3. Chapter 3
Four years ago - The summer before junior year
“Are you sure we should be here?” I tug my bag over my stomach because a clown costume would be more appropriate than the white crop top and jeans I’m wearing.
My cousin Madison stops in her tracks and scans my outfit. “You look fine. Hot, even, so I don’t know why you can’t stop complaining.”
Easy for her to say—Madison is the kind of pretty that you don’t have to work for. She’s tall, blonde, vibrant, confident, and everything guys like.
Me, I’m just the quiet girl who likes to fade into the background, only being noticed for her snarky responses to the high school bullshit I have to put up with.
“Fine?” I arch a brow, waving my hands in her direction.
“Would’ve been nice to know that you were planning on wearing a ball gown tonight.
” I point at her black dress, and yes, I’m exaggerating a little bit, but the point still stands.
She looks like an effortless goddess while I look like I just crawled out of a Netflix coma.
“Oh, please, I’m only wearing this because Henry told me he likes black dresses, and I want to make him regret every little thing he ever did. Believe me, I’d much rather be in jeans right now.”
“Henry likes black dresses?” I ask with a raised brow. “Are we really going to keep pretending that the reason we’re here is to piss off your ex?”
She responds with a grunt as she takes my hand and proceeds to drag me through the mansion. Okay, I guess we are still living in denial. Marble floors, cathedral ceilings… this place reeks of money and judgment, two things I’m desperately short on.
“How’d you even get invited to this place?” I whisper as another rich boy in a fancy button-down walks by, his thick brow furrowing as he takes me in.
I know—I look ridiculous, okay? I don’t need you reminding me.
“Is Dash here?” I look around the crowd for her brother’s, best friend, but I can’t find him. Surprising, since he’s one of the tallest people I’ve ever met. “Have you told Cade about that ‘moment’ you guys had after Dash punched the living shit out of Henry for you yet?”
“There was no moment.”
“Oh, then why’d you wait until Cade was asleep to call me and tell me about it?”
Madison makes another abrupt stop to glare at me with pointed intention. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. I know I’m playing with fire by bringing him up.
“Something wrong, cuz?” I ask innocently while trying to hide my smirk.
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head as her cheeks flush. “Dash is—whatever. He’s not interested in me, and I’m not interested in chasing uninterested guys.” She emphasizes her point by flicking her long, blonde hair over her shoulder and adding an extra strut to her step.
“Well, that’s interesting.”
Translation: Dash loves her but he’s too scared of her brother to make a move. It’s so obvious. He’s the only person I’ve seen listen to an entire Madison story and not get bored.
“If you must know, Brett invited us. He knows a guy who knows the guy who owns this place.”
“Sounds legit,” I deadpan.
When Madison begged me to come along as her buffer tonight, I was expecting the party to be in a sad little basement with beer pong, sticky floors and regret marinating in the air.
Instead, I’m waltzing around a goddamn mansion where the cars parked outside probably cost more than my parents’ house. Hell, more than my entire life.
“Give it ten minutes. If it’s terrible and we don’t find Henry, we’ll leave and go watch a movie or something.”
“Fine.”
Two hours later, Madison is still Henry-less, and we’re standing by the pool like unwanted extras in someone else’s porno. Bodies writhe in the water, leaving nothing to the imagination over what’s going on underneath.
My cousin is completely unaware of the X-rated aquatics, though. She’s dancing on her tiptoes, scanning the crowd for a guy who, if we’re being brutally honest, probably couldn’t pick her out of a two-person lineup.
But what the hell do I know?
I’m just the emotional support cousin. I don’t go to their school, so I’ve never actually seen how the guy looks at her.
“Oh! There he is!” She claps her hands in excitement, practically vibrating at the chance to show him her ‘revenge dress.’
“Fucking finally,” I mutter, not bothering to mask my disdain. Honestly, Madison’s time is definitely better spent elsewhere, and by elsewhere, I mean with the brooding, looming hockey player in the corner of the room who’s been dutifully standing next to her brother all night.
She jabs her finger toward some douchebag sporting what can only be described as a horticultural disaster on his head.
A mop of curly brown hair sprouts from a buzzed undercut.
My mother, in her infinite suburban wisdom, calls it the “broccoli cut,” but I've always thought “Alpaca who stuck its dick in an electrical socket” is more accurate. Either way, he’s kind of cute, but is a far cry from Dash.
Maybe that’s what got her interested in him in the first place.
Her ex tilts his chin in our direction, which is the universal gesture of “I see you but don’t give enough of a shit to actually want to engage with you.” No wave. No smile. Sounds about right for an ex.
“Come on. Let’s go and show him what he’s missing.” She laces her fingers through mine and tugs me toward him. When I resist, she spins back around, confusion flickering across her face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I lie, but I really can’t take the thought of having to watch my cousin try to reason with a guy who thinks that’s an attractive haircut. Not wanting to offend Madison because I love her to pieces, I point my thumb behind me. “I just need to pee.”
“O-okay. I’ll come with you.”
I shake my head, freeing my hand. “No, no. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I’ll find one of the sixteen bathrooms in this place and then come find you.”
She stares at me for a few seconds. I know why. I’ve never been great with new people and hate being left on my own at parties. However, my need to stay away from this cringe factor wins out.
“You sure?” Her eyes are already drifting toward the group of guys huddled near the makeshift bar. Wait a minute, do they all have that haircut? Glad I don’t go to their school.
“Go.” I force a smile, shoving her gently. “I'm fine. I’ll call you if I get lost.”
“Okay. I love you.” She kisses my cheek before vanishing into the crowd. The music blares and the bass vibrates through my ribs just as a cold breeze slices across my exposed stomach, reminding me I don’t belong here.
I exhale, long and tired. I should’ve stayed home.
Every doorway I pass gets a quick inspection, and soon, my bathroom hunt becomes the most entertaining thing of the night. At least here I can admire beautiful furniture instead of talking with hockey players whose most profound thoughts revolve around stick handling and protein shakes.
When I finally find a bathroom, I sit in there for longer than necessary and check through social media to waste a little more time. When I’ve gathered enough momentum to head back out, I slip out of the bathroom and attempt to find my way back to the pool. A hard task when the place is so big.
Seriously, I think I’m lost. I should’ve left myself breadcrumbs.
When I open another door, I gasp. It’s a library. The biggest one I’ve ever seen. Stacks upon stacks of beautiful books are all lined up just waiting to be read.
I can’t help myself; I slip in.
“Oh my gosh,” I whisper, moving to the center of the room so I can see just how big it is. The room so quiet, I can hear my footsteps.
Now this is the kind of party I could get used to.
I pull my phone out to take pictures, needing to commit this place to memory.
As I’m filming, I hear some arguing outside, and I think I hear someone say ‘honey,’ but I ignore it for the most part. It’s not my place or problem. I’m just happy to be here.
“I’ve never seen you here before.”
The voice comes out of nowhere. I flinch, twisting too fast, and my phone slips from my fingers.
It hits the wooden floor with a hard thud. I register the sound, the vibration, the fact that I should probably pick it up—then none of that matters anymore.
Because he’s standing right there.
Living, breathing proof that genetics can be wildly unfair…in the best possible way.
Tall, with shoulders that strain against his button-down shirt and a jaw that looks like it’s sculpted from marble, he’s the prettiest boy I think I’ve ever seen.
I blink once. Twice, but nothing changes.
He’s still there, watching me intently. His mouth twitches, just barely, as if he’s debating whether to say something else or let me collect myself.
“I’m sorry,” I say, as he takes a few steps forward and picks up my phone. “I wasn’t snooping. I just wanted to get away from the crowd for a minute, and I got distracted by the books.”
He straightens slowly, my phone resting in his palm as he takes me in.
Whiskey. His eyes are the same color as the liquor my dad drinks when he thinks no one is watching.
The same stuff that turns him into a raging lunatic.
The only real reason I never say no to Madison when she asks me to come out with her.
It’s because anything is better than what’s waiting for me at home.
But this guy with the whiskey eyes doesn’t know that.
He doesn’t need to. Right now, I can be anyone, and that thought feels good.
Maybe tonight I’m not Tiffany Bright. Maybe tonight I’m just a girl with an uncomplicated relationship with her parents looking to enjoy myself.
“Didn’t think you were,” he says finally.
He holds my phone out, and our fingers brush when I take it. It’s a brief, accidental contact, but I feel a zinging sensation regardless.
“I come here when I need a break from the noise too,” he adds, glancing over his shoulder toward the door. “Figured I was the only one here who knew this room existed.”
That’s when it hits me.
“This is your house. I’m sorry.”