Page 35 of Strange Love

Sascha wrinkles her nose in disgust. “Ugh, Michael Tazman is the biggest jerk I’ve ever met. He’s the furthest thing there is to dreamy.”

“I sense a story there,” I prompt.

She shrugs nonchalantly, “Not really. He is a dickwad. End of story.”

I want to press her for more details, but as someone who values privacy, I know when to drop a subject.

After an hour of shopping with Sascha, we say goodbye to head home for dinner. My mom and I are setting the table when the phone rings. When Dad answers it, his brows furrow before he turns and stares at me, a look of confusion and amusement on his face.

“Ivy, the phone is for you,” he announces, setting the receiver on the table.

I approach the phone like it’s a snake, coiled and ready to strike. “Hello?” I say cautiously.

“It’s Corey,” the masculine voice replies, causing my cheeks to flush with embarrassment. I gave him my number yesterday, but I didn’t expect him to call.

“Um, hi,” I reply nervously.

“What are you doing tonight?”

“Nothing,” I respond because I never have plans.

“One of the guys on the team is having a party. Wanna go?” he asks, his voice filled with excitement.

My heart flutters at the thought of seeing him, but then he adds, “It’ll be a good way to sell our relationship to people.” Suddenly, the air is sucked out of the room as reality sets back in.

“I don’t know about going to a party. It’s not my thing,” I tell him honestly.

“Me neither. We don’t have to stay long,” he reassures me. After mulling it over for a minute, I decide it’s better if we meet somewhere. If he comes here to get me, my parents will have questions, and I don’t want to deal with that.

“I’ll meet you at the mall,” I tell him.

“Are you sure? I can pick you up?” he offers.

“Positive,” I answer before making the plans and hanging up. As I turn around, I’m met with three eager faces staring back at me. My sister can’t contain her giggles as she teases, “a boy called Ivy.”

“Relax, Owens family,” I tell them with a small smile. “It’s for a group project for school. Nothing more.”

They visibly deflate in front of me. Geez. No pressure, people.

“Okay, Sweetheart,” Mom responds with understanding.

I stand in front of the full-length mirror and run my hands over the fabric of my dress, trying to calm my nerves. It’s a delicate balance I haven’t yet mastered— how to look cool without trying too hard. I hesitate and consider calling Corey back to cancel, but I know this was what I signed up for. This is part of the ruse I had agreed to to fit in. I take a deep breath and remind myself that it’s only one night, and I need to see it through.

Corey’s car pulls up beside mine, its dull blue paint job chipped and worn. He opens the passenger door for me, and a wave of familiar scents fills my nostrils - a mix of cologne, leather, and something uniquely Corey. He grins as I climb in, dressed in jeans and a well-worn baseball cap turned backward. This may be the most attractive he’s ever looked, and I have to remind myself not to stare as I buckle my seat belt.

“The party’s at Landry’s place,” he offers, revving the engine and pulling out onto the road, his voice laced with excitement.

My heart races with anticipation and nerves as we approach the house. It’s a quiet neighborhood with cars parked on both sides of the street. Corey finds a spot, and as we get out of the car, I take in the unfamiliar scene as if it’s one of my favorite movies.

I notice as we enter the house there are more people here than I imagined. It makes me feel better sticking close to Corey, knowing I’m out of place among the unfamiliar faces.

Everyone turns and gapes at us, probably wondering why we’re together. Corey nods and greets people as we make our way through the crowd. The music is loud and pulsing, making it impossible to have a conversation without shouting, and I find myself winding my fingers with Corey’s and squeezing until my fingers feel numb.

We go to the kitchen, where some of Corey’s hockey teammates are gathered. They welcome us with smiles and I feel a bit more at ease in their familiar company. Corey offers to get me a beer, but I decline. He grabs us both glasses of water, and I begin to relax, listening to the guy’s banter.

Corey tenses next to me when a guy with black, cropped hair enters the room. He strides into the kitchen, making his way towards our group. He wears a cocky smirk on his lips. He holds a beer in one hand while the other is occupied with a can of chewing tobacco. His presence sets off warning bells in my head, and beside him, walking like she owns the place, is Amber, the kind of girl who would be drawn to someone like him.

“What’s up, Fuckers?” he greets the group. Charming. Most of the guys give him a lukewarm welcome, but Corey and Taz stand shoulder to shoulder like a wall between me and him.