“Okay, newbie. A few bits of advice for you,” Emmy begins, turning to speak to me while she walks backward. “Only drink beverages out of cans or bottles that you have to open yourself.Don’tdrink the punch or anything anybody hands you, unless you’re open to the possibility of a roofie trip. Also, stick by us if you can. We’ll make sure you avoid the worst of this crowd. And try your best to have some fun, all right?”
Emmy smiles, the flash of it bright against the dark veil of night, and making me feel as though I’m glowing right along with her.She really is something else.But I don’t have time to linger on the thought as she throws open the door, the deafening din of the party instantly overwhelming me.
“Welcome to casa de los Sanchez,” Emmy yells over the music.
Even with the entryway jam-packed with young people, the interior of the house is breathtaking, with its tall ceilings, ornate crown molding, and tasteful monochromatic photographs decorating the walls.
“Zayne,” Iris yells too. “You have ten seconds to get your ass down here and greet us!”
Emmy starts counting down the time with her long, polished fingers.
A young man with jet-black hair, a jaw that could probably cut glass, and flawless golden-brown skin comes swaggering down the winding main staircase on Emmy’s count of three. A plain, thoughexpensive-looking black T-shirt hugs slender shoulders, while his dark wash jeans hang loosely from his hips, the hem hovering just above a pair of shiny black ankle boots. A flash of gold twinkles in the dim light as one of his hands slides along the banister.
“Baby!” Emmy squeals, running to throw her arms around who I can only assume is the evening’s host, Zayne. In her platform heels, she towers over him, so she bends at the waist to greet him.
He smirks at her, pausing to kiss both of her cheeks before turning curiously toward me.
“This is Maeve,” Iris introduces. “She’s my new roommate. The small-town painter turned internet sensation.”
Before I can even blush, a flashbulb goes off in my face, momentarily blinding me. My lashes flutter viciously as angry splotches of technicolor confetti momentarily distort the world. When my vision returns, I realize Zayne’s holding a fancy camera. I hadn’t noticed him wearing it before, but now I also take note of the thick lanyard wrapped around his neck.
“Hello beautiful,” Zayne murmurs, his full mouth cocked in a devilish half-smile. His own beauty stuns me for a moment.
“Sorry, I’m not—” I begin to apologize as my cheeks sting.
“Back off, baby,” Emmy coos in Zayne’s ear. “She’s taken. She’s got a nice golden retriever boy back home.”
“Damn shame,” Zayne says with a strange glint in his eye. “Well, I’m Zayne. Welcome to the party. Can I get you anything?”
I lock eyes with Emmy, asking her a silent question with a cocked brow. Almost imperceptibly, she shrugs and shakes her head.
Really? We aren’t even going to trust the host?
“No, thanks,” I rush to say. “Not thirsty.”
“Suit yourself. Ladies, it’s a pleasure, as always. See you around.” He snaps two more quick photos of us before disappearing through a domed archway.
“What the hell?” I ask, and Emmy laughs.
“Zayne’s a scoundrel, but he’ll grow on you. No matter how hard you try to fight it.”
My gaze floats back to the archway he disappeared through. “He’s a photographer?”
“Yep, one of the ten photography students at this school, in fact,” Iris explains. “It’s the most selective discipline. So, I’m sure you can guess just how talented that makes him. Which explains why he’s so unbearable.”
I ponder that while we cut through the thick throng of people in the entryway and the living room before entering the kitchen. A large metal tub filled with beer and ice sweats in a pool of water on top of the center island. The ice-cold glass burns my already numb fingers as I grab a bottle and twist the cap off. There’s a strobe light set up in the corner, and the flickering red, blue, and yellow light reflects like a mirror off of Emmy’s platinum-blonde hair.
“Anyone want to dance?” she calls over her shoulder as she eyes the other doorway.
“My leg’s a bit sore today,” Iris says. “The prosthetic’s been rubbing me weird. You two go ahead. I’ll find Claire.”
“Who’s Claire?” I ask, raising my voice to compete with the sound of the music blaring in the next room.
“My girlfriend,” Iris yells back.
I try not to scream my response right into Iris’s ear. “I’d love to meet her.”
Iris’s eyes bounce back and forth between mine before she eventually nods. “Sure. I’ll bring her to the dance floor after I find her.”
