Brianna smirks. “Doesn’t mean it can’t be opened.”
“Bri.” Chloe sighs beside her, half amused, half disapproving.
“What?” Brianna lifts a shoulder. “They’re cute, I guess. But things don’t last forever. And if they don’t… well, I’ll be around.”
Jesus.
“So is Freddie coming tonight?” I ask.
She tilts her head, thinking. “Not sure. He and his friends sometimes come to frat parties, but they have their big annual thing on Friday.”
That perks my interest. “Annual thing?”
Brianna grins like she knows a secret. “Their house throws this invite-only party every year. Huge event. Always super fun. Everyone wants to go.”
“You going?”
“Obviously.” She tosses her hair. “Freddie will be there, and like I said, there’s always a chance he and his little girlfriend won’t last.”
I frown.
“Don’t you feel kinda wrong to go after a guy with a girlfriend?”
Brianna waves a hand, like I just asked if water is wet. “Delilah, please. That’s life. People break up.”
“Yeah, but usually for reasons that aren’t ‘my ex is waiting in the wings like a vulture.’”
She laughs. “Well, aren’t you self-righteous tonight? I think you need to get laid.”
I roll my eyes.
I do not care about Freddie Donovan’s romantic choices—or Brianna’s, for that matter—but something about the way she talks about it rubs me the wrong way. Maybe because it’s just so calculated.
She doesn’t want Freddie now—she just wants the option, in case things fall apart.
I glance around the room. Chloe’s chatting with some guy in a backwards cap, perfectly relaxed, like she’s done this every weekend since birth. Lacey’s practically glowing, hip pressed against Carter’s side as she laughs with someone I’ve never seen before. Even Brianna, for all her craziness, belongs here. They all do.
They’re loose. At ease. Like their bodies don’t feel too sharp or too big or like they’re always in the wrong place.
I shift slightly, feeling the way my arms fold, my cup tilts, my breath catches on the edge of trying too hard.
I’m not uncomfortable, exactly. Just... aware of myself.
I take another sip of my drink. Not exactly because I want it, but because I know it helps. It smooths things out. Softens me at the edges. Makes me a little funnier, a little less prickly.
A little easier to be around.
“Ladies! Time for shots!” Lacey chirps, finally coming up for air from Carter’s lips.
Thank God.
I follow her to the kitchen, more than ready to drink until I stop thinking about where I should stand or how to turn off my resting bitch face.
The party is finallyin full swing.
Bodies move to the music, the house is buzzing with voices and laughter, and the air is thick with sweat, alcohol, and that distinct frat-party smell of beer and overpriced cologne.
I’m tipsy, which is probably why I’m actually enjoying talking to Chloe.
