“I dumped him…obviously,” he says, his smirk incredibly self-aware.
“Great, give me your phone,” Sloane demands.
Jean reluctantly punches in his passcode and hands over his phone, always one for the plot. Sloane, now giddy with control, stands there for a few minutes, punching in something that's almost instantly followed with ading. “He must really like you,” Sloane laughs, tossing Jean’s phone back to him and grabbing her coat off my kitchen island.
“I’m driving!” she announces, marching toward my door.
I quickly realize that not only are we going to a party—which I hadnotplanned for—but that Sloane has a car? I take in a deep inhale, deciding to throw caution to the wind for once and follow Sloane outside.
We approach a vintage cherry red convertible, and it screams Sloane—dice hanging from the rearview mirror and all.
“Thisis your car?” I ask, and I know my eyes are wide.
“You met my baby last night, Gen, but I guess you did sleep the entire way home,” she pauses, staring lovingly at the antique show worthy vehicle. “I just shipped it down from Cali. I needed her back in my life.” She mock-hugs the hood and gives it a little pat as she hops into the driver's side and I follow, pulling open my door as Jean hops into the backseat.
“So—some ground rules for this party.” Sloane gives me an accusatory look then grabs her phone, quickly typing in a text to someone. I instantly flush in anticipation knowing these rules are not going to be favorable to me. Sloane turns the key in the ignition.
“Rule one. If Will is there, do not talk to him,” she begins, backing out of the parking spot, allowing me to nervously roll my lips together without her seeing.
“Rule two. You have to leave that coat in the car.”
I roll my eyes exasperatedly. “Are all these rules for me?” I cross my arms and Sloane chuckles to herself.
“Yup. And rule three.” She smiles devilishly. “You are hooking up with someone tonight.”
18
Grant
I’m here against my will. I’d planned on taking it easy today, decompressing from all the things that happened last night, but Andy had other plans.
“Relaxyour shoulders, man. You sure you don’t want a beer?” he says, exasperated.
“I’m sure. I don’t know how you’re doing it.” The sticky stench of beer is already unsettling my stomach.
By the time he saw Will on the ground, Ben pulled off him by yours truly, Andy was aware of what a colossal mistake it was to bring him to begin with. Him and Liv were on a break, apparently, and he’d just argued with Gen, so I could understand the drinking. Could understand how he then lashed out at me on the way there. But fucking someoneatthe gala, so blatantly trying to rile Liv up, clearly disregarding how Gen would feel—that was more than enough for Ben to hit him, in my book. I’ve hit men for less.
I’m still dying to know what he said to Gen, what hecould’ve done that pushed her into my arms last night. I should be content that she found just as much solace in me as I have in her, but I can’t help wanting to mend everything he could’ve injured. She didn’t respond to my messages, which I can only assume is because she’s been sleeping off her inevitable hangover.
I glance back at Andy who, between his crisp, white, Astor Athletics crewneck and the easy smile he sports pretty much everywhere, looks like he could go sailing.
He scans my face, squinting his eyes, then sighs.
“I’m trying to make last night up to you. I should’ve told you he was in the car.”
“You should’ve.”
“But I didn’t realize it was gonna be like… that. The bar with Gen? I thought that was a fluke.” His shoulder shrugs upward in helpless defense, and I know he’s sorry. “It’ll be a good time, Grant. Sloane said you needed help getting out of your head, anyway. So just try to ha?—”
My unconscious groan cuts him off as my hands drag down my face.
“Why are you talking to Sloane?”
“We’re friends,” he shrugs. I tilt my head in suspicion, but he looks reluctant. Sloane can’t stand Andy within aninchof her life. “She said you seemed in your head…and that she’d owe me a favor if I could get you here.” He says the last part quickly, like he’s embarrassed, or like he’s realized how dumb his part of this little plan sounds.
“You have an interesting definition of friends.” I glance around, seeing the same scene that used to make me excited for the night ahead and finally notice just how long I’ve been holding a breath. Maybe Sloane’s not wrong. “The least you can do is show me a good time,” I relent, knocking him roughly with my elbow.
“Atta boy! Beer?” His brows shoot up, a shit eating grin on his face.
