I slide on my faded jean shorts, ones that hug my ass just right, showing off my new thigh tattoo—a bouquet of sunflowers and roses with a snake wrapped around the entire bouquet. Sunflowers for happiness, loyalty, admiration. Roses for love and romance. And the snake wraps through it all like a warning—because even something beautiful can still end up being tainted.
Careful not to smudge my makeup, I slip on my lucky hot-pink cheetah-print push-up bra, clearly visible under my light bubblegum pink Baby Phat tee. My shorts sit perfectly on my waist, resting under my diamond belly ring, the little blinged-out “J” charm swaying as I move. At the closet, I pause before grabbing my pink four-inch stilettos with the crème bottoms.
I’ve been in heels more since Jacob—the one thing he did do was give me more confidence with my height, even after he cut me down. Now I wear them because I like who I am in them. I can’t even count how many pairs I own now. I’m learning to love the way I stand, and not just in heels.
I’m still staring myself down in the mirror, making sure everything’s sitting right, when Arina knocks before oping the door. She’s in a burgundy jumpsuit that fits her like a second skin, pushing her chest up on display. The neckline drops so low I nearly choke before dragging my gaze back to her face.
“How do I look?” she asks, striking a little pose like she doesn’t already know. She loves pretending she needs validation when she knows she’s already glowing.
“You look smoking babe,” I reply, glancing down at her bare feet. “But what shoes?”
She chews her lip. “I don’t know if I should wear my sandals or my wedges…”
I narrow my eyes. “If I agree to the wedges, are you gonna cry about your feet hurting? Because I swear I don’t feel like hearing you bitch all night.”
She throws her head back, laughing. “No, no, no. I promise. I already broke these in. And they’re cute, bitch. So, I guess wedges it is.”
“Mm-hmm, we’ll see,” I mutter, rolling my eyes as she turns to head back across the hall. If she were anyone else, I’d hate her room being right across from mine, but it works for us. We’ve got our own unspoken rules—like warning each other when someone’s coming over to make sure the neither of us gets caught off guard.
I step back into my room and mist myself with another clod of Bare by Victoria’s Secret, just enough to make it linger. I check my lipstick once more, then yell across the hall, “Please tell me you’re ready!
“Yes, oh my God, I’m ready!” she yells back.
? ? ?
We usually take her car when we go out. Her brand-new Mercedes puts my Toyota to shame. That’s the perk of being an only child with a mom who worked her way into one of the biggest oil companies in town—and then married theCEO for good measure. Birthday gifts hit different when your family’s rolling in money.
Driving to the address that’s been hyped all week, I’m honestly just bored and looking for something to do. I’m not expecting much, and I’m definitely not letting anyone get close enough to pry at my heart. But a new fuck buddy? That doesn’t cost me anything since my hearts not in it.
When we pull up, the place looks unreal. A colossal house sits on the corner of a cul-de-sac, over thirty cars lined up along the street and crowding the driveway. We park across from the madness, and I just sit there for a second staring. It’s the kind of house you only see in movies—red brick, tall trees wrapped around it like a fortress. The wrap-around driveway showing off three Corvette ZR1s, all different colors—white, red, and black. Whoever owns this house clearly worships Corvettes.
We cross the street and the front yard is alive, packed with people we recognize from plenty of nights out—the kind of crowd that guarantees trouble in all the right ways.
“This house is unreal,” I tell Arina, grabbing her hand.
“Right? I wanna know who lives here. And I bet you I’ll find out by the end of the night.” She smirks, eyes already scouting for her next fuck, shooting me a wink.
“Can you go to one damn party without trying to fuck someone?” I tease.
“Can you?” She fires back.
“Whatever,” I laugh, and she joins in.
“Come on—let’s hit the back. I know the backyard’s gotta be insane.”
We head toward the side gate, squeezing past a couple of fine-ass guys posted up on the fence.
“God damn, what’s your name, sweetheart?” one calls out.
“Damn shawty, you got a man?” another chimes in.
Arina throws one of them a playful smile, and I fire back, “If we had a man, we wouldn’t be here looking this good. Trust that.”
The backyard does not disappoint. A massive pool glitters under night lights, turquoise and gold rippling like liquid glass. A rock waterfall spills lazily on one end, its steady rush mixing with the music, making the place feel like some tropical resort. To the left, a lit tennis court glows like it’s waiting for someone drunk enough to play. To the right, a basketball court gleams, hoops shining like spotlights. Behind us, a jacuzzi glows molten red, steam curling into the sky like temptation itself.
Arina and I stick close, like we always do. Rule number one; never get separated unless one of us finds someone worth it. Alone isn’t an option—we’ve heard too many horror stories. I’m not about to have our faces on the news or get snatched up and tossed in the back some random’s truck.
We slip past the crowd and push into the house, it instantly feeling like stepping onto another planet. Expensive doesn’t even scratch the surface. The air is hot and dense, saturated with perfume, liquor, and sweat. The music explodes, bass rolling through the polished floors glowing beneath the bright lights.
