Chapter 19
ETHAN
Piper is using me. And right now, I am totally okay with that.
I know she’s just using me to get to Miles, as a way to make him jealous. Though honestly, I’m not sure she even wants to be with him anymore, which makes this whole thing even more confusing.
Will I ever understand women?
But right now, she’s got her hands tangled in my leaf garland and she’s kissing me so thoroughly that I don’t have brain cells left to analyze it.
The party rages around us—bass vibrating through the floorboards, someone shrieking as their bubble-wrap dress gets systematically popped, the smell of cheap beer and Freddie’s brownies creating that distinctive college party atmosphere.
My body responds predictably to having a beautiful woman pressed against me, her fairy lights warm between us.
And Piper notices.
She pulls back, eyes flicking down then up to mine. Her cheeks flush pink behind her glasses—which are slightly fogged, and fuck, if that isn’t the hottest thing I’ve seen all night.
But there’s something else in her expression too. Surprise? Like she didn’t expect to affect me, which is insane because has she seen herself tonight? The fairy lights make her look ethereal, like some electric forest sprite who stumbled into a house party.
I hold her stare. I’m not ashamed of my body’s reaction, and neither should she be.
“I—” she starts, but then Miles appears, having abandoned Harper by the punch bowl.
I don’t get what Piper sees in this guy. Everything about him screams ‘peaked in high school debate club.’
His bedsheet toga is already coming unpinned at one shoulder, held together with what looks like binder clips. The laurel crown sits crooked on his head like he bought it from Party City an hour ago. Which he probably did.
“Nice costumes,” he says, though his tone suggests the opposite. “Very... Brave, Ian.”
I adjust my leaf garland, making sure nothing’s shifted inappropriately. “Thanks, man. Love the toga. Super original. Though I’m not sure you can compare yourself to a Roman God.”
“It’s actually more Greek than Roman,” Harper says, appearing with two red cups. She hands one to Miles while eyeing my outfit with obvious appreciation. “Though yours is certainly... bold.”
“Fortune favors the bold,” I reply, winking at her. Miles’s jaw tightens.
“Right.” He turns to Piper, dismissing me entirely. “Pipes, you look... different. Not like yourself.” He frowns.
The backhanded compliment makes my teeth clench. Piper’s hand finds mine, squeezing tight.
“I think she looks incredible,” I say. “Like a whole constellation.”
“Constellations are just patterns people imagined in random stars,” Miles counters. “Not actually connected.”
Is this guy seriously trying to teach me astronomy right now?
“Maybe,” Piper says suddenly, “but the patterns still mean something. Even if they’re imagined.”
Something passes between her and Miles—years of history I’m not privy to. The bass drops in whatever song is playing, and the whole house shakes.
“We should dance,” Harper suggests, tugging at Miles’s toga. Another binder clip pops loose. “Come on, babe.”
But Miles is still staring at Piper like he’s trying to figure out when she became hot. “So, since when do you enjoy parties like this?”
“Since I started dating someone who helps me have fun at them,” Piper replies.
The words land like a slap. I remember her mentioning how Miles never included her in social things.
“We had fun together. As friends, I mean,” Miles protests.
“Study groups don’t count,” I interject. “Neither does asking her to fix your code at 2 AM.”
He turns those sharp eyes on me. “And who are you to say?”
“Her boyfriend,” I say simply. “The one who knows she’s brilliant without needing her to fix his homework.”
Harper’s cup pauses halfway to her lips. The tension could be cut with a plastic party knife.
“Boyfriend,” Miles repeats slowly. “Right. That’s still happening?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” Piper’s voice has an edge now.
“I just thought—” He stops, regroups. “It seems sudden. You’ve never shown interest in the quarterback type before.”
“Former quarterback,” I correct. “Current game designer. Also, the current person who doesn’t talk about Piper like she’s a coding assistant. And honestly, this is getting old. I’d appreciate if you stopped talking about my girlfriend like you own her. It’s fucking creepy, man.”
Someone stumbles between us—shower curtain girl, now missing several rubber duckies. The interruption breaks the standoff momentarily.
“Babe, let’s get some air,” Harper says, pulling at Miles’s arm. His toga slips further. Harper rolls her eyes and heads out.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” he says, not looking at her. His focus is entirely on Piper. “I need to talk to you. Please, Pipes. Tomorrow?”
The audacity of this guy.
“She’s busy tomorrow,” I say before Piper can respond. “We have plans.”
“We do?” Piper glances up at me.
“That thing. With Greg. Remember?” I squeeze her hand, hoping she plays along.
Understanding dawns in her eyes. “Right. The thing. With Greg. Can’t miss that.”
Miles looks between us like we’re speaking in code. Which, technically, we are.
“Greg?” The disdain in his voice is palpable.
“My houseplant.”
“Greg’s very social,” Piper deadpans. “Books up fast.”
I could kiss her for that. Actually, I could kiss her for lots of reasons, but that’s a dangerous thought path.
Harper finally succeeds in calling Miles outside, though he keeps glancing back. The moment they’re swallowed by the crowd, Piper sags against me.
“That was...”
“Weird,” I suggest.
“I was going to say awful, but yeah. Weird works.” She looks up at me. “Do we actually have plans tomorrow?”
“We do now. Can’t leave Greg hanging.”
She laughs, but it’s shaky. “I need a drink. Or five.”
“The punch is probably pure vodka by now.”
“Perfect.”
We make our way toward the kitchen, her hand still in mine. I tell myself it’s for show, in case Miles is watching. I’m getting good at lying to myself.
The kitchen is in chaos. Someone’s doing body shots off what appears to be a periodic table made of jello shots. Freddie’s explaining his brownie recipe to a very high sophomore. Troy and Alex are engaged in an arm-wrestling match on the counter.
“Ethan!” Troy shouts, spotting us. “Tell Alex that I absolutely let her win!”
“You absolutely did not let me win,” Alex retorts. “Piper, back me up here. Women can be strong too, right?”
“The strongest,” Piper agrees, grabbing two cups of punch.
She hands me one, and we toast silently before drinking. It tastes like Hawaiian Punch had a baby with rubbing alcohol.
“Jesus!” I cough. “Who made this?”
“Chemistry majors,” Freddie calls out.
“That explains the periodic table,” Piper mutters.
We drift away from the kitchen, finding a relatively quiet corner near the stairs. The party swirls around us—a kaleidoscope of improvised costumes and questionable decisions.
“Thanks,” Piper says suddenly. “For the save back there. With Miles.”
“No problem. Though I should warn you for tomorrow, Greg’s a terrible conversationalist. Very one-sided.”
She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“Do you think I’m pathetic? For the whole...” She gestures vaguely. “This whole thing?”
“No,” I say immediately. “I think you’re human.”
“That’s being diplomatic.”
“It’s being honest.” I lean against the wall, studying her. “You want to know what I really think?”
She nods, fairy lights twinkling with the movement.
“I think you spent so long being what Miles wanted that you forgot to ask what you wanted. And now that you’re finally asking, it’s scary as hell.”
Her eyes widen. “That’s... yeah. That’s exactly it.”
“I also think,” I continue, emboldened by punch and proximity, “that Miles is an idiot who couldn’t see what was right in front of him. And his loss is my gain, even if it’s just pretend.”
The words hang between us, heavier than intended.
“Ethan...”
“I know,” I say quickly. “I know what this is. I’m not—I’m not making it weird. I promise.”
She looks at me for a long moment, and I wonder what she sees. A convenient prop? A friend? Something more?
“It’s already weird,” she says finally. “But maybe that’s okay.”
Before I can respond, someone crashes into us—shower curtain girl again, now definitely drunker and missing most of her duckies.
“Sorry!” she slurs. “Love your leaves! Very Biblical!”
She stumbles away, leaving us laughing.
“Biblical?” I look down at my costume. “I was going for more pagan god.”
“Pagan gods probably wore more clothes. You really do look like Adam.” Piper points out.
“Details.” I finish my punch, grimacing. “Want to dance? Might as well give Miles more to stare at.”
She glances toward the living room where the music is loudest. “Actually... can we go somewhere quieter? Just for a minute? My head is spinning and I don’t think it’s just the punch.”
I study her face. She does look overwhelmed—the night’s emotions catching up maybe, or just the sensory overload of the party.
“Yeah, of course. We can go to my room if you want. Fair warning though, it’s a mess.”
“I’ve seen your backpack. I’m prepared.”
We navigate through the party, past beer pong in the dining room and whatever drinking game is happening on the stairs. My room is at the end of the hall, and I’m grateful I at least made my bed this morning.
The bass is muffled up here, though the floor still vibrates. My desk showcases its usual disarray—game dev notebooks, empty energy drink cans, sketches for the new build scattered everywhere.
She turns, leaning against the window. The fairy lights cast soft shadows on the walls. “This is weird, right? What we’re doing?”
“Which part? The fake dating? The costume war? The—”
“I kissed you,” she interrupts. “Like, really kissed you. And you...” She gestures vaguely. “God, why is this so awkward?”
“Only if we make it awkward.”
“Ethan, I literally used you to make another guy jealous and gave you a very public boner in the process. That’s textbook awkward.”
I can’t help laughing. “Okay, when you put it like that...”
She groans, sinking into my desk chair. “The worst part is, I don’t even want him. And seeing him tonight with Harper, in that stupid bedsheet toga, trying to make me feel small...” She pulls off her glasses, rubbing her eyes. “What kind of person wastes years on someone like that?”
“Hey.” I crouch in front of her chair.
“Even now… Why am I even doing all this? Just to show him that I'm doing well without him?”
“Don’t do that. We’ve all been there.”
“Have you?” She puts her glasses back on. “With Paige?”
The question surprises me. “You remember her”
“Of course. She’s the only person I’ve ever seen shake you.”
“Yeah, well.” I rock back on my heels. “Turns out I was just a placeholder until she found what she really wanted. Someone with a motorcycle and a trust fund.”
“She sounds awful.”
“She was beautiful and smart and made me feel like I was worth something until suddenly, I wasn’t.” I stand, leaning against my desk. “So yeah, I get it. The whole ‘what’s wrong with me’ spiral.”
“Did you do anything embarrassing? After?”
“I may have written some very bad poetry.”
“No.”
“Oh yes. Rhymed ‘heart’ with ‘apart’ at least seventeen times.”
She laughs, real and bright. “I practiced conversations. Whole scripts of what I’d say when Miles finally noticed me. How I’d be clever and confident and definitely not the girl who memorized his coffee order.”
“That’s not embarrassing. That’s preparation.”
“It’s stalker behavior.”
“It’s hopeful,” I correct. “And maybe a smidge stalker behavior.”
We sit in comfortable silence. The party continues below, but up here feels separate, safe.
“I don’t want to go back down,” she admits.
“So we don’t. We can hide up here, judge everyone’s costumes from the window.”
“Won’t people think we’re...” She gestures between us.
“Let them think it. Isn’t that the point?”
She stands, walking to Greg. Alfie brought him up when the party started to get too busy. “Your plant’s really thriving.”
“Yeah, turns out I’m good at taking care of things.”
“I knew that,” she says softly.
Something in her voice makes my chest tight. “Piper—”
A huge crash from downstairs cuts me off, followed by cheering.
“Someone definitely just broke something expensive,” I say.
“Should we check?”
“Probably.”
Neither of us moves.
“Ethan?” She’s still facing the window. “What happens when this is over? You know you tutoring me?”
My stomach drops. “What do you want to happen?”
She turns, fairy lights catching the uncertainty in her eyes. “I don’t know. That’s the problem. I don’t know what I want anymore.”
I want to tell her I know exactly what I want. That I want to kiss her again without an audience. That I want to know what she looks like on a lazy Sunday morning.
Instead, I say, “We don’t have to figure it out tonight.”
“Very mature of you.”
“I have my moments.”
She smiles, some tension leaving her shoulders. “We should probably go back down. People will wonder where we went.”
“Let them wonder,” I say, but I’m already moving toward the door.
We head back downstairs, her hand finding mine on the steps. The party has reached peak chaos—someone’s started a limbo competition using what appears to be a pool noodle covered in aluminum foil. The coffee table is definitely broken, hastily pushed against the wall.
Miles and Harper are dancing, or trying to. His toga has lost another clip and Harper keeps stepping on the trailing fabric. They look ridiculous and perfectly matched in their ridiculousness.
“You good?” I murmur to Piper.
She squeezes my hand. “Yeah. I think I am.”
And maybe it’s the punch, or the way her lights complement my leaves, or just the fact that she chose my room to hide in—but I believe her.
The night stretches ahead, full of possibility and terrible dancing and whatever this thing between us is becoming.
I’m still being used. We both know it.
But maybe, just maybe, we’re both okay with that.
For now.