Chapter Four — Jealousy Looks Good on You
RONAN
Ronan had been at the party for eleven minutes when he realized bringing Elliot had been a mistake.
Not because Elliot was uncomfortable. That would have been easier.
Elliot was never uncomfortable anywhere.
He stood near the center of Dylan Price's living room with a red plastic cup in one hand and six people gathered around him as though he'd been invited specifically to hold court.
Ronan recognized two of them from Bellweather.
The others might as well have been strangers.
It didn't matter. Elliot had apparently known them for years by the way they laughed when he spoke, interrupted one another to tell him stories, and kept finding reasons to touch his shoulder.
Ronan leaned against the kitchen doorway and watched.
Elliot wore black jeans and a cream-colored sweater pushed carelessly to his elbows.
His hair was styled just enough to look like it wasn't. The soft light from a floor lamp caught the warmer blond strands near the front whenever he turned his head, and every few seconds that stupid fucking smile appeared.
Open. Easy. Sweet. Ronan knew better. One of the girls beside Elliot said something.
Elliot laughed. She touched his forearm. Ronan's jaw tightened.
“Interesting.”
Ronan looked sideways. Dylan stood beside him holding two beers.
“What?”
Dylan offered him one. Ronan took it.
“You've been staring at your brother for like five minutes.”
“Stepbrother.”
Dylan twisted the cap from his bottle.
“Important distinction?”
“Yes.”
Dylan glanced toward Elliot. Ronan immediately regretted answering.
“Didn't realize you two were close.”
“We live together.”
“That wasn't what I said.”
Ronan drank. Dylan smiled. Ronan had met Dylan Price the previous spring through a friend from the architecture program.
He was twenty-three, finishing a business degree at Bellweather, and possessed the particular kind of confidence that came from having spent his entire life being attractive enough that strangers forgave him quickly.
He was easy to like. That had been the problem.
Months ago, before Ronan had finally stopped pretending the thing between him and Elliot wasn't going to happen, Dylan had been uncomplicated.
One night. No expectations. No promises.
Nothing worth remembering beyond the fact that it had happened.
Elliot had somehow transformed that irrelevant night into a personal insult.
“Don't,” Ronan said.
Dylan laughed.
“I didn't say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was going to say he seems cool.”
“He is.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“I'm not.”
“Protective?”
Ronan looked at him. Dylan raised both hands.
“Jesus.”
“Leave him alone.”
“I haven't touched him.”
“Keep it that way.”
Dylan stared at him for half a second. Then his smile widened.
“Holy shit.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Dylan.”
“Nothing.”
Ronan took another drink. Across the room, Elliot looked directly at him.
The timing was too perfect. Ronan wondered how long he'd been watching.
Elliot's smile remained while someone beside him continued talking.
His eyes didn't. They moved first to Ronan.
Then Dylan. Then the beer Dylan had handed him.
Back to Dylan. Ronan almost laughed. There he is.
Elliot looked away. “You see that?” Dylan asked.
“No.” “You're a terrible liar.” “So I've been told.” Dylan bumped his shoulder against Ronan's.
Ronan stepped away immediately. “Seriously?” “What?” “You're doing that on purpose.” “Doing what?” Ronan looked toward Elliot.
He was still talking to his friends. Too casually.
“Yes,” Ronan said. “You are.” Dylan followed his gaze.
Something clicked. “Oh.” Ronan turned. “Don't.” Dylan's eyebrows rose.
“Oh.” “Shut the fuck up.” “Wait.” “Dylan.” “Is that why you haven't answered my texts?” Ronan's stomach tightened.
“Keep your voice down.” Dylan stared at him.
The amusement slowly disappeared. “No fucking way.” “Nothing is happening.” “Sure.” “I'm serious.” “You just threatened me for touching his arm.” “I didn't threaten you.” “You basically did.” Ronan stepped closer.
“Drop it.” Dylan studied his face. For once, he listened.
“Fine.” Ronan exhaled. Then Dylan looked toward Elliot again.
“Does he know about us?” Ronan closed his eyes briefly. “Unfortunately.” Dylan laughed.
“Jesus Christ.”
“I said drop it.”
“I am.”
“You're laughing.”
“I can't help that.”
Ronan drank again.
“Asshole.”
“Sorry.”
He wasn't. Ronan knew him well enough to recognize that.
The music changed. Something bass-heavy shook the glasses sitting on a shelf near the doorway.
More people entered through the front door.
The house was already too crowded. Ronan hated parties like this.
He hadn't always. At twenty-one, he'd spent entire weekends moving between apartments, bars, and whatever house somebody had volunteered to destroy.
At twenty-four, standing in a living room that smelled like beer, perfume, and somebody's aggressively sweet vape while strangers screamed conversations over music suddenly felt exhausting.
Elliot loved it. Or appeared to. Ronan wasn't entirely convinced Elliot loved parties as much as he loved people loving him at parties.
There was a difference. His phone vibrated.
A message from Elliot. Ronan looked across the room. Elliot wasn't holding his phone. Interesting. He opened it.
ELLIOT: stop flirting with him
Ronan looked up. Elliot was listening attentively to a brunette explain something with elaborate hand gestures. Ronan typed.
RONAN: I'm standing here.
His phone buzzed almost immediately.
ELLIOT: flirtier than necessary
Ronan bit back a smile.
RONAN: jealous?
Elliot finally glanced toward him. His phone remained hidden somewhere. A second later:
ELLIOT: no
Ronan laughed aloud. Dylan looked over.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Your boyfriend?”
Ronan's head snapped toward him. Dylan smiled into his beer.
“Relax. Nobody heard me.”
“Keep fucking around.”
“What? You'll break my fingers?”
Ronan went still. Dylan noticed.
“What?”
“Who told you that?”
“Told me what?”
“About the fingers.”
Dylan frowned.
“You did.”
“No, I didn't.”
“You literally just said keep fucking around.”
Ronan stared. Dylan stared back. Then laughed.
“Figure of speech, man.”
Ronan looked toward Elliot. Still smiling. Still surrounded. A cold little thought passed through Ronan's mind. He dismissed it. Coincidence.
“I'm getting another drink,” Dylan said.
“You have one.”
Dylan looked at his bottle.
“Fair.”
He walked away anyway. Ronan remained by the doorway. His phone vibrated.
ELLIOT: where's your boyfriend going
Ronan typed:
RONAN: Come here.
Across the room, Elliot looked at his phone for the first time.
He read the message. His eyes lifted. Ronan crooked one finger.
Elliot smiled at whoever was speaking, said something Ronan couldn't hear, and extracted himself from the group.
Three people stopped him before he made it across the room.
Ronan watched each interaction. A handshake.
A hug. A girl touching his shoulder. A guy grabbing Elliot around the neck and saying something that made him laugh.
By the time Elliot reached Ronan, nearly two minutes had passed.
“You summoned me?”
“You're ridiculous.”
“That's not very nice.”
“Stop texting me from across the room.”
“Why?”
“Because you're standing twenty feet away.”
“Twenty-eight.”
“You counted?”
“I estimated.”
“Creepy.”
Elliot leaned against the wall beside him. Their shoulders nearly touched. Nearly. Ronan noticed Elliot's eyes travel toward the kitchen. Looking for Dylan.
“Having fun?” Ronan asked.
“Sure.”
“Convincing.”
“I'm having a wonderful time.”
“You hate everyone here.”
“I like several people.”
“Name three.”
“Claire.”
“Not here.”
“Exactly.”
Ronan laughed. Elliot smiled. For a moment, the tension disappeared.
Then Dylan emerged from the kitchen. He was talking to someone.
A blond guy Ronan didn't recognize. Dylan saw them.
His eyes flicked between Ronan and Elliot.
He smiled. Elliot's expression remained perfectly pleasant. Dylan approached.
“Elliot.”
“Dylan.”
“You enjoying yourself?”
“Immensely.”
Ronan nearly choked on his beer. Dylan noticed. Elliot ignored him.
“I've been meaning to ask,” Dylan said. “You were at Halston Saturday, right?”
The atmosphere changed. Mason. Elliot's smile faded appropriately.
“Yeah.”
“Cops talk to you?”
“Tuesday.”
“Me too.”
Ronan looked at Dylan.
“You didn't mention that.”
Dylan shrugged.
“They talked to everybody.”
“What'd they ask?”
“Same shit. When I got there, when I left, whether Mason was acting weird.”
Elliot watched him.
“Was he?”
“Not really.”
“You knew him better than I did.”
“Unfortunately.”
The answer caught Ronan's attention. Elliot's too.
“What does that mean?” Elliot asked.
Dylan glanced around before lowering his voice.
“Mason could be a dick.”
Elliot said nothing. Dylan continued.
“I'm not saying he deserved what happened. Obviously. But everyone's acting like the guy was a fucking saint now.”
Elliot's eyes sharpened. Barely. Ronan saw it because he was looking for it.
“What was he like?” Elliot asked.
“You knew him.”
“Not really.”
Dylan shrugged.
“Rich kid who never heard no enough.”
“That describes half of Bellweather.”
“Fair.”
“What made him a dick?”
Ronan looked at Elliot. Too interested. Dylan didn't notice.
“Pledge shit mostly. Girls. Couple rumors.”
“What rumors?”
“Elliot.”
Ronan's voice cut across them. Elliot looked over.
“What?”
“Why are you interrogating him?”
“I'm curious.”
Dylan laughed.
“No, it's fine.”
Ronan didn't like the direction this was going. Neither did he understand why. Dylan took another drink.