Chapter 2 Eighteen
Eighteen
In every direction there are strangers dressed to the nines, wishing me happy birthday and embracing me tightly. My party has become a major social event and has brought people from all over the District. From across the river. From important businesses. From important families.
My sister is a socialite. Popular. Beautiful. And she loves attention and crowds and noise. Being more of a homebody myself means I have a handful of real friends and the equivalent in acquaintances.
There are nearly fifty people here whose identities are a complete mystery to me.
It's a beautiful party, but despite her best intentions and efforts, it just screams Flick.
From the live DJ and neon-lit dance floor to the over-the-top polaroid booth, to the gift covered pool table, and finally to the pink and red balloon garlands that are, like, everywhere.
Although, I do like pink.
My mum is bouncing between the kitchen and the game room, topping up cocktail dispensers and repositioning food. My dad is setting up some kind of projector, and I know I'm going to need more than a few drinks for whatever he has planned.
Suddenly, through the laughter and drum-and-bass, I hear Flick's voice. "You like it? You love it, right?" She emerges from the crowd, her shapely body and long molten-red hair swaying.
"Wow. It's... big," I say. The grin on her face is hard to ignore. Infectious. It's enough to make me love this party as much as she clearly does. I nod. "I love it."
Appearing on the verge of happy tears, she says, "I know you don't usually go for the elaborate thing, but I wanted tonight to be epic.
I know you're probably a bit embarrassed, but that's why I had to do it.
To get you out of your comfort zone and get you drunk.
Loosen you up." Her eyes gloss over. "Sorry, I just had two shots from Stacey's belly button.
I'm feeling a bit emotional. She has a beautiful belly button.
" She laughs and wipes a single tear that dared to break free.
"I just love you so much, little sister, and you're so beautiful and I'm so proud of your determination and how strong you are. " She embraces me tightly.
The backs of my eyes begin to prickle. Must be something in the water—like alcohol. "I love you too!"
She begins to giggle. "And I wanted to milk the District of presents for you. And ya know, just because I tend to favour the fairer sex doesn't mean I haven't noticed the male hotties around here. Hey? Dillion? Cute. Athletic. Riiiight?"
"Flick, stop it," I say as I take a few steps toward the bar.
My eyes bounce around the desserts, landing on a cupcake.
Smiling, I grab the cupcake and take a bite.
I talk to her around a mouthful of delicious chocolate.
"He's not my type. We dance together. I don't want to date the male version of me.
I want someone..." The word gets lost; the name, however, doesn't. Max Butcher.
I swallow and take another bite. "I don't know. Different."
"You're so graceful on stage. What the hell happens when you step off?" She says, using her perfectly manicured finger to wipe icing from my top lip.
"I get hungry," I laugh.
Her smile widens, and I know it's because she's so happy and loves me so much. "You're eighteen. Come have a body shot!"
I wrinkle my nose. "Not off Stacey."
She giggles and grabs my hand, steering me through the crowd and out onto the alfresco where people are gathering in groups. It's nice outside tonight. Slightly cool. Perfectly still and cloudless.
"Get a shot for Cassidy!" Flick yells to the people at the bar cart. "But not a Slippery Nipple." She cracks herself up. "A tequila shot. Hell, make it a Flatliner!"
I jolt to a stop, my hand suddenly slipping from hers. My cheeks begin to smoulder.
Standing casually behind the outdoor bar table is Max Butcher and his gang.
I will my feet to keep moving forward, but they don't. His level of hot is uncomfortable.
That is the best way to describe him—hot to the point of physical discomfort.
I study him quickly, and both love and hate the way his jeans are tight around his thick thighs and hips, the way the sleeves of his white V-neck shirt are bunched above his elbows 'cause, like, why have long sleeves if you're going to roll them up?
Because the sleeves probably couldn't accommodate his thick, tattooed forearms, that's why. I don’t really know why, of course, but—
"Cassidy?" Flick says.
I swallow hard as I look at her. "Sorry. I just remembered Toni." I do not sound convincing at all. "He needs a Flatline... er or whatever it was called. He'd probably have a Slippery Nipple, actually, if that's a real shot. I don't know. I'm just rambling now. But I should go get him."
Her brows raise, a smirk now plastered across her cheeks. She sees straight through me as she points to a guy sitting down at a table a few metres from where Max is standing. It's Toni.
Frick.
"Oh, cool," I say breathily.
Double frick.
She grabs my hand again. "Come on."
I'm pulled over to the group by the bar cart, but plonk down just short of them, seeking refuge with Toni.
He eyes me and smacks his lips. "You look so awkward right now."
"Stop it. Don't say anything, Toni." I stare out over the grass that is darkened by the night sky. The moon's big tonight—lots of big things here tonight...
Shut up, Cassidy!
Toni wraps his arm around my shoulders and squeezes. "That boy is bad news. Bad. Bad. Sexy." He chuckles. "Sexy, bad news."
I think I like bad news.
He takes a sip of his cocktail and crosses his legs.
"Personally, I'm more of a Xander Butcher fan myself. Oh my giddy aunt, he's just yummy. Classic boy next door look. Don’t you think?” He nods his head and grins.
"And, well, Max scares the shit out of me.
His biceps are bigger than my hopes and dreams for the future.
.. And Jamie just told me that he bit some guy's finger off and swallowed it.
I mean, I still think you should purr on his face, but maybe with witnesses, ya know? "
I turn to face him. "Come on, that rumour doesn’t even sound real.
No more real than"—I drop my voice—"The Clay Butcher one.
You know where he rips a guy's head open with his bare hands?
Or the one where Bronson Butcher gets into a bar fight and slices a guy's neck open with a glass.
Or the Xander Butcher one where he killed that cop with a taser. They have to be lies."
He shrugs. "Either way. Sexy, bad news. The lot of them."
I pretend to massage my neck from side to side so I can peer over at Max. He's standing with Xander, Stacey, and a few nameless faces. Beautiful girls hover around them, but the Butcher gang is more focused on laughing amongst themselves than paying their spectators any real attention.
Max's eyes are near black from this distance, narrowed and deep, with so much intensity—almost weighed down.
A pretty, golden-haired girl circles his bicep with her hand.
He flicks her his attention, only to say something that has her grimace and storm off.
Her reaction makes him laugh, menacing and gravelly and sexy as hell.
"Cassidy," Flick says, stepping in front of me and handing me two shot glasses with a lemon wedge balanced on top of each. "This is a Flatliner. It's basically just tequila and Cointreau and lime, but with tabasco. See, the tabasco makes a little line in the tequila."
I blink at her. "You want me to have both?"
She grins. "Yep. It's liquid confidence."
After a quick glance at Max and the biceps I'd love to wrap my hand around, I nod. "Let's do this." I tip the shot glass into my mouth. The refreshingly cold liquid gives me a false sense of security before the heat rips through my throat. Swallowing it, I quickly drain the other.
When the heat in my chest slowly dies, I turn to my sister. "Tell me about Stacey."
Tell me about Max.
Flick looks over her shoulder at Stacey and smiles. "She's beautiful, hey?"
"She is," I agree. "Beautiful skin. She reminds me of Natalie Portman. So are you two serious? I kinda thought she was straight."
"So did she," Flick states smugly.
Toni laughs. "Everyone is gay for the right person."
"Nah, I'm just kidding," Flick interjects. "Seriously though, Stacey doesn't like labels. She likes me. I happen to be a girl."
"Wasn't Stacey dating Xander?" Toni asks.
She scoffs. "Hell no. They're just besties. No sex as far as I'm aware."
Toni sips his cocktail and studies Flick. "Wouldn't you hate it if she had, though? 'Cause like, I'm not sure a girl could come back from that boy and what's snuggled up in his boxers."
Flick rolls her eyes. "I have ten dicks on my hands and an intimate knowledge of what's between a girl's legs. I think I'm fine."
Toni looks at me. "Maybe you can tell Cassidy what's between a girl's legs. She's an asexual pigeon."
I feign a chuckle and coo, and then steer straight away from that topic. "Are the rumours true? The ones about Max and Xander and their brothers?"
"I don't know. I doubt it. But we're new mates, Cassidy. We haven't traded diaries yet."
Toni pretends to read a diary. "Max's diary: Had sex. Had sex. Had sex. Played rugby. Bit a guy's thumb off. Had sex."
I giggle. "Flick's diary: Did hair. Did nails. Did Stacey—"
Flick interrupts, "Cassidy's diary: Danced. Danced. Danced. Ignored my obvious beauty and played the part of a hermit. Danced."
I scoff and stand to get another drink. "Cassidy's diary: Danced. Where are my tits? Help, I've been robbed. Danced."
"You do have tits!" Flick exclaims. "They're pretty perfect actually. You're only a little person."
"They're pretty frickin' small." I giggle, grabbing a glass of champagne from the cart and quickly moving back to my spot beside Toni.
Toni bounces and slaps his thighs. "Oh, do me next. Do me. Do me."