“You look ah-mazing, Emery,” Sierra said.
“Thanks. You guys look great, too. FromThe Black Swan, right?”
“Yes!” Sierra said. “Before and after the madness.”
“You okay?” Delilah asked, scrutinizing. “You’re the saddest Barbie I’ve ever seen.”
“I can’t imagine why,” I muttered. “I have everything I could possibly want.”
They exchanged glances, and Delilah touched my arm. “You want something to drink, Em? I’ll get you some water—”
But before I could answer, Tucker was there, pulling at my hand. “Come on, babe. Let’s dance.”
On the dance floor, he wrapped his arms around my waist, his groin grinding against me as the DJ played Sabrina Carpenter’s “Please Please Please.”
“You want to know what I like about you?” Tucker growled in my ear, his breath tinged with whiskey. “You’re fucking perfect. No girl comes close.”
“It’s not a competition,” I muttered.
“Huh?”
“Nothing.”
I ringed my arms around Tucker’s neck; if not for my heels, I might not have reached. I wanted to hold and be held, but he led with his crotch, his hands massaging my waist, then slipping lower, over my ass.
“I can’t wait to get you into the truck later,” he said. “We can celebrate our costume win. Whaddya say, Em?” He held me tighter so I could feel his erection through his leather pants. “You make me so hard. I don’t want to wait anymore. Let’s just do it.” He put his mouth to my ear. “Let’s fuck.”
Why not? What was I holding out for? I didn’t believe in that archaic nonsense about “giving away” my virginity. I only wanted to feel comfortable and respected. I wanted towantto do it, not to just get it over with. The first time and every time.
But it didn’t matter what I wanted, anyway, or who I wanted it with. My father had taught me that, and suddenly I felt like if I didn’t say something true and real, I was going to explode. So I did.
“I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”
Tucker’s eyes widened; he was just as shocked as me. “What did you say?”
“I said, I don’t think we should be together.”
“What the fuck? Em…are you breaking up with me?”
“I think so,” I said, my heart pounding. “Maybe. No, yes, I—”
“Maybe?” he scoffed darkly. “Oh, I get it.Maybe, if my dad loses the election.Maybe not, if he wins. Whatever it takes to keep Grayson Wallace happy.”
“He’ll never be happy,” I said as the force of what I’d done hit me. “I need some water.”
I pushed through the crowd to a long table set up with refreshments. My hands trembled as I poured myself some water.
What did I just do?
Something my father would think was wrong but that felt exactly right. A paradox or a superposition or something that was both things at the same time. I tossed the water back like it was a shot of booze, then reached in my clutch for my phone to call an Uber to take me home.
But the costume contest was beginning. Tucker found me again.
“Come on, babe.” He took me by the arm and guided me to the stage on the dance floor. “Don’t be like that. Let’s go win this and then we can talk, if that’s what you want so badly.”
We lined up with the other contestants to wait until it was our turn to parade across the stage. The winners would be determined by whomever the crowd cheered for the loudest. The Scariest and Most Original winners were picked, and Dean Yearwood easily took Best Costume for his Ferris Bueller—not only because his leather jacket and leopard-print vest were spot-on, but also because, like Ferris, everyone loved him.
Then it was time for Best Couples Costume.
