I don’t know why I listen to him. But twenty minutes later, we’re in his Range Rover, pulling up in front of—
“…Gamma Pi?” I blink. “You said dinner.”
“Thisisdinner.”
“This is a fucking frat house.”
“Don’t be such a prude.”
“You brought me to a frat Halloween party?”
He throws the car in park and unbuckles. “You need to get out of your own head. Drink something that isn’t carbonated depression. Maybe touch a boob. Whatever kids do these days.”
“I’m not going to a frat party with you.”
“No, you’re not.” He grins. “You’re going by yourself.”
He walks around the back of the SUV, opens the trunk, and pulls out a full gorilla suit.
I stare. “What the fuck?”
He starts putting it on.
“What the fuck, Dad?”
“You don’t go in—” he shrugs as he zips up the suit “—I go in.”
I groan and drag my hands down my face. “Good grief. Chill, old man. I’m going.”
“Have fun, Acer!” he calls as I storm off toward the door. “I’ll be in the bushes! I see you leave early, I’m climbing in that window!”
My feet drag through the mud of my messy feelings, but the threat of my dad’s attendance keeps me moving until I’m fully ensconced in the foyer.
Inside, it’s chaos.
There are strobe lights and laser lights, and people are packed wall-to-wall. There’s a foam graveyard in the corner, and a guy in a werewolf costume is doing body shots off a nurse. Someone else is crowd-surfing in a full inflatable T. Rex suit.
The vibes are all fucking wrong for my piss-poor mood, but the mess of the place serves as decent camouflage at least.
I spot Blake and Finn near the bar while I’m searching for a hiding spot, and for some reason, my dumbass feet take me their way.
Blake lifts his bottle of water, smiling at me. “Nice letterman sweater.”
“Thanks. My dad dressed me.”
“No shit?”
I shrug. “Long story.”
Scottie and Kayla wave at me from across the room, both dressed as witches—though Kayla’s witch hat has tiny beer cans dangling from the brim.
My eyes scan the crowd, but the one person I want to see isn’t here at all. But maybe that’s a good thing. I smell a little like cottage cheese, and surely that fuckwad would be following her around like a puppy.
The music shifts to a song I know like the back of my fucking hand. It’s the song fromGreasethat I’ve made Julia duet with meat more karaoke bars than I can count, and I instantly have visions of driving a car off a fucking cliff.
I’m here, alone, in a letterman sweater, and the universe thinks it’s a good time to play one of my fucking wet-dream songs?
Fuck off, fate, you bastard.
