by Mariah Dietz
“Can you tilt me on one corner and call me a diamond instead?”
Olivia pulls the blanket spread over her lap up to her chin. “As long as you still come. I told them we’d bring some kind of dessert.”
“Potluck? That has me feeling a little too close to middle-aged.”
Behind me, Juliet trots out of my bedroom, meowing.
“Hey, lazy girl,” I say. “Nice of you to finally join us.” I squat to pet her sleek, black fur. She stops, allowing me to pet her a few times before she spots Olivia and her fuzzy blanket and leaps onto her lap.
“I have to get going,” I tell Olivia. “Apparently, I don’t know how to say no to people anymore, and so now I’m volunteering at the bird sanctuary again with Anna tomorrow.”
“Bird sanctuary?”
“Yeah, instead of brunch, that’s what we did last weekend. It’s something my mom and I used to do. Maybe once you’re feeling better, you could come with us. It could be a good inspiration for another book in your series. They specialize in helping owls, and many owls are on the endangered species list.”
“Owls? I had no idea.”
I nod. “My mom loved owls,” I tell her. “She always said they were a sign of good luck. But with deforestation and farms getting larger, their numbers have been shrinking. Plus, you have asshole poachers and pesticides, and other crap they have to contest with.”
“Do you think anyone will really want to read these books?” she asks. “I mean, how do I put a positive spin on animals being killed off in high numbers by the very same people who need to protect them in order for them to survive?”
“Yes,” I tell her. “Definitely. This is the same argument I had with Anthony regarding the piece I wrote on food security. People want to help, and I believe if they know they can make a difference, people will choose to do so. It’s not a political issue—it’s about being a decent human being.”
“You can put a blanket trust over all of humanity, but boyfriends can’t be trusted?”
I point at her. “Low blow.” I move to the fridge to fill a glass with water. “You know me. Dating just isn’t my thing. I like being single and independent. It’s my jam. Plus, we both know you’re the only person on this Earth who could tolerate living with me. I’m messy, I stay up too late, I take up every inch of my closet and bathroom, and I hate movie previews.”
Olivia gasps. “You hate movie previews? How have we lasted this long?”
“When did you get so sarcastic? I thought that was my role?”
She bows. “The teacher is now the student.”
I wave a hand at her. “That’s all Arlo. I take zero credit for pop culture references.”
Olivia’s nose scrunches as her smile shows all of her teeth. “I asked Arlo about Isla and Ian.”
Panic hits me in the chest, knocking the air out of me. “No. Tell me you didn’t.”
“He said he hasn’t seen her around at all. Are you positive it was Ian?”
I tip my head to stare at her and ensure she sees my disbelief. “Of course, I’m positive.”
“I think you should talk to him,” she blurts out.
I rub a hand across my temple that instantly begins to ache. “Why? Then I’m playing the role of marriage wrecker.”
“They’re not married. They’re not even dating.”
“According to Arlo, who didn’t recognize you had a crush on him until I hit him over the head with the fact.”
Olivia shakes her head. “You’d be clearing the air.”
“With the wrong motivation.”
She growls, making Juliet scamper off of the couch and halfway across the room.
“I know you, and I know that Ian terrifies you, but that fear feels so damn good once you stop running from it. You like Ian, and this has you rattled. I just don’t want you to hook up with some guy and then regret it.”
“You’re ninety-eight percent wrong. I still don’t like attachments, but there is something about Ian that festers in me. I don’t know if it’s because he seems so unattainable or because he’s just freaking hot, but there’s something about him. But he’s an exception, not the rule, and even as an exception, it doesn’t change the fact that we set sail on that boat and it capsized. Could you imagine what would happen if we really jumped with both feet, and then I got scared and pulled the plug? Because we know that would happen. I’d get bored, or restless, or tired of the monotony, and then I’d hurt him.”
“Or he might hurt you.”
My lips fall shut.
Olivia swallows, her gaze is unwavering and unforgiving.
“It doesn’t matter. I know what I saw, and there’s no way I’m going to interfere with whatever is going on when I’ve already been told that she likes him.”
Her shoulders slump as she sighs. “Call me if you need anything.”
I nod. “I will.” I blow her a kiss and head outside, enjoying the snap of cold air that hits my flushed face and nerves.
I push my shoulders back, trying to find confidence or at least lose the guilt that’s shadowing me as I make my way to my car.
Me: Hey! What’s the address I’m meeting you at?
Chantay replies nearly instantly, and before I lose my gumption, I enter the address into my car and go.
I park and double-check the address to make sure it’s the right house because I’ve passed four parties in just a couple of blocks. I text Olivia with the address before I shove my purse under my seat and zip my key fob into my jacket pocket. My black skinny jeans and low-cut white top have me feeling overdressed and underdressed at the same time. I pull my black leather jacket tighter as the wind blows through my hair.
Me: I’m here.
Chantay: Bitch, yes!!! Kitchen! Body shots! Let’s go!
Body shots have never been my thing, but right now, I really want to like them. I want to feel sexy and strong and confident, and more than anything, I want to feel attraction and desire toward someone else.
The door is wide open, tendrils of fog crawl out onto the porch, along with the strange acrid scent that fake fog makes. Inside, a half-circle of guys are shotgunning beers with a small crowd of girls in crop tops cheering them on. Behind the girls is a giant ice sculpture that looks like a small mountain that people are pouring drinks down while others slurp the alcohol from the homemade track.
“Rose?” I turn around and see the same guy I’d run into before going to get Bree when she had her period mishap.
“Hey,” I say, forgetting his name.
He grins an uneven and charming expression. He’s wearing a backward baseball cap, his dark hair sticking out in a boyish and endearing way. His plain white tee and simple jeans only add to his appeal. “You forgot my name again, didn’t you?”
I wince. “It’s nothing personal,” I tell him. “I’m really bad with names.”
“Noah,” he tells me.
“Noah,” I repeat.
He nods. “It’s nice to see you outside of class. You want something to drink?”
“I’m actually meeting a friend.”
Noah instantly retracts at the word friend. He assumes it’s a guy—a date.
“She said she’d be in the kitchen.”
His face brightens. “Let’s see if we can find her.”
I nod, plastering on a wide smile.
“You look nice,” Noah says as we pass where girls are dancing on top of a kitchen table. I’ll bet the table’s broken before I leave.
“Thanks,” I tell him, my attention dancing across the crowds of people all having a good time. I yearn to channel this feeling and stop caring about inconsequential things. I just want to have fun. I try to recall what made it easier last year to do this or the year before, but my focus stops on Paxton Lawson before my thoughts get very far. He’s standing next to a girl with purple hair, one hand on her waist, his smile so broad I can tell from here that he’s drunk. I scan the area around him, looking for another player from the football team, but it’s stranger aft
er stranger.
Shit.
“I’ll meet you in the kitchen in just a second,” I tell Noah. “I see a friend, and I want to say hi really fast. Five minutes tops.”
Noah grins. “Let me see your phone,” he says, already reaching for it before his words fully hit my ears over the noises of the party. He looks at the lock screen, another broken grin before he turns it toward me. “Unlock it, and I’ll add my number. It’s getting pretty busy in here.”
I oblige, taking another discreet look at Paxton so as to not draw any more attention than he already has. Noah enters his number and then gives me a parting smile.
I wait until he’s several feet ahead before changing direction and heading over to Paxton. He’s making out with the girl with the purple hair now. Before I get much closer, I see Hoyt holding two Solo cups. I have no idea if this is good news or worse news. Hoyt doesn’t exactly seem like the responsible friend who will tell someone when they’ve reached their limit. I consider texting Arlo or Raegan, knowing Lincoln would certainly be able to handle the situation.
Paxton pulls back, and his eyes meet mine. I take it as an invitation to move closer.
“Hey, Paxton,” I say, looking from him to the girl with purple hair. She’s wearing a lace top and a killer pair of jeans. I smile at her, but her response is a sneer. I turn back to Paxton. “Are the guys here?”
“Hoyt, Bobby, and me.” His words are evenly paced and clear, and his eyes are as well.
Maybe he’s not as drunk as I’d assumed.
“I’m here with my friend Chantay. If you guys need anything—a ride—or whatever, just let me know.”
He grins. “I’m okay. Thanks, Rose.”
I nod. “See you later.”
He hooks a hand around the girl’s waist again and says something in her ear that makes her giggle.
I feel compassion for him, but it’s more than that—I feel understanding. I have the same desperate desire to get someone out of my head, and knowing about the reckless and unhealthy relationship he’s been in with Candace, I have no doubt that’s where he is right now.
I make a mental note to check on him in a few and head into the kitchen. I spot Chantay instantly, her blond hair pulled back with one hand as she dances with a guy at her back and a girl at her front.
I’m too sober, and seeing Paxton drunk after he was featured on the rumor site today has me struggling to find that zone of fun and bliss I’m seeking.
Someone waves, drawing my attention. It’s Noah, standing beside the keg. I head over to him, enjoying his smile and warm regard more than I know I should. “You want some beer?”
“Please.”
Noah grins and fills a cup that he hands to me before filling a second. “Did you find your friend?”
I nod, pointing at Chantay.
Noah laughs as he cheers. “If you want me to hold your beer so you can join, I am here for it.”
“I bet you are.”
He laughs again, and before I can stop myself, I’m comparing the sound to Ian’s laugh, and it’s like I feel a domino start to wobble in my thoughts. I take a drink of my beer to rid the thoughts, and when that doesn’t dull them, I take another, and another, working to drown the memories.
“Rose!” Chantay cries my name and peels away from those she was dancing with. “I knew you’d come. This is what I love about you. You don’t care about stupid Garett Feldon’s. You know that being single is so much better!” Unlike Paxton, her words are slurred. She takes my half-filled beer and swallows it in one drink.
Noah raises a curious brow, and I shake my head, not about to crack into that can of worms.
“Let’s dance,” Chantay grabs my hand and pulls me along with her out to where a group of people are dancing near another fog machine.
It’s loud, my ears ringing with a protest, and for some ridiculous reason, I’m thinking of advice I want to give to Bree for her first college parties, specifically noting she should avoid parties with fog machines as I choke on the scent. Chantay giggles, and a cute guy with a piercing gaze and addictive smile rests a hand on my waist, and I try to force everything out of my thoughts and be present. Have fun and seek that attraction and desire I came for.
Maybe it’s the bad music, or the damn fog machine, or the fact I’m hot and my jacket and pants are sticking to me, but time is doing nothing favorable. My mood is spiraling. Quickly.
I pull off my jacket and sling it over my arm and turn to find Chantay making out with Noah.
I should care.
I want to care.
Yet, I can’t find it in me to care one bit—instead, relief dances along my spine.
I leave the dance floor and am halfway to the front door before I remember that Paxton is here. I turn to where he’d been when I arrived, but he’s gone.
“Shit. Shit. Shit,” I chant. I should not have left him.
I spin, looking for Hoyt, Bobby, or Paxton, but none of them are visible, and the house is now packed. I thread my way through the crowds, searching each face. A loud cheer has me working my way into the living room where Paxton is shirtless, shotgunning a beer.
“Oh boy,” I mutter. I weave through the crowd of people who all seem to have their phones out, taking pictures and videos of this damming moment.
“Paxton,” I call his name. “Paxton!”
His blue gaze drops to mine, a lazy smile on his face. “Hey, Rose. How’s it going?”
“I could use your help. Would you mind coming outside a minute?”
“Do we need to tap another keg?” He looks in the direction of the kitchen. “The last fool who tapped it had no idea what he was doing, and he—”
“I actually need my car jumped.”
He shakes his head. “Sorry. I didn’t drive.”
Thank God for that.
He starts to turn toward the same girl with purple hair from earlier, but before they can engage in a second act, I grab his wrist. “Paxton!”
Liquid hits my face and hair and drenches my shirt.
Cheers ring out, and then someone starts chanting, “Girl. Fight. Girl. Fight!”
I wipe my eyes and pull my hair back out of my face. Beer. I’m soaked with beer.
Awesome.
Paxton looks at me, his jaw hanging open. “What happened?”
“We need to go,” I tell him. “Come on.” I tug him forward, and thankfully he doesn’t fight me.
We’re nearing the door when Hoyt appears. “Rose!”
“Where’s Bobby?” I ask him.
He shrugs, looking from me to Paxton. “I thought he was with you?”
I point at the front door. “Outside. Let’s go.”
“Rose!” Chantay yells. “Where’d you go?”
“I’ll be back,” I tell her.
She looks from me to Paxton, and her lips curve into a smile that makes my dread reach all the way to my shoulders.
“He’s not feeling well,” I say. “Food poisoning.”
Her brow draws low with doubt, then her forehead smooths. “I could take him upstairs and find a place for him to lie down.” Her gaze is filled with suggestions that have Paxton taking a step toward her.
I yank him back by the wrist. “His ride’s actually here.”
Disappointment puckers her lips. “I could always drive him home later.”
“Why don’t I get him outside, and we can find the basketball team?” I suggest.
She gives a final gaze at Paxton and likely recognizes he would have a severe case of beer dick tonight and wouldn’t be worth her time or energy. Her powder blue eyes meet mine. “Deal.”
“I’ll be back,” I tell her, shoving Hoyt and Paxton toward the door. They oblige, only stumbling when I make them cut through the shrubs so we can take a shortcut to reach my car.
I unlock my car doors and turn to look at the two of them. “I need your phone so that I can call Bobby.”
“Did you say boobie?” Hoyt asks.
Paxton snickers.
“I swear, I heard boobie,” Hoyt continues.
My anger spikes. “Phones!” I stick my hand out.
Paxton shakes his head. “I broke mine.”
Hoyt starts to laugh again. “He was pissed. He needed to blow off some steam.” He starts to giggle again. “He threw his phone at the wall, and it made a hole, but his phone was fine, so he grabbed a hammer and beat the shit out of it.”
I blow out a long breath and grab my phone, thinking of the long list of people I’d like to call and yell at right now, starting with my dad and Anna for being so perfect, then Olivia and Arlo for modeling a relationship so great that it makes me want it. Bree is on my list for making me care about her and because since meeting her, this ridiculous voice of reasoning continues to grow louder. My short list ends with Ian, who I stop on and call.
He answers on the fourth ring.
“Your teammates are drunk, and I can’t find one of them.”
“What?” he says.
“You guys came to me, asking me to write some stupid article to change the narrative, and they’re feeding into the picture that’s being cast. And Paxton is making out with strangers, and Hoyt can’t walk straight, and I can’t find Bobby. I’m not a goddamn babysitter. These are not my strengths.”
“Where are you?”
“Never mind that. How do I find Bobby? I need his phone number, and I knew if I texted and asked for it, you’d assume I wanted to have sex with him, so I’m calling so I can give you the entire damn roadmap.”
“Rose, where are you?”
“I don’t want your help. I just need his damn phone number so I can call him and tell him to get his ass outside.”
“If Bobby’s drunk, you aren’t going to be able to get him outside. Tell me where you are so I can come kick his ass.”
“I get first dibs. I’ll text you the address.” I hang up and forward the address from Chantay to him.
I turn back to the other two, my anger making me too warm. Hoyt’s singing, and Paxton is looking greener by the second as he wraps his arms around his bare torso.
