Book Five Teaser #4
More importantly, Nolan knows exactly where he falls in Edgewood’s food chain and has never been stupid enough to be insecure about it.
He isn’t an Elite.
He also doesn’t need to be. At the moment, he’s sitting beside me with one arm stretched across the back of my chair, laughing at something Danny is saying while Becca tries to steal the cherry out of his drink.
Our entire table is crowded with half-empty glasses, abandoned dessert plates, purses, suit jackets, and centerpieces Penny has been slowly dismantling for reasons nobody has bothered asking about.
Everyone is here. Which is precisely what makes this night unbearable.
“I swear to God, Becca.” Danny catches her wrist before she can reach across him again. “Get your own.”
“I don’t want my own.”
“Then you don't get one.”
“I want yours.”
“That's not how ownership works.”
Becca looks at him like he’s profoundly stupid. “You have clearly misunderstood our entire relationship.”
Across the table, Kaid laughs while Cat leans against him, one hand beneath the table where I absolutely do not want to know what she’s doing because the expression on Kaid’s face tells me enough.
Penny is practically sitting in X’s lap despite having a perfectly functional chair beside him.
Ryan’s hand has been resting on Ally’s stomach for so long I’m beginning to think it has been surgically attached.
Normal. Our version of it, anyway.
Nolan leans toward me. “How long before Rorke loses that fight?”
“He lost it when he started dating her.”
Becca gets the cherry. Danny calls her a fucking thief. She eats it while staring directly into his eyes. Nolan laughs, and I smile despite myself.
Because Nolan is fine. Nolan is fun. Nolan is smug enough that I don't have to carry every conversation, attractive enough that dancing with him isn't a hardship, and familiar enough that there are no awkward questions to answer.
I've known him most of my life. I know his parents.
He knows mine. We have the same friends, the same school, the same parties, the same ridiculous little town.
There is nothing wrong with Nolan Pierce.
Unfortunately, Nolan Pierce is not Isaac Walsh.
I take a drink. That is not a thought I am having tonight. I am here with Nolan because that is the deal. I was told to come with Nolan.
The Chairman wanted Nolan Pierce beside me tonight, so Nolan Pierce is beside me tonight. I don't know whether the choice was supposed to accomplish something specific or whether it was simply another reminder that even something as stupid as senior prom isn't mine anymore.
It doesn't matter. I was given an instruction. I followed it. That's how this works.
Across the table, Isaac laughs. I don't look. I've gotten very good at not looking at Isaac Walsh. It is a skill I developed sometime after Homecoming and have practiced relentlessly ever since.
I can tell you where he is without looking.
I know when he leaves a room. I know when he walks into one.
I know his laugh from fifty feet away in a crowded ballroom.
I know the difference between the one he gives Danny when Danny says something genuinely funny and the quieter one that means Iz is about to make somebody's life significantly worse.
I also know Katie Bellmont has been touching him all fucking night. I don't need to look at that either.
“Bella.”
I glance at Nolan. “What?”
His mouth curves. “You planning a murder?”
“Always.”
“Hot.”
Perfectly fucking fine.
“Come dance with me, Whelan.”
He stands and holds out his hand. I look at it. Then, because apparently I hate myself, I look across the table.
Iz is already looking at me. Katie is saying something in his ear, her fingers playing with the edge of his bow tie, but Iz isn't looking at her. He's looking at Nolan's hand. Then at me.
His expression says nothing. His eyes say plenty.
Asshole.
I put my hand in Nolan's. He pulls me toward the dance floor.
The music is loud enough that conversation becomes optional, which is probably why everybody keeps ending up out here.
Penny and X are already dancing, if what they're doing qualifies.
X's hands are low on her hips while Penny has both arms around his neck, and every few seconds they stop pretending they're listening to the song and kiss.
Kaid and Cat are worse. Obviously.
Becca and Danny appear beside us halfway through the song already arguing. “I said I wanted to dance.”
“We are dancing.”
“You're jumping.”
“That's dancing.”
“You have no rhythm.”
Danny looks personally offended. “I have incredible rhythm.” Becca gives him a look. Danny's grin turns filthy. “Oh, you fucking know I do.”
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter.
Nolan laughs. Becca shoves Danny hard enough that he nearly hits Ryan, Danny catches her around the waist, and thirty seconds later she's laughing with her face buried against his neck.
Ryan and Ally are slower. Careful without making a production out of being careful. His hand stays around her waist while Ally's rests on his shoulder, her other hand occasionally drifting to her stomach.
They're happy. All of them. Stupidly, disgustingly happy.
Nolan turns me beneath his arm and catches me again, his hand settling at my waist. “You're somewhere else.”
“I'm literally touching you.”
“Physically.”
“Don't get emotionally intelligent on me, Pierce. It's unattractive.”
“That'll be devastating for my future therapy career.”
“You'd be terrible.”
“Why?”
“You'd sleep with your patients.”
“Only the hot ones.”
I laugh. And over Nolan's shoulder, I see Iz. Katie has her arms around his neck. His hands are on her waist. She's saying something. He's smiling.
Something hot and ugly twists beneath my ribs. I look away. The Chairman wanted me here with Nolan. I'm here with Nolan.
Isaac can fuck Katie Bellmont in the middle of the dance floor for all I care.
My stomach turns.
He pulls me closer as the song changes, and I let him because Nolan isn't doing anything wrong. That's the worst part. He smells good. He looks good. His hand feels perfectly acceptable against my back. When he smiles down at me, I don't have to wonder what he sees.
Bella Whelan. Exactly the version I give him.
Nolan doesn't look at me like he's trying to peel my skin off and find whatever I've buried underneath.
Nolan doesn't notice when I lie. Nolan doesn't remember every stupid thing I've said since kindergarten and throw it back at me twelve years later.
Nolan doesn't make me feel like I'm standing in front of a loaded gun.
Nolan is safe. Isaac Walsh has never been safe a day in his fucking life.
I make it through two more songs. Then I need air. Or nicotine. Preferably both. I slip through the ballroom before anybody else can decide to follow.
The night air hits my skin the second I step outside.
Better.
Quiet too, or at least quieter. Music still bleeds through the doors behind me, bass vibrating faintly through the building, but out here I can hear myself think.
Which is unfortunate.
I walk farther from the entrance, around the corner where the terrace lights don't reach quite as well, and dig through my tiny fucking purse.
Cigarettes. Lighter. Lip gloss. Phone. Every essential item a girl needs while being psychologically terrorized at senior prom.
I put a cigarette between my lips and light it. The first drag helps immediately. Not enough. But immediately.
“You know those kill you.”
I close my eyes. Of course. “Go away, Walsh.”
His footsteps come closer. “No.”
I turn. Iz has taken his jacket off. His sleeves are pushed up his forearms, bow tie slightly crooked now, curls more disordered than they were when we left the Harringtons'.
He looks unfairly good. I hate him. Deeply
“Shouldn't you be inside?” I ask. “Katie might realize you've escaped.”
“Shouldn't you?”
“Nolan knows where I am.”
His mouth twists. There it is. “Nolan.”