“That’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard,” I tell her, meaning it.
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling.
As we reach the corner of the quad, I stop walking. “Hey.”
She looks up, cheeks still flushed from the adrenaline of the fight.
“There’s a party tonight,” I tell her. “Bay State. The guys are going.” I pause. “Come with me?”
Her breath catches. “Like...as your date?”
“Yeah.” I brush my thumb over her knuckles. I want it to look normal. Easy. Like this isn’t a bomb I’m carrying. Nothing dramatic. The more boring we are, the less reason Isabelle has to keep watching.
Her lips curve, slow and warm and a little disbelieving. “Okay.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She squeezes my hand. “I’ll come.”
Relief and something warmer floods through me. “Good.”
As we walk away, I glance back once. Through the café window, I can just make out Isabelle at her table. She’s on her phone now, typing with focused intensity.
The guy in the turtleneck is still trying to get her attention. She’s ignoring him completely.
I turn back to Wren and force myself to forget about it. For once, I want things to be simple.
It’s just a party. Just us. Nothing to worry about.
26
LOADED DICE (WREN)
The house hums with color and sound. Music spills from the front door in pulsing pink bass and silver vocals. The night air is cold, but heat rolls off the porch carrying beer and sweat.
Kieran’s hand is warm around mine. That helps.
“Ready, Rules?” he asks, grinning down at me. “You could use it as a field study, observing male specimens in their natural habitat.” The joke softens. “I know this isn’t your scene. But it’ll be fun. I promise.”
“As long as you match my hours in the library,” I deadpan.
His laugh lands low and warm. He squeezes my fingers. “Stay near me. If you want to leave, we leave.”
“Relax,” I say, bumping his shoulder. “I survived freshman orientation mixers. This is just…stickier.”
He barks out a laugh and pushes the door open.
The living room is packed. LED strips cycle from ice blue to club purple, trying to turn a brownstone into a nightclub. Voices layer over the music—gold, orange, turquoise—crowding my head without quite tipping me over.
“Holy shit, O’Connor!” someone yells.
Heads turn. Cheers flash bright red. Whistles cut sharp and yellow.
Kieran grins and soaks it in. He’s the gravity everything orbits.
And he’s holding my hand.
Dalton materializes first, beer in one hand, the other clapping Kieran’s shoulder. “About time. We were taking wagers on whether you got tied up.”
