She pulls back, eyes flicking down then up to mine. Her cheeks flush pink behind her glasses—which are slightlyfogged, and fuck, if that isn’t the hottest thing I’ve seen all night.
But there’s something else in her expression too. Surprise? Like she didn’t expect to affect me, which is insane because has she seen herself tonight? The fairy lights make her look ethereal, like some electric forest sprite who stumbled into a house party.
I hold her stare. I’m not ashamed of my body’s reaction, and neither should she be.
“I—” she starts, but then Miles appears, having abandoned Harper by the punch bowl.
I don’t get what Piper sees in this guy. Everything about him screams ‘peaked in high school debate club.’
His bedsheet toga is already coming unpinned at one shoulder, held together with what looks like binder clips. The laurel crown sits crooked on his head like he bought it from Party City an hour ago. Which he probably did.
“Nice costumes,” he says, though his tone suggests the opposite. “Very... Brave, Ian.”
I adjust my leaf garland, making sure nothing’s shifted inappropriately. “Thanks, man.Lovethe toga. Super original. Though I’m not sure you can compare yourself to a Roman God.”
“It’s actually more Greek than Roman,” Harper says, appearing with two red cups. She hands one to Miles while eyeing my outfit with obvious appreciation. “Though yours is certainly... bold.”
“Fortune favors the bold,” I reply, winking at her. Miles’s jaw tightens.
“Right.” He turns to Piper, dismissing me entirely. “Pipes, you look... different. Not like yourself.” He frowns.
The backhanded compliment makes my teeth clench. Piper’s hand finds mine, squeezing tight.
“I think she looks incredible,” I say. “Like a whole constellation.”
“Constellations are just patterns people imagined in random stars,” Miles counters. “Not actually connected.”
Is this guy seriously trying to teach me astronomy right now?
“Maybe,” Piper says suddenly, “but the patterns still mean something. Even if they’re imagined.”
Something passes between her and Miles—years of history I’m not privy to. The bass drops in whatever song is playing, and the whole house shakes.
“We should dance,” Harper suggests, tugging at Miles’s toga. Another binder clip pops loose. “Come on, babe.”
But Miles is still staring at Piper like he’s trying to figure out when she became hot. “So, since when do you enjoy parties like this?”
“Since I started dating someone who helps me have fun at them,” Piper replies.
The words land like a slap. I remember her mentioning how Miles never included her in social things.
“We had fun together. As friends, I mean,” Miles protests.
“Study groups don’t count,” I interject. “Neither does asking her to fix your code at 2 AM.”
He turns those sharp eyes on me. “And who are you to say?”
“Her boyfriend,” I say simply. “The one who knows she’s brilliant without needing her to fix his homework.”
Harper’s cup pauses halfway to her lips. The tension could be cut with a plastic party knife.
“Boyfriend,” Miles repeats slowly. “Right. That’s still happening?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” Piper’s voice has an edge now.
“I just thought—” He stops, regroups. “It seems sudden. You’ve never shown interest in the quarterback type before.”
“Former quarterback,” I correct. “Current game designer. Also, the current person who doesn’t talk about Piper like she’s a coding assistant. And honestly, this is getting old. I’d appreciate if you stopped talking about my girlfriend like you own her. It’s fucking creepy, man.”
