“C-what?” Arjun asks, stumbling a few steps behind us. He’s already as drunk as I am. A feat, considering Bryant refused to let him bring his roadie (an orange Solo cup without a lid) for the drive.
Silly Arjun. Water bottles filled with clear liquor are always the way to go.
“CEGEP. It’s like high school in Montreal,” I explain.
“Suffice to say your friend is going to be hot,” Arjun decrees.
“Suffice to what?” Bryant laughs, shaking his head. “Who talks like that?”
Arjun freezes in place, making us all turn to look at him, his expression going somber. “Drunk Arjun.”
Snorting, I look over to Cam and Bryant. “Does he always talk in third person when he’s—”
I’m cut off, reeling back as a body darts between Cam and me.
“Arjun is ready to PAR-tay!” he shouts, zigzagging through the yard.
“Apparently so,” she snickers. Then, shifting into manager mode, she yells, “Check in with us in an hour, Arjun. I mean it!”
At the bottom of the porch steps, we stop and take in the sights and sounds of what appears to be an absolute rager.
“You checkin’ in with me in an hour, too, Mama?” Bryant asks Cam.
I take that as my cue to excuse myself. “I’m going to go try to find Keira,” I say.
Bryant ignores me, his head bent low, whispering in Cam’s ear.
Cam’s eyes flit to me. I raise both brows and grin, assuring her I’m good.
The instant I step inside and take in the scene, a sense of ease I haven’t felt in weeks washes over me.
I’ve never been to this house before. Hell, I’ve never even been to this city. But huge house parties like this come with a strange familiarity and comfort. With each step I take, I come closer to the moment when I can abandon my feelings and wash away all the hurt with alcohol and an anonymous hookup.
I’ve had to survive on empty before. This is my favorite way to cope.
The place is packed, with people sitting and standing on every surface, slowing my exploration, but the loud music thumping from farther inside is like a siren’s song pulling me in.
This is what I need.
To get lost in this crowd. To let go and let loose and let myself forget, if only for a while.
I weave through what appears to be a living room, then pass a few lively games of beer pong happening on two folding tables in the dining room.
“Hey, pretty lady,” a very drunk, very clearly underaged frat boy says. He’s got a drink in one hand and is wearing sunglasses inside the house. “You look good, baby. You’d look even better on my—”
“Nope.” I cut him off, pushing past him without looking back.
A surprise surge of annoyance courses through me as I navigate down the hall.
A huge party means good odds for finding an anonymous hookup. But I sort of forgot how much riffraff I’d have to sort through to accomplish my mission.
There are peopleeverywhere. If I had my wits about me, I’d be worried about the integrity of this house.
I finish off the last sips of my roadie and pop up on my toes, looking for the kitchen. I need another drink.
A subtle touch along my exposed stomach makes me jolt, and I drop back to the balls of my feet.
“Hey, Red.”
