“Hey.” I pick up a picture frame from the console. “I’ve never seen this one.”
I remember it though…
It’s one of me, Camila, Addie, and Leo.
Nate glances over my shoulder. “You all looked so happy.”
“We didn’tlookhappy, wewerehappy.”
We were celebrating my twenty-first birthday.
We’d been gallivanting around downtown, everyone acting extra ridiculous, trying to cheer me up because Mason was in the playoffs and couldn’t make it to New York that weekend.
In the photo, we were standing in the middle of McDougal Street. It was a Saturday night, the streets were packed, the bars were loud and crowded, and the city was alive; you could feel the buzz around you at all times.
We were most definitely blocking traffic with our arms hanging around each other, falling into one another, laughing so loudly I can almost hear it now.
Our heels were criminally high, our feet were screaming, and not one of us cared.
Torture in the grandest, most glamorous way.
Nate had taken the picture.
And not two seconds later, he tripped over a sewer grate and ripped his pant leg clean down the middle.
We laughed so hard Camila literally peed herself, and I still have the tiny scar on my knee from when I collapsed onto the pavement in hysterics.
We pre-gamed at Camila’s new apartment that night, hit the Comedy Cellar, and somehow got a surprise set from Dave Chappelle.
Then dinner in the Meatpacking District, where we nearly broke our ankles navigating cobblestones in stilettos.
We danced on tables when the DJ came on.
Met Seb and Harrison at a nightclub.
Got treated like absolute queens.
We didn’t get home until five in the morning. It was so unlike me, but Camila always knew how to break me out of my shell.
We had the best times together.
I set the photo back down, making a mental note to get a copy, then wander deeper into Leo’s penthouse.
I peek at his latest drawings for the Triple project, skimming the stack of books in the corner.
Leo’s always loved to read.
Next to the books, I see a neat pile of pink envelopes.
What the hell? Does he get fan mail or something?
Wouldn’t put it past him. He’s always had a gravitational pull toward the crazy girls.
Without even trying, they always fell head over heels for him.
Glancing over my shoulder, I make sure the guys aren’t there and flicker through them and immediately regret it.
They are all labeled with names I know…of people I love…in a handwriting I’m very familiar with.
