CHAPTER FOURTEEN
LINA
I wasn’t expecting to do anything for Halloween until I had five people standing in the doorway of my bedroom, begging me to go to a party with them.
“Lina, seriously, it’s the one time a year everyone can get shitfaced and no one bats an eye,” Kara tells me, her eyes pleading.
I’m tempted to ask about the parties she frequents with all of her high-fashion friends, but I don’t.
Things have been a bit tense in the apartment since the girls found out about my hospital stay. And they were rightfully pissed.
It’s been over a week but less than two weeks. Twelve days exactly, as my brain has cataloged it.
I understand their frustrations. Really, I do.
At the same time, though, being in the hospital because of something I did to myself is not exactly something I wanted to advertise. It was bad enough that Grant was there to see my body give out on me. I don’t need three more people constantly worrying and walking on eggshells around me.
And they can’t even lie and say that they haven’t been treating me like some abused puppy they brought home from the shelter.
Kara’s been texting me articles from medical journals, talking about the dangers of sleep deprivation and vitamin deficiencies. And I know it’s her who’s been stashing her favorite protein bars in my backpack.
Meredith’s gone quiet about the whole situation, but one night late last week, she broke her silence and came into my room while I was pretending to be asleep, sat on the edge of my bed, and whispered, “You can pretend to be asleep all you want, but that doesn’t take away from how badly you scared us. Even me .”
And Eden—Eden has been the worst. Not only are her motherly instincts going haywire, but her caretaker nature has been overwhelming. She won’t even let me take the trash out without offering to come with me, as if I’m going to pass out in the stairwell.
Still, reconciling with the fact that I did this to myself has been my biggest struggle. For the first time since it happened, I’ve had to think about how the events of last year have been affecting my life.
So yes, I get that my friends are worried. But I’ve made it clear that I’m ready to get my life back to normal. Even if I’m still not sleeping.
This must be their ideal way of doing that—forcing me into a costume and dragging me to a Halloween party.
They even brought Owen and Jack with them as reinforcements, hoping they would be able to convince me to go with them.
I look down at my current outfit. Another raggedy basketball sweatshirt from high school coupled with my comfiest pair of boxer shorts. “I have nothing to wear to a Halloween party.”
Eden emerges from behind Meredith and Kara, holding up a bag like it’s a winning lottery ticket. “Don’t worry! We’ve already got that covered.”
I figured. The three of them are already dressed up.
Eden’s dressed as a redheaded version of Audrey Hepburn, wearing black for possibly the first time ever. Meredith is Tinkerbell, and Kara is a pirate.
“I don’t even want to know what you could have picked out for me.” My expression is bleak as I look at her, then the bag, and then back at her.
“Well, then don’t!” She smiles, pushing through the entrance of my room and shoving the bag into my chest. “Just put it on, and we’ll be on our merry way.”
I let out a long breath before taking the bag and stepping into the bathroom. Once the door is shut behind me, I peek into the bag, and my eyes go wide. “There is very little fabric inside this bag!”
“It’s Halloween!” Eden argues quickly.
“And you’ve got a killer bod! Why let that go to waste on the one day a year you can dress like a whore?” Kara adds.
“Says the supermodel !” I complain.
Yet, I can’t keep from laughing, shaking my head as I get undressed and pull the pieces of my costume out of the bag and onto my body.
When I open the door, Owen and Jack both look away, like it’s a reflex.
“Really?” I motion down my body. “You guys are having me wear what is practically lingerie and calling it a costume?”
“Practically?” Jack gawks, making his eyepatch inch up on his face. He’s also a pirate—matching his girlfriend.
“There’s nothing else to say about it, Lina. That’s very clearly lingerie,” Owen adds.
With the guys' confirmation, I glare toward the girls.
“Oh, don’t be such a prude,” Meredith says.
“You have a robe over it!” Eden tries.
“At least you look super hot.” Kara smiles softly.
“True,” Meredith agrees, but then she hangs her head to look at the floor.
Okay. That’s weird.
My cheeks are heating as I look myself over in the mirror on the back of the bathroom door. The boys are right. I’m wearing what is most definitely a white lingerie set with a pink silk robe over top. And don’t forget the halo headband in my hair.
I’m just grateful that they don’t have angel wings to force me into. Small victories.
“You guys seriously dressed me up as a Victoria’s Secret Angel?” I ask, although it falls on deaf ears because that is, in fact, exactly what they did.
“Lina, look at you!” Eden squeals. “You can’t deny how hot you look.”
“Boys, tell her,” Meredith encourages.
Jack looks toward Kara before throwing his hands up like he wants no part in it. “I am not getting caught in the crossfire of this conversation.”
“Oh my gosh,” Meredith groans. “Your girlfriend is a legitimate VS Angel. You think she’s going to care if you compliment her friend?”
Owen, still very much red in the face, stammers, “You look great, Lina, um—objectively. Respectfully.”
I grin at the two of them. Owen and Jack have to be two of the most kind-hearted, genuinely decent guys I’ve ever met. Just the type who’d avert their eyes when you walk out in borderline lingerie.
Kara snorts. “God, you’re both pathetic.”
I shoot her a glare and pull the robe tighter around me. “If I so much as feel a breeze tonight, I’m blaming all of you.”
“We’ll be inside most of the night,” Eden promises with a not-so-innocent grin. “Mostly.”
Jack grabs his keys and wallet. “Alright, let’s go before she changes into sweatpants again.”
Rolling my eyes, I follow them out anyway, tugging the robe down over my thighs and trying not to think about the fact that I am in public wearing glorified sleepwear. It’s fine. It’s Halloween. Everyone is aware of how normalized it is to dress like a slut, in the best way possible.
“Where even is this party?” I ask, climbing into the backseat of Jack’s car.
“Um…” Eden trails off.
“We’re meeting up with Braxton,” Meredith says.
It’s the way she says it that makes me realize exactly where we’re going. “We’re going to Grant’s, aren’t we?”
Meredith gives me an innocent shrug, but her eyes are anything but. “He throws the best Halloween party every year.”
“Oh my god ,” I groan, sinking into the seat. “You guys are tossing me to the wolves.” I make it sound like it’s because I don’t want to be around him, but deep down, it’s more because I’m not sure if I will survive being around him with whatever fuckboy ensemble he has going on.
I haven’t seen him since he drove me home from the hospital. I also haven’t stopped thinking about him since.
“No, we’re throwing you to a wolf, a very hot one at that,” Kara says with a large smile, turning back to look at me from where she sits in the front seat.
“Oh, come on,” Eden chimes in from beside me. “You’re doing him a favor by showing up looking like that!”
“That,” I mutter, gesturing vaguely at my entire existence, “is exactly why this is a terrible idea.”
“Revenge body,” Kara says. “Own it.”
Jack glances at me through the rearview mirror while he backs out of the driveway. “I’m just saying, if we get there and you really want to leave, I’ll pull a fire alarm. No questions asked.”
“I don’t think there are fire alarms in houses, but thank you for that,” I tell him, trying not to let the nerves settle in too deep. Grant’s parties are infamous—not just for the alcohol and chaos but also for the drama. And I’m already in a costume that’s bound to draw some attention.
The car goes quiet, and I feel something warm crawl up my spine. Not embarrassment, but something else. Something a little too close to hope.
I smile out the window, just a little.
A few minutes later, Jack pulls onto Grant’s street. The party is already buzzing.
His driveway is lined with jack-o’-lanterns, red Solo Cups are already scattered on the lawn, people are spilling out of the house, and music is thumping like it’s part of the concrete.
Here goes nothing.
We weave through the crowd, Kara leading the pack with Jack hot on her heels. Meredith sticks close to Braxton, who’s already found us in the crowd, straying from the teammates that he was standing with. Eden is practically vibrating with excitement, already scanning for someone she can flirt with.
I’m halfway to the kitchen when I feel eyes on me. It’s instinct more than anything else that makes me glance over my shoulder.
And of course, there he is.
Grant. Leaning against the banister.
He’s shirtless—because of course he is—and the soft lighting only sharpens the cut of him. I know I’m going to have this view of him memorized for the rest of my life, confirming that a photographic memory does come in handy every once in a while.
Broad shoulders. Stupid chest sculpted like a Greek statue brought to life, each muscle defined. His abs flex slightly as he shifts, drawing my eye to the V-line disappearing beneath the hang of his low black slacks.
It takes me a long moment to scan all the way up his torso and finally take into account the devil horns on his head. Grant hasn’t even made the effort to wear a real costume, yet somehow still looks like a walking temptation.
This is exactly what I was afraid of.
It’s what makes me glance back down at what I’m wearing, and before I can fully process the trap I’ve so easily fallen into, I catch both Meredith and Braxton watching me from across the room, like they’ve been waiting to see my reaction.
They know exactly what they did.
Meredith gives me a small, almost guilty smile, while Braxton raises his drink slightly in acknowledgment.
I feel my stomach twist.
“Oh my god ,” I mutter under my breath, realization hitting me all at once. “This was a setup.”
Eden materializes at my side, sipping from her cup like she’s not part of the conspiracy. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“You didn’t just want me at this party,” I say, turning toward her. “You wanted him to see me at this party.”
She doesn’t deny it. “Well, it worked, didn’t it?”
“You guys put us in matching fucking costumes, ” I groan, dragging a hand down my face. “This is emotional warfare.”
Kara pops up beside us, grinning unapologetically. “Sweetie, it’s Halloween. All’s fair in love and slutty costumes.”
And I hate that I laugh. Because it is kind of funny. I’m also positive I’m going to be the front headline of Notes of New Haven in the coming week, just from being seen with him.
It’s already been bad enough watching Grant and Savannah be put through the gossip ringer, and I want zero part of whatever fictitious love triangle they would try to spin.
Still, I tug the robe tighter around me and shoot a final glare toward Braxton—who’s now very clearly whispering something to the guy next to him while glancing back at me with a devious look.
Departing from my friends, I can feel Grant’s eyes follow me as I head toward the kitchen and start pouring myself a drink.
When I fumble the ladle into the punch bowl, a hand appears over mine, steadying it enough to keep the splash from hitting my robe. “Careful,” he murmurs, quiet, just for me. Then he lets go.
His gaze drags down my body, then back up, lingering. Like he’s not even trying to hide it.
“Don’t say it.” I fold my arms over my chest, but the second his eyes flicker down to where my cleavage was pushed up, I let them fall back to my sides.
I try to ignore the way my stomach does a stupid flip again when I catch his eyes. The way my heart skips a little bit faster when his grin shifts into something a little more knowing. I want to stay mad at him for making me feel like this, but the more I try, the harder it becomes.
“You know, not that I ever imagined this, but since we’ve already been conned into matching costumes, I really would have expected you to be the devil out of the two of us.” Grant’s smile is slow, all teeth and trouble. “But I’ve gotta say, this view is probably a lot better.”
I roll my eyes, grabbing a plastic cup and filling it with whatever alcoholic concoction is in the punch bowl. “Do you have a line for every girl who shows up in a revealing costume?”
He leans against the counter next to me, far too casual for the chaos around us. “I thought I already told you I’m completely unscripted.” His voice dips, teasing. “You trying to kill me tonight, Lina?”
“You’re ridiculous.” I take a sip of the drink and try not to look directly at him.
He opens his mouth, then hesitates, like whatever he’s about to say actually matters.
He’s quiet for a long moment. When I finally glance up, he’s watching me, his eyes dilating slightly. “You look good,” he says, softer this time. “ Really good.”
“Well, I guess that’s what happens when your friends ambush you with a costume made up of almost entirely lingerie.”
His eyes flicker, something unreadable there. “They’re smarter than I gave them credit for.”
“Don’t flirt with me, Grant.”
“Is it flirting if I’m just saying what’s true?” He steps closer.
“I’m getting drunk,” I tell him blandly.
He tucks his lips into his mouth, like he’s trying to hold in a laugh. “I assumed that was your intention the moment you started drinking the party punch.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t lead to me losing this robe,” I joke.
Grant’s eyes flare, and I’m sure the step he takes toward me is involuntary, but it’s enough for me to notice. ‘Trust me, Evangelina, that won’t be happening.”
I reel back, unblinking. “How do you know my full name?” I’ve only ever been referred to as Lina around him—around anyone.
Racking my brain, I try to think of a time when Grant could have discovered my full name. I know I didn’t forget; I remember everything.
Conversations embed themselves into my brain. The only time I’ve ever forgotten anything was?—
The ambulance ride. That has to be it.
“Wild guess.” His answer isn’t at all convincing, though, and it only confirms my suspicions.
“You don’t get to act possessive over me, Grant.”
His jaw ticks, just barely. “Wasn’t trying to.”
“You should go,” I tell him, quieter now.
“Tell me to walk away,” he says, not moving. “ Really tell me. Otherwise I’m staying right here.”
It’s a dare, and I don’t say a word.
Neither does he.
And as unexpected as it may seem, Grant Vandenberg stays within arm’s length of me for the rest of the night, watching me get absolutely shitfaced.