Chapter 17 Blake
BLAKE
WYATT’S ON A DATE TONIGHT. That’s fun. I hope he has the best time.
Like the best time.
I don’t care that he’s on a date. Why would I?
It’s not like I wanted to hang out with him or anything.
I’m perfectly content to stay in and work on the puzzle.
I love this puzzle. I’m not purposely jamming this piece into a spot I know is wrong, just to feel the resistance and bask in the power trip of doing something I know will make Wyatt angry.
Of course not.
JULIETTE
You should key his car.
I peek at the message that popped up, grinning.
Can’t. He took it on his date.
I try to focus on the puzzle, but the ticking clock above the kitchen doorway is too distracting.
Has it always been this loud? It’s making me hyperfocused on the time.
8:38. He left less than an hour ago, but it feels like it’s been two days.
And who is this girl he’s out with? He said they hooked up last summer, and my nosy brain is now cycling through every female I remember seeing here last year.
Was it that blond from the mini golf place? I think her name was Cassandra?
No. She hooked up with Gray, I recall.
Maybe those two punk-rock chicks from the music festival at Commons Beach?
Wait. That was also Gray. His dad found them on the boathouse roof after the concert, and we all had to listen to Uncle Hunter’s lecture the next morning about how threesomes—“however awesome,” Uncle Dean had interjected—are not appropriate during our Tahoe family summer.
Wyatt better not be having a threesome tonight.
My phone lights up again. I expect to see Juliette’s name, but it’s Isaac. It’s taken him three days to respond to my last message.
THE CHEATER
Be honest, Blake. Is this even about a toaster? Because I’m starting to think you want me back.
I gape at the screen. Wow.
I don’t want you back.
THE CHEATER
It’s okay to admit it.
You cheated on me. For a whole year.
THE CHEATER
And I’m willing to work things out if that’s where your head is at.
He’s willing to work things out? What in the actual fuck.
Fuming, I type back one word at a time.
You
Cheated
On
Me
THE CHEATER
I made a mistake.
Really? Was it a one-night stand? Because a repeated mistake is a choice, Isaac.
I don’t want you back.
I just want my fucking toaster.
THE CHEATER
Well, you ain’t getting him.
I’m debating whether to do the unthinkable—dispatch my father to my old building to beat that toaster out of Isaac Grant—when I’m distracted by an Instagram alert.
It’s a DM from someone named Landon Kerns.
The name sounds familiar, but it isn’t until I open the notification that I make the connection.
The bartender with the mullet. The one I was chatting with before Wyatt went all caveman on me and made me leave the bar.
LANDON
Hey, girl. I hope you don’t mind me sliding into your DMs, but I didn’t grab your number before you took off the other night.
He’s still typing, so I wait for his next message before responding.
LANDON
It’s sort of last minute, but I’m having some people over tonight. Not a huge blowout or anything, just a small gathering at my place. Come by if you feel like it. Would love to see you.
I don’t even hesitate, because…gee, what a conundrum! I can stay in and sulk about Wyatt being on a date, or I can go to a party.
Why should Mr. Good-Time Fuckman be the only one who gets to have fun tonight?
Any chance you can pick me up?
Landon shows up twenty minutes later in a shiny black sports car, and we make the twenty-minute drive to the north shore.
Despite his expensive car, he lives in a more affordable area on a quiet street lined with older cabins and single-family homes.
Since I’m a responsible person, I let Wyatt know I’m meeting up with friends and text him the address, but it’s radio silence in response.
Guess he’s too…occupied to be overprotective about me tonight.
I’m not sure why, but that stings. A lot.
I expect a bigger crowd inside, but I guess Landon wasn’t kidding when he said it was a small gathering.
On the well-worn leather couch, three guys are playing a racing video game, trash-talking loudly as their little cars hurtle across the screen.
A young woman with a dyed-red bob and tattoos on every visible inch of skin is curled up in the armchair, while a pretty blond in gray sweats and a crop top sits near the redhead’s feet, scrolling on her phone.
There’s music playing from a nearby speaker, but the volume is low, and the vibe in the house is chill.
“This is Blake,” Landon tells his friends before introducing the guys to me. “Sammy, Zan, Gio.” He nods toward the girls. “Kelly and Christina.”
“Nice to meet you guys.” I awkwardly sit on the other couch, an upholstered love seat, while Landon ducks into the kitchen to get me a drink.
He’s gone a while, and I hear the sound of cupboards opening and rattling closed.
His friends seem cool, though. Kelly tells me she hosts paint nights in Tahoe City every Thursday and Saturday, which sort of sounds like a blast. Christina works at the boat rental place at the marina in Zephyr Cove.
The three boys ignore me completely, too caught up in their game.
“Okay, I have good news and I have bad news,” Landon announces, reappearing several minutes later. He’s holding something behind his back.
“Bad news first, always,” Christina says.
“We’re out of beer.”
That finally gets the boys’ attention. Sammy pauses the game in sheer outrage. “Dude! But we need beer!”
Landon’s mouth stretches in a shit-eating grin. “Ask me what the good news is.”
“What’s the good news?” Zan says suspiciously.
With a grand flourish, Landon whips his hand out to reveal an ominous-looking black bottle.
“We’ve got absinthe.”