“Speak of the devil!” Savannah smiles when Silas squeezes his way through a wall of people.
“Sav.” He nods with a grin before turning to me. “Chlo.”
“Happy birthday, Si.” Savannah reaches out and he pulls her in for a hug.
“Do you know literally anyone here?” she asks him.
Silas’s lip quirks and his hair falls in his face when he shakes his head. “The boys were feeling some kind of way about this being the last birthday party,” he says, reaching for a bottle and a plastic cup.
“The last birthday party sounds a little morbid,” Savannah responds and takes a sip of her solo cup.
“Yeah. I think it’s because it’ll probably be the last one we get to do together with Noah and Mav off to Toronto next year.”
A lump forms in my throat at the mention of Maverick leaving next year. Not that the thought should have any effect on me whatsoever. I have no idea what I’m doing next year, let alone why I’m even entertaining these thoughts when we’re staging a breakup in a couple weeks anyway. I take a sip of my drink, wincing when I remember Savannah’s heavy hand.
“I’m going to go find Noah,” Savannah yells to me over the music.
“Good luck. Send out a flair signal if you get lost.”
“Please. If I know Noah, he’s up on his balcony waiting for me.” She throws a wink over her shoulder as she heads toward the stairs.
Silas huffs a laugh while leaning back against the kitchen counter and bringing his drink up to his lips.
“Have you found Mav yet?”
“I—” My heart lurches to my throat and gets stuck there when my gaze lands on a shirtless Maverick. His muscular body is covered in glow-in-the-dark paint splotches and two lip prints on the planes of his chest, just above his nipples. He lifts both arms, high fiving some guys when he sinks his little plastic ball in his opponents cup. A girl with long beautiful curls stands beside him, taking a sip of her drink while leaning in for a side hug. I shake my head, pulling my gaze away and looking down at the liquid in my cup, either to avoid eye contact or searching for courage, I’m not sure. “Uh, no. No, I haven’t seen him yet.”
“Well, I know he’s around,” he says, twisting over his shoulder, likely looking for the man in question.
“Yeah.” I nod my head, looking in any direction but theone I know Maverick’s standing in. “I’ll find him, eventually.”
Silas pushes off the counter, taking his drink with him. “Hey, Chlo?”
Our eyes meet, and for a moment, he seems like he’s going to say something else, but then his lips just form a line like he’s holding something back. “Don’t hurt him.” He ducks his head and gets sucked into a swarm of people, and I’m left standing dumbstruck with my too strong drink.
It shakes me that Silas of all people, one of Maverick’s best friends, thinksI’mcapable of hurtinghimand not the other way around.
The mob that was filling the front porch and the rest of the house has made its way into the kitchen. When a man in an astronaut helmet passes a bong to a girl dressed in nothing but a tiny white bikini, I throw back the contents of my drink and push past the crowd.
The mix of the glow in the neon colors and the strobe lights has me reaching out to the walls for balance. That and I just threw back at least three shots in one gulp.
My finger tips hit something that resembles wood, and it’s a risk, but I lean my whole body into it, hoping it will hold me up. It does, but only for a second. One moment, my eyes are closed, trying to breathe through my nose, the next, an embarrassing yelp leaves me and my eyes couldn’t be wider as I fall through the door.
Warm, strong hands grip my bare shoulders, and once I get my bearings, I find myself in a quiet bedroom, being held up by Maverick.
“I got you something.”
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out as I stare at him. He waits until I’m standing on my own before slowly releasing me, tucking a hand behind his back, and then bringing it forward again to my neck.
The room smells like him, warm and familiar and bathedin moonlight. Then something starts glowing softly against my skin. His fingers clasp the glow necklace at the nape of my neck, and I trail my hand over the plastic resting at my collar bones.
“It was like a fight for a knife in the mud to get you the last pink one. But once I saw it, I knew it had to be yours,” he says, with a proud smile. “It looks good with your others.”
He leans against his dresser, his eyes trailing my body and a familiar shiver racks my spine. I swallow, trying to catch my breath and make sense of his change in demeanor.
“Hey, I’ve got a game tomorrow, but after, I thought I could come over and help you prepare for your interview.”
I glance up at him and my chest stutters. The way he’s looking at me makes it impossible to look away. His jaw is set, his eyes are dark, and there’s a quiet intensity that makes my heart hammer in my ribs.
