She eyed him for a second, like she wanted to pry, but she didn’t. “Fine, but if Dan gets control of the music again, I’m calling you a negligent host.”
Sage chuckled. “Understood.”
At nine, someone started a story that required arm flailing. Someone else tried to open the window and failed. The laughter was bright and easy. Bryce drifted in beside Sage, shoulders almost touching as he reached for the chips.
“Brownies are dangerous,” Bryce said around a mouthful. “Hide the tray.”
“We’re not hiding food from our guests,” Sage told him.
“We absolutely are. What if we want some later?”
Sage slid the tray toward him without looking like he did it. “Two. That’s it.”
“You’re a good man, Everest.”
“Don’t spread it around.”
Their eyes met for a fraction of a second. It hit Sage like walking under a hot vent, and he stepped left a half inch so he could breathe cooler air. Bryce didn’t seem to notice. Or he did and pretended not to. Sage couldn’t tell, and not knowing tugged at him in a way he didn’t want it to.
“Okay, children,” Dan called, clapping his hands over his head like he was some camp counselor. “Spin the bottle. Clean version. Mostly.”
Chapter Five
By one in the morning, the party had thinned to the stubborn and the bored. Coats were a mountain by the door. The air smelled of brownies and beer. Someone had writtenDON’T LET DAN USE HIS PLAYLISTon a napkin and taped it to the speaker, which only made Dan try harder.
Bryce leaned against the wall, sipping from a bottle that had gone warm an hour ago, and watched the room wobble between conversations. It felt good. The noise, bodies, something to ride that wasn’t his thoughts. Every few minutes, his gaze found Sage. He couldn’t help it. It had somehow become a habit now. Just a quick check to make sure he was good. Make sure he was laughing. See his gray eyes light up when he smiled.
“Okay, children,” Dan called, clapping his hands over his head. “Spin the bottle. Clean version. Mostly.”
Groans, cheers, and then people moved. They slid the couches against the walls, and a circle formed. Bryce told himself to sit it out. “Don’t let Dan run the rules,” Sage told him.
Then Lizzie dragged him by the wrist. “You’re fun when you’re tipsy.” She grinned as she said it. “Don’t rob us.”
“Consent?” he deadpanned, already folding to the floor.
“Verbal and enthusiastic,” she shot back, still grinning.
Bryce raised his voice. “Ground rules. Nothing creepy. No harassing. If someone opts out, you split the brownie tax.”
“What’s a brownie tax?” Lizzie demanded.
“Means you owe the tray,” Bryce said solemnly.
“Approved.” Tara nodded. “No creepy. No harassment. If someone says no, it’s no. No exes. No bragging later.”
Sage looked fine with his back straight, palms on his knees, mouth relaxed like he wasn’t thinking about the night at all. When his eyes flicked to Bryce, it was a quick look. Bryce’s chest tightened, and he exhaled.
“You in, Everest?” Bryce asked.
“Sure.” Sage dropped into the space left open for him.
Dan rubbed his hands together. “All right, children. Let’s ruin friendships.”
“Two rules,” Tara said, pointing. “One. If it lands on someone you’ve dated, you re-spin. Two. No tongues unless both parties say yes.”
“Third rule,” Lizzie added gleefully. “No backing out like cowards.”
“Consent beats your rules,” Sage said dryly.
