2
Cameron
OUTRAGEOUSLY LOUD MUSIC THUMPS, and the bass makes the soles of my Vans shake with its force. My back is pressed against one of the living room walls of Cassie’s house, though I’d say living room is far too simple a term for the space itself.
With the big stereo, chiffon couch, and massive fireplace, it screams money. Or at least upper-middle class. Two steps lead you down from the front entryway and onto the red carpet, with a wet bar built into the far wall.
Hailey is sitting on the couch, laughing loudly as Kimberly talks with her hands, explaining in great detail what her last hookup was like.
Kimberly was Cassie’s best friend before I came along Freshman year of high school, but she doesn’t seem to mind our close relationship—not when she has Hailey to fall back on.
Her little brother, Michael, normally tags along when we all hang out, but he’s still in high school himself and Kim wouldn’t be caught dead drinking in front of him as a twenty-year-old.
A few other familiar faces are here, the other young adults of Port Orford, and they’re either dancing provocatively or downing shots at the bar. A few minutes ago, Cassie disappeared into the kitchen to make sure there were still snacks on the table.
The party has reached its peak, having started two hours ago, and I’m only getting drunker the longer I stand here, dick in hand, waiting for him to show up like a sad little puppy.
I wish we had never invited him. I wish Cassie hadn’t told me that she texted him the exact time and address, because now I’m forever frozen, anxiously awaiting his arrival.
There is something magnetic about Atticus Chastain, and it makes me sick. Sick with irritation, interest, and inadequacy.
Sick with want.
Overall, it just makes me realize I’m not the kind of person I want to be. As in, the kind of person who’d fantasize about my hot best friend or any other girl in town, but instead, one who lies in bed at night thinking about how strong and defined Atticus’s hands look.
I’m a mental freakout just waiting to happen, constantly teetering on the edge.
He’s not coming for you, I remind myself. Which means I can relax; I can enjoy this party that’s meant for me, whether or not he is.
I have no need to wait for his arrival, terrified and enthralled, because if he does show up, it’ll be to lock lips with Cassie.
“Hey, you don’t look like the main attraction of this party,” said hot best friend speaks, coming up to me as she enters from the kitchen door to my right.
“What does that mean?” I ask, taking another drink of the cocktail Hailey made me just a few minutes ago.
I’m most definitely getting drunker by the minute.
“It means you look miserable,” Cassie says, bumping my shoulder with hers. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Avoiding her gaze, I watch Kim talk animatedly, my foot tapping to a beat that I don’t necessarily care for.
“Well, let’s brighten your mood! Look around, Cam. Any of these girls doing it for you? You act so modest, but you’re a hot commodity.”
I wouldn’t say that. Sure, I don’t look bad—I made sure of it, working out religiously and taking care of my hair—but I’m emotionally exhausted and living with a drunk. I’m certainly not a hot commodity.
“Not really,” I tell her honestly. And even if there were, Port Orford is so small that the dating pool almost feels incestuous. Half these girls are related, and I’m not about to fuck through an entire family tree.
Maybe that’s why the Chastains are so appealing, because they are so isolated. It’s almost as if they’re not a part of our town.
Not that there are any options in that family. The only two kids of legal age are men, and homosexuality is not a very open topic here. That, and I can’t really afford another difficult situation right now.
I’m already juggling Mom, bills, and my own self-esteem. Adding a sexuality crisis to that? Nah, I’ll pass.
Avoid, deflect, deny.
“You’re being very—oh my god! He’s here!” Cassie squeals, cutting off her own insult.
My eyes immediately dart to the entryway as she scurries toward it, finding Atticus walking through the threshold. He’s holding a bottle, still dressed in his slacks and button-up, though his hair is perfected once again, and he’s got a coat thrown on.
It looks soft. Expensive.
I turn away, focusing once again on my friends. I have no interest in seeing Cassie flirt away with the man, and there is no point in ogling when he can catch me at any moment. I will not embarrass myself tonight. That is a vow.
The dim, yellowed lamp light of the living room makes me feel a bit safer as I shrink further into the wall, taking another drink from my cup.
Grace, who works at the floral shop up the road and has about two years on me, approaches where I stand. Her blonde hair is tied in a high ponytail, and she’s got lashes so long they brush her eyebrows.
We’ve spoken quite a bit over the years, and up until a few months ago, she was dating one of the guys who works at my uncle’s auto shop.
Now, newly single, it appears she’s looking in my direction. She smiles up at me, her hand grazing mine as she leans in close.
“Hey, it’s the man of the hour,” Grace purrs. “Congrats on the new gig.”
I try my best to smile in return. “Thanks, I’m pumped about it.”
Which is true; it pays more, so I’ll be able to buy a few things for myself as I pay our bills. Maybe even afford to fix up that old Mustang that Uncle Danny said I could have. If I can manage to get it running.
“I bet. Working men are so hot.” Clearly, Grace does not care about subtlety. And even if I were interested, I surely wouldn’t fuck the girl who just got out of a relationship with my brand-new colleague.
I hum in response, my eyes darting back to where Kim and Hailey sit as I debate moving in their direction, if not just to ditch this persistent woman.
“I’d be interested in seeing just how good you are with your hands, if you’re into it—”
“Cam!”
Saved by the damn bell. Or, rather, Cassie. I’m so relieved by the interruption that, as I turn to face her to show her my gratitude, I’m startled by her company.
I totally forgot who she’s with. Maybe I should put my drink down.
Atticus is standing at Cassie’s side, his hazel eyes drilling into me. They flicker to Grace momentarily, observing her with disinterest, the way he observes damn near everything else.
“Holy shit,” Grace breathes. “Atticus Chastain! I never thought I’d see you at a party. In fact, I hardly ever see you.”
“Mhm,” Atticus replies, not bothering to open his mouth and spare her a word. Then, he turns his attention back to me. “Hello, Cameron.”
Oh, god. The way my name rolls off his tongue as if he owns it, as if he’s been savoring it all afternoon just to feed it back to me all marinated and fucking delicious, is too dangerous.
I kind of want him to leave. I kind of want him to say it again.
“Hi,” I reply, but it sounds scarily close to a squeak.
The corner of his mouth quirks up, just slightly.
“He brought whiskey!” Cassie gushes, holding up a bottle that looks far too fancy to be at a small party like this.
“Oh, wow. Thanks.” It’s all I can manage to say, as I’m still reeling from the slight smile he hand-delivered to me a moment ago.
“Let’s all take a shot, yeah?” Cassie suggests, looking between the three of us.
Why is Grace suddenly invited? I definitely want her to leave.
“Uh—” Before I can finish my thought, I’m interrupted.
“Lead the way,” Atticus says, gesturing toward the far door like he knows this house better than its owner.
Has he… has he been here before? The thought makes me nauseous.
Remember why he’s here, dumbass, my inner voice demands.
With that in mind, I follow silently as we make our way into the kitchen.
Once around the island, Cassie starts to lay out plastic shot glasses.
“What do you want to drink, Cam?” she asks, pointing to a few bottles that seem to be overflow from the bar in the living room.
“Uhm.” My eyes dart between the options.
Listen, it shouldn’t be that hard to decide what booze you’re gonna drink.
But everything is a hard decision for me.
What I wear, what I eat, and what hobbies I partake in.
Having lived a life so complicated, so overwhelming, where no one seems to care about what you do or what happens to you—you kind of start struggling with even the most mundane of things.
Like everyday decisions. Like dictating your own movements. Like what the fuck to drink at your own party.
“He’ll drink what I brought,” Atticus interjects, pouring the expensive whiskey into my shot glass.
And… and it’s nice. Not having to think, not having to wonder if I’ve made the right choice, not being alone in deciding.
“Then we all will!” Cassie shouts, lining up a few more little plastic cups.
I lift my gaze from the table to Atticus as he finishes pouring, and as we all grab our shots, his eyes meet mine.
“Cheers,” he says lowly, and my heart thunders so loudly I’m afraid that even over the music, everyone in the room will be able to hear it.
“Cheers!” the girls yell, and I give a small nod, unwilling to trust my own voice.
The whiskey doesn’t burn on the way down, but I’m unsure if that’s due to the consequence of how much I’ve already consumed or the quality of the liquor.
“Let’s dance,” Grace suggests as we throw our plastic cups in the trash, her hand snatching up mine.
Cassie giggles, making an obscene motion behind Grace’s back. One that indicates a blowjob, as she moves her fisted hand and tongues the inside of her cheek.
“Actually, I should—”
“No buts, hottie! You’re dancing.” Grace drags me out of the kitchen and into the living room, joining the few others dancing in the center.
Some R&B song is blaring through the speakers as she releases me and begins to move, rolling her hips and making eyes at me. Clearly, she’s not new to this scene.