Chapter 5
Josephine
Hunter puts the car in park, then flips down her visor to check her makeup one more time. It’s perfect. It better be, considering I spent more than an hour acting as her one-person glam squad. And I was happy to do it. She has the best products money can buy, and we had a great day together.
We’re more similar than I ever would have imagined.
People look at her and see a pretty face and a life of privilege, access, and connections.
She’s judged for what those who encounter her think they know about her.
We’re two sides of the same coin in that regard.
They have no idea she’s genuinely kind, freaking brilliant, and has the dirty sense of humor of a twelve-year-old boy.
“Ready, hot stuff?” She caps her lip gloss and rolls her lips, then pops a smooch in my direction.
“Where are we supposed to go?” I ask, unbuckling my seat belt and scanning the lines of cars ahead of us and behind us. The sign at the entrance of the parking lot read North Marina, and even though it’s dark outside, it’s clear there are no houses in the vicinity.
“You don’t know where we’re going?” Hunter gives me a thoughtful look.
I arch one brow. “You said the party was at Crusade’s.”
“And you have no idea where that is. Shit. I’m sorry. You’re too damn easy to talk to, girl. I keep forgetting you’re not from around here.”
With that, she climbs out of the car. So I follow, still waiting for answers.
“Decker lives on the lake,” she explains, locking her car and tilting her head, indicating I should follow.
I know that. He lives in a lakeside mansion along with Locke, Kylian, and Kendrick.
“Like, on the lake,” she emphasizes when I say nothing. “The Crusade Mansion is a lakefront property on a private isle. Please tell me you don’t get sea sickness.” Spinning so she’s facing me, she cringes.
A few other people get out of their cars and move in the same direction. In the dark, the whir of motors and the slosh of water are the only clues I get before the ground beneath my wedges transforms from concrete to wooden planks.
“Hunter,” I warn, grabbing her arm and halting her in her tracks.
She falters slightly on her heels and turns to face me.
“How, exactly, are we supposed to get to this private isle?”
She grimaces apologetically, thumbing over her shoulder. “On that?”
I peer around her and watch as a sleek vessel in chrome and black and red slows on approach. The thing is massive. I guess it’s a boat? Or maybe it would be considered a small ferry? Even in the dark, it looks expensive.
Do these people realize that it isn’t normal to travel by luxury watercraft to a party? Because the whole vibe of this small crowd is nonchalant. Casual. Like this is an everyday thing.
“Is this okay? I didn’t even think to mention it—”
Letting out a laugh at the audacity of the whole thing, I interlace our fingers. “I mean, I guess it’s fine? I’ve never been on a boat, so I don’t know.”
“Seriously?”
“I’m from Ohio,” I counter.
“But don’t they have lakes there? Isn’t there a Great Lake there?”
Yes, but her idea of the pothole-speckled roads and the dilapidated manufactured homes where I spent the first twenty-one years of my life is so far off base it’s not worth explaining.
“So what happens now?” I ask, ignoring her original question as a boy in a white polo with a popped collar hops off the boat, grabs a length of rope, and spins it into an intricate knot.
“The only way to and from Crusade’s is by boat,” she rushes out, probably because my eyes are practically bugging out of my damn skull.
“But it’s just a fifteen-minute ride across the lake.
Promise. And they always have two boats running, taking people back and forth.
The boats literally run all night and well into the morning for anyone who stays over. ”
We queue up behind two large jocks as a whole crowd of tipsy girls gets in line behind us. The guy who secured the boat to the dock gives a bro nod to the jocks, indicating they can get on. Climb aboard? Hoist the anchor? Drop trou? I have no idea what it’s called when someone steps onto a boat.
He then offers his arm to Hunter, who searches my face before accepting. “Is this okay?”
I love this girl. I’ve never had a friend like her. Despite spending all day getting ready, her concerned expression makes it clear she’d ditch the party in a heartbeat if I wasn’t comfortable with this.
But surprisingly, this is okay. I have more than my fair share of fears—I’m terrified of storms, and I fear being held down or waking up in a strange place that isn’t a bed—but open water and boats aren’t an issue. At least, I don’t think they are. There’s only one way to find out for sure.
“Let’s go, bitch.”
We grin at each other. Then she steps onto the watercraft, and I deftly follow when Mr. Polo Shirt holds his arm out for me.
The boat sways slightly, rocking as more people join us.
Five minutes later, we’re seated along a plush, heated bench and zipping across the dark lake toward a row of enormous houses adorned with lights.
Hunter squeezes my hand, and I squeeze back, holding back a squeal. Our hair is whipping around us, uncontrollable and free. It feels like we’re flying, soaring toward something indescribably exciting. The night’s possibilities are limitless.
It’s in the air, and it’s all around me. This is what living feels like.