“So, who here should I nail?” Annie asked, scanning the room.
Lilah laughed. “What are you in the mood for? Above or below the line?”
“Ugh, below. I never want to fuck an actor again. Fetch me your best boy!” Annie proclaimed, slipping into a fake British accent.
“I’ll drink to that.” Lilah clinked her glass against Annie’s. Shane was glad neither of them could see him flinch.
When he came up beside them, he was startled to see a flash in Lilah’s eyes that looked almost like guilt before she composed herself, her guard raised sky-high in an instant. He addressed Annie instead.
“Annie. Nice to see you. It’s been a while.”
Annie nodded, in a curt I-dislike-you-by-proxy way. “Sure.” She sized them up next to each other. “Did you two coordinate?”
They’d both worn classic black tuxes, with one major difference: Lilah wasn’t wearing anything under her jacket—except possibly double-sided tape.
He shrugged. “Just on the same wavelength, I guess.” He turned to Lilah. “Hey, could I borrow your jacket? It’s a little chilly in here.”
“Ha.” She rolled her eyes, but he could see she was suppressing a smile. “You can tone it down, it’s just Annie.”
He cocked his head toward the door. “They want us outside for pictures.”
Lilah drained her glass and set it down, excusing herself as Annie waved them away. She was drinking tonight: white wine, so it wouldn’t stain her teeth. Shane offered her his elbow automatically. Thankfully, she took it without comment—but not without hesitation.
“Nice to see the Hags are still going strong,” he said as they made their way over to the step and repeat.
“Mmm. Sorry your toxic-masculinity support group disbanded.”
“I’m not.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her glance at him, so he changed the subject. “So, how do you decide which one to take to something like this? Do you have a little wheel that you spin?”
“Well, first of all, law students really know how to party. But Pilar’s in Bali, and Yvonne’s rehearsing for her tour, so she’s not allowed to do anything fun for the next three months.”
“Yvonne’s probably too famous to be a plus-one now anyway, right? Wouldn’t want to get upstaged at your own party.”
“I dunno,” Lilah said. “Might be nice. I’m getting a little sick of being the center of attention these days, aren’t you?”
“It’s what we signed up for,” Shane said, but it was half-hearted.
“Yeah,” she said quietly, and he knew she was thinking the same thing he was: there was no way they could’ve known back then what they were actually signing up for.
They reached the step and repeat, where most of the cast had already assembled. They started with group shots, Shane and Lilah at the center, the rest of them slowly peeling away until it was just the two of them, his arm around her waist.
“Who wore it better?” one of the photographers called.
“I did,” Lilah said, at the same time as Shane said, “She did.”
They turned to each other and laughed, perfectly in sync. She probably assumed he was playing it up for the cameras, which was fine by him, but it was true: she looked fucking incredible. Her face was sunny and open, eyes sparkling, not a trace of strain in her smile. It shouldn’t have surprised him; she was an actress, of course she was good at that. Maybe what really surprised him was that his own smile didn’t feel forced at all.
…
After a few hours, Lilah slipped outside to the enclosed patio to get some air. She should’ve known better than to hope she’d be alone, though—there was already a small group huddled in a circle, passing around a joint, by the smell of it.
One of them lifted his head out of the shadows. Dean.
“Hey, Lilah,” he said on an inhale. “You want a hit?”
She opened her mouth to decline, then paused. “Sure. I’d do a shotgun.”
“Oh yeah?” Dean asked, opening the circle so there was an empty space next to him. Lilah stepped into it, suddenly self-conscious about the intimacy of what she’d asked for—and who from. She realized too late that maybe she’d had one drink too many, her inhibitions lowered, her tongue looser than she’d like.
