“Yeah, turns out I’m good at taking care of things.”
“I knew that,” she says softly.
Something in her voice makes my chest tight. “Piper?—”
A huge crash from downstairs cuts me off, followed by cheering.
“Someone definitely just broke something expensive,” I say.
“Should we check?”
“Probably.”
Neither of us moves.
“Ethan?” She’s still facing the window. “What happens when this is over? You know you tutoring me?”
My stomach drops. “What do you want to happen?”
She turns, fairy lights catching the uncertainty in her eyes. “I don’t know. That’s the problem. I don’t know what I want anymore.”
I want to tell her I know exactly what I want. That I want to kiss her again without an audience. That I want to know what she looks like on a lazy Sunday morning.
Instead, I say, “We don’t have to figure it out tonight.”
“Very mature of you.”
“I have my moments.”
She smiles, some tension leaving her shoulders. “We should probably go back down. People will wonder where we went.”
“Let them wonder,” I say, but I’m already moving toward the door.
We head back downstairs, her hand finding mine on the steps. The party has reached peak chaos—someone’s started a limbo competition using what appears to be a pool noodle covered in aluminum foil. The coffee table is definitely broken, hastily pushed against the wall.
Miles and Harper are dancing, or trying to. His toga has lost another clip and Harper keeps stepping on the trailing fabric. They look ridiculous and perfectly matched in their ridiculousness.
“You good?” I murmur to Piper.
She squeezes my hand. “Yeah. I think I am.”
And maybe it’s the punch, or the way her lights complement my leaves, or just the fact that she chose my room to hide in—but I believe her.
The night stretches ahead, full of possibility and terrible dancing and whatever this thing between us is becoming.
I’m still being used. We both know it.
But maybe, just maybe, we’re both okay with that.
For now.
20
PIPER
The party has dissolved into that hazy, late-night quiet where only the determinedly drunk or hopelessly stubborn remain. Ethan and I escaped to his room an hour ago after he went on a stealth mission to steal popcorn and rescue a half-empty bottle of wine from the kitchen chaos. We’re on his bed now, backs against the wall, my fairy lights abandoned on his desk chair because they kept tangling.
I’m down to my tank top and the shorts I wore underneath, curled against his side while he shows me YouTube videos on his laptop. His leaf garland is draped over us like the world’s most ridiculous blanket. I’m hyperaware of every point where our bodies touch—his thigh against mine, his arm behind my shoulders, the warmth radiating through his bare chest.
