Chapter 64
Ace
I’m not proud of how I’ve been living.
There’s a half-eaten takeout sandwich on my coffee table that’s probably growing a new strain of penicillin.
My couch has swallowed me whole, and my TV has been playing a loop of old basketball highlights for…
a while. It’s dark. Maybe on purpose. And I might smell curdled milk on the shirt I haven’t washed in I don’t know how long.
I’ve only left my apartment once today to grab some food. But the entire time, I couldn’t get the vision of Julia and Drew—or the fact that they’re supposedly moving in together—out of my fucking head.
When the door buzzes, I ignore it.
When it buzzes again, I groan and shout toward no one, “I’m not dead, but I’m working on it!”
It buzzes forty times in a row, so finally giving in, I shuffle over and crack open the door, only to be met by the smug, judgmental smirk of my father.
“Well, shit,” Thatch says, stepping inside uninvited. “You look like warm sushi in a dog’s asshole.”
I try to shove the door closed as I reply, “Come back later. After someone in the building calls about a smell coming from my apartment that’s my rotting corpse.”
He stops the door with his big clown foot and shoves his way inside, and I wrap the blanket I’m wearing as a cloak around myself tighter.
“Holy fuck, Acer.” He sniffs the air and instantly recoils. “What actually died in here?”
“My will to live?”
Thatch kicks aside a pile of laundry with his boot. “Christ. You’re sulking.”
“I’m not sulking.”
He raises a brow. “You’re sulking with texture. C’mon, get dressed.”
“What?”
“We’re going out. I made a dinner reservation.”
I look down at myself. “You think I’m in any condition to be seen in public?”
“You’re almost twenty years old. Being disgusting is literally your whole personality,” he says. “And here—wear this.” He throws something at me. I catch it. It’s a cardigan. Like…a varsity-style letterman sweater.
“Are you serious?”
“It’s vintage,” he shrugs. “Your mom bought it. Said it would make your shoulders look broad. Get your ass dressed.”
I don’t know why I listen to him. But twenty minutes later, we’re in his Range Rover, pulling up in front of—
“…Gamma Pi?” I blink. “You said dinner.”
“This is dinner.”
“This is a fucking frat house.”
“Don’t be such a prude.”
“You brought me to a frat Halloween party?”
He throws the car in park and unbuckles. “You need to get out of your own head. Drink something that isn’t carbonated depression. Maybe touch a boob. Whatever kids do these days.”
“I’m not going to a frat party with you.”
“No, you’re not.” He grins. “You’re going by yourself.”
He walks around the back of the SUV, opens the trunk, and pulls out a full gorilla suit.
I stare. “What the fuck?”
He starts putting it on.
“What the fuck, Dad?”
“You don’t go in—” he shrugs as he zips up the suit “—I go in.”
I groan and drag my hands down my face. “Good grief. Chill, old man. I’m going.”
“Have fun, Acer!” he calls as I storm off toward the door. “I’ll be in the bushes! I see you leave early, I’m climbing in that window!”
My feet drag through the mud of my messy feelings, but the threat of my dad’s attendance keeps me moving until I’m fully ensconced in the foyer.
Inside, it’s chaos.
There are strobe lights and laser lights, and people are packed wall-to-wall. There’s a foam graveyard in the corner, and a guy in a werewolf costume is doing body shots off a nurse. Someone else is crowd-surfing in a full inflatable T. Rex suit.
The vibes are all fucking wrong for my piss-poor mood, but the mess of the place serves as decent camouflage at least.
I spot Blake and Finn near the bar while I’m searching for a hiding spot, and for some reason, my dumbass feet take me their way.
Blake lifts his bottle of water, smiling at me. “Nice letterman sweater.”
“Thanks. My dad dressed me.”
“No shit?”
I shrug. “Long story.”
Scottie and Kayla wave at me from across the room, both dressed as witches—though Kayla’s witch hat has tiny beer cans dangling from the brim.
My eyes scan the crowd, but the one person I want to see isn’t here at all. But maybe that’s a good thing. I smell a little like cottage cheese, and surely that fuckwad would be following her around like a puppy.
The music shifts to a song I know like the back of my fucking hand. It’s the song from Grease that I’ve made Julia duet with me at more karaoke bars than I can count, and I instantly have visions of driving a car off a fucking cliff.
I’m here, alone, in a letterman sweater, and the universe thinks it’s a good time to play one of my fucking wet-dream songs?
Fuck off, fate, you bastard.
Determined to face whatever consequences Gorilla Bush Thatch doles out, I head for the door on quick feet with nothing more than a muttered expletive over my shoulder.
I’m surprised when Blake jumps in front of me and blocks me—surprised and fucking pissed.
“Get out of my way, superstar. I’m not staying.”
He shakes his head. “Sorry, dude. No can do. Turn around.”
When I don’t comply, he puts his hands on me and makes me, and a rage boils so quickly I’m practically a scientific marvel.
And then Julia appears from the crowd. But she looks like a fucking fever dream. Tight leather pants. Black heels. Curled hair. Red lips. Smoky eye.
I blink. My brain malfunctions. “Julia?”
Blake or some other bastard pats my shoulder from behind, and I gulp and gawk at the sight of my best friend—the love of my life—embodying a Grease-inspired Sandy in front of me.
She smirks and pretends to take a long drag off a fake cigarette, then flicks it to the floor and stomps it out with the toe of her shoe. “Tell me about it, stud.”
My heart relocates to my throat and my excitement to my balls as Julia steps right up to me smelling like strawberry lip gloss and every single good memory I’ve ever had. She is heaven and home all wrapped up into one gorgeous package.
And then—without warning—she kisses me.
Hands in my hair, lips on mine, completely, absolutely, Julia kisses me.
I don’t think. I don’t even know if I’m breathing, but I do know I’m kissing her back.
I grab her waist and pull her closer. The crowd around us might as well not exist. All I can focus on is the taste of her mouth and the thundering of my pulse and the voice in my head screaming finally, finally, finally.
And when we part, her eyes flick up to mine like I’m the answer she’s been searching for.
“Can I tell you a secret that I don’t want to be a secret anymore?”
I stare at her. My voice cracks when I finally speak. “Anything.”
“You smell horrible for the first time ever.”