Winter is nearly done packing her stuff by the time I reach our locker and shove my books into my backpack. We make small talk, steering toward the exit together. I also try to convince her to go to the pool party with me since I know Zoey will most likely bail on me the minute we get there, and Morgan, well… Morgan hates people.
Winter absentmindedly agrees, her gaze combing through the halls. Haze hasn’t been at school much lately. That’s his thing. Disappearing whenever he feels like it. Something tells me he’s to blame for my cousin’s half-assed answers.
Winter tells me Will is giving her a ride home tonight, and I have to stop myself from asking why she’s randomly riding with him instead of me. What trouble has their street fight mess lured them into now?
We part ways a few steps out of the building. I’m working tonight, and the last thing this crap day needs is a warning from Jenny for being late. I unlock my car door, my phone pinging with a text just as I’m dropping into the passenger seat.
It’s Will.
Willy Wonka: Thanks for the advice. Callie said yes. I’ll see you at the party.
Kassidy
Kass: Hey. Is it true you’re banging Callie Cooper?
Sitting on the edge of Zoey’s unmade bed, I huff out a laugh at my own text and practically assault the Delete button. Like I’d ever have the balls to send him that. Granted it’d probably make things a lot easier—in the beginning, at least. Then it’d dig up secrets better left buried, shine light on questions better left in the dark.
Asking him would mean I give a damn.
A bit more than I should.
Shit… is Morgan right?
Do I like Will?
I didn’t message him back after he texted me he’d found himself a hot date yesterday. Felt weird. Turns out I got used to our 3:00 a.m. banter. I hate to admit it, but…
The little fucker grew on me.
“Perfect. See you there.” Zoey trails back into the room, hanging up her phone and securing it inside her bikini top.
“Who was that?” Morgan interrupts her wrestling with a curling iron to ask.
Yes, Morgan decided to come to the pool party, although she skipped the swimsuit part. Something about her cousins telling her she’d end up marrying books when they came to visit. She said one party couldn’t hurt.
Still waiting for the hidden cameras.
“Callie,” Zoey says, checking out her outfit one last time. Our ride should be here any minute.
I fidget with the short, sleeveless white dress I threw over my aqua bikini, tugging it up my cleavage for the fifth time as though I’m hoping it’ll magically turn into a hoodie.
“She’s making her move tonight,” Zoey elaborates, swiping red lipstick across her mouth and smacking her lips together.
“What move?” I question.
“What do you think? Hottie Blondie asked her out to a place that is not the back seat of his car. She’s freaking out. Thinks he’s finally interested in dating her.”
Morgan’s accusatory eyes find me, the message they hold crystal clear. Whose fault is that? they ask. And she’s right. I shouldn’t have tried to make him jealous. All it did was come back to bite me in the ass. If Callie shoots her shot tonight and scores, it’s on me.
I bite my tongue in an effort not to bury Zoey under a million questions and unlock my phone with the swipe of a finger.
I have one unread message.
My hopes sink faster than the freaking Titanic at the sender.
Winter.
She was supposed to meet us at Zoey’s but texted me she’ll be riding with the boys instead. Zoey informs us that the Uber will be here ten minutes later.
“Wait.” Zoey shrieks on her way to the door and tries to run back to the kitchen in her five-inch heels. “We need shots.”
We catch up to her, and I chuckle at Morgan’s curious expression. She almost seems excited.
Girl, just wait.
Zoey pours three shots of vodka into small plastic cups and hands us our first bad choice of the evening.
“To an amazing night.” She holds up her cup.
Amazing, huh?
We’ll see about that.
We throw the shots back, Zoey’s liquid courage burning my throat the entire way down, but I’m too busy watching Morgan’s face to care. Disgust. Pure and utter disgust. She gags, her eyes watering as she gawks at us, clearly thinking, “What the hell is wrong with you people? You mean to tell me you drink this… on purpose?”
Zoey and I laugh at her reaction for five minutes before dashing out of the large apartment building and squeezing inside our Uber.
The house is packed. And I mean the kind of packed where you can’t get around without wearing people’s drinks. I had no intention of committing to the “pool” party aspect of this night, but some dimwit from the football team thought his beer would look better on my clothes. Had no choice but to toss my soaked dress and settle for my bikini top. So glad I decided to wear shorts just in case.
Morgan spent the whole drive here swearing she’d never drink again. Until she found herself a sugary, juice-tasting drink that sent her promises of sobriety right down the drain.
I’ve been warning her that these colorful “juice” drinks are still filled with a shit ton of alcohol, only to be told, “Kass, stop mothering me.” I can’t help it. I remember how my first time drinking ended all too well.
Hint: my head in the toilet.
Rounded up around the lousy game the varsity team likes to call the “shot roulette,” I watch Zoey roll the dice that’ll determine the kind of booze and number of shots she has to drink. She gets a four.
Meaning four shots of Fireball.
Her pleading eyes fly to mine.
“Fine,” I give in, and she laughs, passing me two of the four shots. We tip the shots back, and I almost puke—the usual. Next, Zoey drags us to the fridge to stash away her bottles of tequila. There are coolers full of beers scattered over the house, but Zoey’s only ever liked the strong stuff.
As for me, I’d like to still have a liver tomorrow.
“That’s the good shit.” She clutches the full bottle she’ll most likely carry around all night against her chest.
My phone lights up with a text from my cousin.
Winter: I’m here.
Two simple words.
How are they enough to make my stomach churn? I stiffen up without meaning to, triple-checking the door every five seconds. If Winter’s here, so is Will. She was riding with the guys.
“Want some?” Zoey shoves the bottle into my face.
I’m about to decline but…
Then I see him.
Him and his infuriating smile, tousled, dirty-blond hair, fit body, and white unbuttoned short-sleeved shirt. Worst part is, I don’t even get a chance to appreciate how insanely hot he looks. Because there’s something wrong with his arm.
Something weird glued to his bicep.
Something.
Someone…
Callie.
Wearing an itty-bitty yellow bikini top and jean shorts, she laughs at something Will said. Her bleached-silver, curled hair—she changes hair color every month—flows down her tanned stomach, all the way to her pierced belly button. I can’t even lie. The girl looks like a supermodel.