Chapter 38
THIRTY-EIGHT
DYLAN
LIKE EVERY YEAR, we’re only a few hours into our Halloween party and everyone is hammered. And unlike every year, I’m completely sober on my own birthday.
I’m stopped at a red light as a family dressed as pumpkins crosses the street.
Earlier, Kian started complaining about having to drive to West Hartford to get Summer’s and my cake.
I grabbed my keys and cut off his whining.
Truthfully, my eagerness had little to do with helping and everything to do with escaping the crowded chaos.
I needed space, just a little time to breathe, before slipping into the guy I haven’t been for months. Not since I’ve been with her.
It’s been days since Sierra stayed with me all night.
I expected to wake up to an empty bed again, but this time she was sitting at the edge of my mattress, poking my cheek.
She was wearing one of my crewnecks, her hair a tangled mess from where I’d run my fingers through it all night, a delicate smile on her lips.
She was leaving but woke me up to tell me.
That was a first. So was the quick, awkward kiss she left on the tip of my nose before she slipped out the door.
Pure bliss. We spent the next few days alternating between our places but never sleeping the night.
I knew then that the next time I had her, I wanted to wake up to her.
I wouldn’t be satisfied until I could have that.
I drive down Main Street, cake secured with a seat belt.
No one at the cake shop even batted an eye at my costume, but I didn’t put much effort in this year.
Kian tried getting me to be Darth Vader because he’s Anakin Skywalker.
I opted for a basic Ghostface mask and black jeans.
The radio drones on with some country songs, a leftover trace of when Summer picked up Aiden, Eli, and Sage from the airport this morning.
They all made it down for my birthday, and I was excited to see them, but it didn’t fill the hollowness in my chest.
When I hit another red light, I tighten my palm around the steering wheel. The irritation gnawing at me has nothing to do with the melting ice-cream cake and everything to do with a girl.
We had practice yesterday, but we were so winded from the brutal session that we didn’t talk.
Sierra, of course, decided it was the perfect time to try a lasso lift.
Lidia gave in, so we turned into the move, her hand in mine, and I hoisted her overhead as she stretched into an effortless split.
Lidia wasn’t satisfied, though. She made us do our entire program with the lift, nineteen times.
Nineteen. Sierra refused to complain, so we kept going.
Finally, parked in the garage, I take the cake from the back seat and make my way up the steps.
The party is just starting to shift from a casual gathering into something raucous.
Years of attending college parties have honed my ability to predict their trajectory.
This one is going to leave me with a headache, I can guarantee that much.
I take a breath before I enter the house, immediately hearing my name chanted.
I weave through the sea of inebriated college students who wish me a happy birthday as I slip into the kitchen.
There, I put the cake into the freezer. My gaze flicks to the bottles of alcohol lining the counter. I don’t reach for one.
“Damn it,” Amara Evans, Summer’s best friend, says. We’ve been friends since earlier this year, and a few weeks ago, she used her computer skills to help me take down all the videos of Sierra’s accident that were still online.
She bites into a carrot with a loud crunch, prompting me to glance in her direction. Clad in a black latex costume with cat ears perched atop her head, she’s dressed as Catwoman.
“She’s even hotter in person,” Amara says, gaze fixed on the front door.
I follow her gaze as Eli and Sage, dressed as a firefighter and the fire, finally enter. Apparently, they all had some last-minute errands to run. “Sage?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.
Amara nods, offering me celery, but I refuse. “Why? Do you have a thing for Eli?”
“I have a thing for both of them now, apparently,” she mutters.
“Fair,” I say. “But aren’t you and Sampson—”
The rest of my sentence is muffled by her hand. “We do not speak of that. Ever.”
I pry her black-latex-covered hand away. “Still haven’t told Summer?”
“Don’t need to, because it doesn’t mean anything,” Amara replies with a dismissive shrug, though her nonchalance doesn’t quite mask the unease in her eyes.
“I don’t know, Amara, it seemed pretty meaningful when you two were in the storage closet at Porter’s.”
She purses her lips. “What about you? Still pining over your skating partner?”
Before I can answer, she mutters a curse, shoots me a rushed “Happy birthday,” and swipes the vegetable platter and vanishes into the chaos of the hallway.
Tyler Sampson strolls in wearing a gladiator costume, waving a bottle of Clase Azul tequila.
Because of course he would bring top-shelf tequila to a college party.
“Was that Amara?” he asks, eyeing the trail of her departure.
“Not sure.”
“Well, congrats, man,” he says, slapping my back. He takes a swig directly from the bottle and clinks it against the can of seltzer I’m nursing. The dull clink of our drinks offends him. “This is how you’re celebrating your birthday and getting back on the team?”
Though he’s hammered, Sampson manages to hold himself together. That’s why I appreciated having him around this summer; we’re both heavyweights, and neither of us had to drag the other home. Those days of amateur drinking are behind us, though sometimes I still end up taking care of a trashed Kian.
“Not really my thing anymore,” I say.
“Is this because of that hot figure skater you’re always with?”
Suddenly I want to punch him in the face. “Her name’s Sierra.”
Sampson grins. “Sore spot?”
His attention shifts, and he’s already walking away before I can respond. From the look on his face, I know he’s spotted Amara in her Catwoman costume.
I haven’t seen Kian yet, and I don’t know if that’s a good thing. I notice Aiden leaning against a wall and sipping on what’s probably water. His girlfriend is on the dance floor, and he watches her with careful focus.
Aiden’s got on gladiator chest armor and a red cape, while Summer’s got purple fabric draped around her lavender dress. They’re Hercules and Megara. Of course they are.
“Don’t you hate dressing up?” I ask him.
“You made me go as Snow White last year. I think we both know I don’t care,” he says just as Summer barrels into him. “Besides, it’s my girl’s birthday. She gets whatever she wants.”
Summer spins on her heels and crushes me in a hug. “Happy birthday!”
I squeeze her back. “Happy birthday, Sunny.”
“Do you like it?” She beams proudly. The party is extravagant, nothing we’ve done before. She’s brought in a whole stage, speakers, tables, everything. It’s a lot, and she deserves it; I’m just not so sure that I do.
“Yeah, I love it,” I say anyway.
She watches me carefully, but she smiles like she’s got some secret. “By the way, there’s probably more seltzer than actual alcohol. I wanted this to be a sober event, but your frat brothers clearly had other ideas.” She gestures to the kegs lining the wall.
I laugh. “I appreciate the effort.”
She tilts her head as she looks at my costume. “You’re … Magic Mike?”
“Ghostface.” I show her the mask I left on the table.
She appraises my costume again. “I’m pretty sure he was wearing a shirt in the movies.”
“I think it’d be a shame to hide all this.” I run a hand over my abs. “My knife—”
“Don’t you dare make a dick joke,” she warns. “I’m surprised you didn’t go all out this year.”
I shrug. Throughout the years, I’ve been the one adamant we all dress up. It’s always a fun time, but I couldn’t bring myself to care this year. I just want this day to be over.
“Well, I have a feeling this’ll be your best birthday yet.” She beams like she knows something I don’t. When she hears her favorite song, she rushes to the dance floor again, and Aiden’s gaze follows her, a lazy smile on his lips.
Man, he is sickly in love with her. It’s sweet.
Sweet? I take a swig of my seltzer. I never thought seeing my friends in happy relationships would make me yearn for it.
To have someone to do all of it with. I’ve been so caught up in going through the motions, I didn’t realize how deeply Sierra’s settled into my chest. And I don’t want her to leave.
If anything, I want her closer. More permanent.
I am so fucked.
I turn back to Aiden, shaking the thought. “It’s my birthday too. What do I get?”
“You used your wish on the Snow White costume.”
“That was last year. You probably got Summer something.”
Aiden raises a brow. “Why? Are you vying for the present I’m giving her?”
“Nah, I don’t think your dick would make a very memorable gift.”
He rolls his eyes. “What do you want?”
“You are awfully snippy lately. I think your girlfriend is rubbing off on you.” He gives me the finger.
I’m laughing when my skin lights with an innate awareness when the front door opens, and more people enter.
My gaze catches on a girl by the drinks table, her back to me, but I know that body.
I’ve mapped every inch of it, tasted even more, dreamed about her in less.
She’s got on a black corset top, her matching skirt shorter than anything I’ve seen her in, and stockings.
I put my mask on and gravitate toward her like a magnet.
My hands find the curve of her waist, and she stiffens until I pull her to me, her back flush against my front. “Didn’t think you’d show,” I whisper, pressing my lips to her ear.
I watch the swell of her breasts lift with a sharp inhale. She smells maddening, and I hate that we’re not alone.
“Why not?” Sierra says, voice muffled under her mask, barely audible over music drowning the house.
“Can’t seem to pin you down. I might need to use rope next time.”
She spins in my arms, pulling off her Ghostface mask, then doing the same to mine. Sierra raises a brow like she’s annoyed. “What if I was another girl?”
Finally, finally, green eyes are on me. “You’re not.”
“You couldn’t have known that.”
“I’d know you anywhere, Sierra,” I say. “Every. Fucking. Inch of you.”
The delicate column of her throat twitches. Something close to a smile lifts her lips before she frowns, her gaze roaming my half-assed costume.
“Did you plan this?” she asks, holding up her Ghostface mask.
“I’m just as surprised as you.”
Scarlett spots me and wishes me a happy birthday. Sierra looks at her best friend, wearing a Padmé costume. “You were in on this?”
“Kian asked if I’d do him a favor. He’s quite persuasive,” she admits.
“Of course he is.”
Scarlett’s smile gets brighter when Kian comes over, slinging his arm around me as his lightsaber digs into my side. “Whoa. What a coincidence!”
We deadpan. Except for Scarlett, who only smiles at him.
“Did you show him?” Kian asks Sierra, and her eyes go wide, her cheeks a little pink.
“Show me what?” I ask.
“Nothing,” they all say. Kian quickly takes Scarlett’s hand and pulls her along.
Then we’re alone again. Well, aside from the fifteen hundred—possibly more—people at this party.
Sierra relaxes as she stands with me, but the longer we stay there, the more tension seeps into her posture.
She moves to dodge the people bumping into her.
I solve her problem by pressing her against the wall, caged between my arms.
We’re both looking at each other like we’re recalling that night. When her soft moans and whimpers fell on my skin, and how my groans felt right against her pussy. My gaze rests on her lips, red of course, and I know they taste that way too. Hot and irresistible.
“Don’t you have a party to host?” she says.
There’s another bout of “Happy Birthday” and pats on the back sent my way when Kian says something over the speaker. My focus doesn’t waver because my racing heart pulls all my attention to the person it’s trying to pry out of my chest for. “Not my priority right now.”
“You sure? There are a lot of people here,” she says.
“I only care about one.”
I watch the goose bumps rise on her skin and how her throat moves when she swallows.
Then my name is called in a drunken slur over the loudspeaker again, and even as the screech of the mic forces an audible groan from the crowd, I don’t turn around. If Kian’s finding me, he’s going to have to drag me away from this, from her.
“You’re being summoned,” Sierra says.
“Then let’s go somewhere quiet.”
“You want to ditch your own party?” Her gaze darts past me.
When my chest brushes against her, igniting a path straight down, her hand shoots up. She flattens her palm against my pecs, and I let her push me just an inch.
“You’re not thinking straight,” she blurts out as some sort of last-ditch effort.
“Everything could be a blur, and I’d still see you clearly,” I say.
Her chest heaves, and I can’t help but let my gaze drop to her outfit. Short as hell, all black, all mine. I can’t hold back from taking her hand and placing it over my heart. Her eyes darken, and her tongue darts out to lick her red lips. Fuck, she’s perfection.
Then some drunk dude dressed as Patrick Bateman bumps into us. He apologizes profusely before picking himself off the floor and stumbling into the crowd.
“Your choice, Romanova,” I say, dropping my forehead to hers. “Wanna be my getaway?”
Sierra nods, taking my hand and leading me down the hall toward my room.