I dragged my ass up and took a look out the window, nudging the drapes aside. The sun was blazing out of a crystal-clear blue sky.
And there was Courteney by the pool in her ruffled white bikini. The one she’d been wearing the day I rubbed sunscreen on her back.
Shayla was there, dancing in her bikini. Trey’s sister, Larissa, was there. Angie Delacroix. Some other girl… and several guys. They were all in swimwear.
There were beer bottles and cocktail glasses, both full and empty, all over the various tables around the pool. Looked like they’d been drinking—copiously—before noon.
I took a quick shower and assessed myself in the mirror. Eyes slightly bloodshot. I looked like I hadn’t slept well in days, which was the truth.
I pulled on shorts and a sleeveless shirt. As I walked past the framed photo of me, Cary, and Gabe that I’d put on the dresser, I tapped it automatically with my knuckle. I glanced at Cary’s smiling face and muttered, “Your sister’s a real pain in my ass, you know that?”
Then I went downstairs. The doors to Cary’s studio were shut, as usual, and I didn’t see him anywhere. His reusable coffee mug was sitting in front of the door, the one Court always refilled for him.
I headed into the kitchen and put back a breakfast shake. Would’ve loved a coffee myself, but there was no coffee maker. Cary kept it in his studio. Really uncool, when he was also getting coffee delivered to his door on a daily basis. And I had none.
I mean, I could’ve gone to pick one up. But fuck that.
I headed through the living room to the French doors in back, which were open. Then up the path through the trees.
Angie saw me first. “Hey, Xander!” she said, needlessly loud—for Courteney’s benefit. To alert her I was coming, obviously.
Courteney was busy flirting with some dude, from what I could tell.
“Hey, Angie,” I muttered, stalking past her.
Courteney turned to look at me as I approached, and the smile fell off her face. I threw the guy she was talking to a withering look. Predictably, he withered and drifted away.
“You know Cary doesn’t like parties in his house,” I told her, bracing for a fight.
“We’re not in the house,” she said brightly, and sipped on her bright green cocktail.
“Or in his yard.”
“I’m allowed to have people over,” she said, and she didn’t give me any attitude about it, either. “It’s like seven people. It’s not a party. Cary knows they’re here.”
I stared at her. Something was wrong.
She was being way too polite.
She even pasted a smile on her face when she said, “Have a margarita,” and handed me one from the table next to her.
I took it. No idea why.
The smile remained frozen on her face, but her eyes blazed at me for a moment—and there it was. She was mad.
No, she was livid.
I’d never seen her like this—where she got scary nice to me instead of yelling at me. She was performing, maybe because her friends were here and she didn’t want to spoil the party by yelling at me in front of them. Pretending like nothing was wrong as she tapped her glass to mine in cheers and sipped her drink through the pink straw.
I hated it.
This was worse than when she avoided me. Way worse.
I didn’t know this girl standing in front of me, smiling at me as she sipped her drink and giggled at something Shayla was babbling on about behind us. The party was still in full swing, people talking, laughing, music playing. But I just stared at the girl in front of me.
Where the fuck was my Courteney?
I put my margarita down on the table.
