloodshot and glazed, she bats her lashes at me, mouth curling into a wicked grin.