I should go outside, walk it off, splash cold water on my face. Because the longer I sit here, the more I want to get up, cross the room, tell her to put on one of those songs she calls “make-out anthems” and kiss her until neither of us could breathe.
But instead, I’m stuck on a couch, cornered by Maya Bailey.
“So you prefer the guitar,” she says, taking a sip of beer, “but you play piano too?”
I crack open my second Cherry Coke of the night. “Yeah. I love both. I used to spend hours as a kid practicing scales on the piano. Sometimes I’d try teaching Nova, but she’d complain—”
“Someone said Nova?”
Her voice. Bright, teasing. My head snaps toward her before I can stop myself. She’s holding a can of lemonade, sliding onto the couch right beside me like she belongs there.
Within seconds, Miles, Tanner, Max, Abigail, and another girl I don’t know crowd into the circle of couches.
“Yeah, me. As always,” I answer, looping my arm over her shoulders.
Across from me, Max grins knowingly as Abigail settles on his lap.
Nova laughs, turns to Maya, and offers her hand. “I’m Nova.”
Maya shakes it politely, but there’s a stiffness in her smile. I don’t miss it. Nova doesn’t either—though she ignores it, showering Maya with compliments about her hair, her earrings, her dress.
I hate it.
“So...” Maya leans forward, eyes bright but a little sharp, “you also play piano?”
Her tone gives me the ick.
If Steven were here, he’d have told her to fuck off by now. Honestly, I want to too. But Nova would kill me if I didn’t at least pretend to be polite. It’s ironic—she thinks she has to defend everyone else, yet she never lets anyone defend her.
I force a nod. But before I can answer, the music shifts. Avril Lavigne’sGirlfriendblares from the speakers.
I raise a brow at Nova. “Marshall? I thought today was Christina Aguilera day.”
For her, it’s always Christina Aguilera day.
She tips her head, eyes sparkling, guiltless smile on her lips. “Sorry. Wrong song.” Then she spins back toward Miles, scrolling through her playlist like she actually plans to fix it.
Maya laughs, a little too loud. “Christina Aguilera? That’s... retro.” She tilts her head at Nova, mock-sweet. “I guess everyone has guilty pleasures.”
Nova doesn’t flinch. She just smiles, warm as ever. “Totally. Christina’s my queen. But Avril’s pretty iconic too, don’t you think?”
Maya shrugs, twisting her straw. “Sure. If you like bubblegum punk.”
I clench my jaw. Nova only grins wider, like she’s unbothered. “I do, actually. Nothing wrong with catchy songs. They make people happy.” She says it so casually, but I know her—she’s defending herselfandme.
And then, like she hasn’t just dismantled Maya’s jab with charm, she leans into me. My arm slides lower, resting at her waist. She pretends not to notice, like this is something we do all the time. I mean—itissomething we do all the time. But tonight it feels different. More intimate.
Ten minutes later,Girlfriendis still blasting through the speakers. Same part, on repeat.
“She’s like so whatever, and you can do so much better...”
I glance sideways. Nova’s grinning like the cat who stole the cream, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She twirls a strand of her hair slowly around her finger, then releases it just to catch it again. When she’s sure I’m watching, she mouths the words straight at me, exaggerating every syllable:“In a second, you’ll be wrapped around my finger, ’cause I can do it better.”
My eyes drop to her phone. The track is set to repeat. Of course it is.
I lean closer, keeping my voice low so no one else hears the laugh threatening to escape. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Nothing,” she says, her grin wicked, eyes shining with pure trouble. “Just picking songs. Don’t you like it, Cooper?”
