Page 29 of The Life and (Medieval) Times of Kit Sweetly

“And you have no interest in Jett?” she asks as we walk through her house. “None at all?”

I duck my head, smiling. “That thought is not allowed. Not now, not ever. He’s a friend. Nothing more.”

Layla stops in the entrance hall, that project-to-get-started-on gleam in her eyes. “Uh-huh.”

I grab her arm. “Do not—I repeat—do not try to set us up.”

A smile flickers across her face. “Of course not! I’d never think of setting you up with someone who’s smart, obviously adores you, makes you laugh, and is absolutely gorgeous. Why in the world would I want that for my best friend?”

“Just leave it alone,” I beg. “Tell me about your love life. Have you gotten rid of Eric yet?”

“He persists,” she says. “But I’m taking your advice. Sort of.” A mischievous look crosses her face and she holds up her phone. “He just invited me to the Castle’s Ninja after-party tonight, and I think we should go.”

Last year, the big bosses at the Castle’s parent company mandated that we have “Family Dinner” once a month. It’s supposed to be a time for us all to eat, drink, and be merry. No alcohol, no sex with coworkers, just good, honest medieval-style “Castle Family” fun.

Welp.

You can imagine how long that lasted.

Now, Len lets us have one super-top-secret Ninja afterparty every month instead of “Family Dinner.” The invitations go out half an hour before the event. You can bring outside guests if you’re discreet. You can bring booze, but you better have a designated driver. And you’re not allowed to post pics on social media.

What happens at Ninja after-party stays there. Unless it doesn’t. Which also happens with all the hookups and drama that the party encourages. So far, Corporate hasn’t found out about the parties yet. And since Len’s band plays at the party, his normally rigid stance on rules bends when he can jam all night on his guitar.

I usually avoid the Ninja after-parties, because what’s fouler than your uncle pretending he’s hipster Kid Rock? And my dad is a recovering alcoholic, so I don’t drink that much, and I have the Big Plan, which could be messed up if someone takes pictures of me drinking.

But this could also be the perfect chance to enact phase two: Convince Others to Join Us!

I glance at my phone. It’s after ten now, and the show should be wrapping up soon.

Layla grips my arm. “Please, please, please can we go?”

With a long-suffering sigh, I nod, and she grabs her keys. Together we walk out of her house and into the night.

The only sounds outside Layla’s house are the fountain burbling in the gardens, about a million crickets, and classical music from her parents’ open window. The house is so big, I had no idea Layla’s parents were even home, so it’s almost comforting to hear the music and know someone else is here.

But the whole thing is kind of lonely.

As I clamber into Layla’s Jeep, I put forward my conditions: “I’ll be the designated driver, but no dancing to Len’s music—even if you are drunk, you can’t do it—and no making out with Eric.”

“I promise,” says Layla. “I’ll drive on the way over. Buckle up.” She grins and then backs out of her driveway like she’s auditioning for a spot in Formula 1 racing.

Once I’ve stopped hanging on to the Jeep’s roll bars for dear life, I text Jett.

Kit: Phase one is going well! We’re going to the Ninja after-party to recruit people. You going to be there?

I try to keep the desperate note of pleading out of my voice, while trying to ignore the kangaroos that lurch around my stomach when I think about Jett pulling up to the Castle on his motorcycle, in his stupid leather jacket, looking all hot.

And then my mind flicks to an image of the two of us, drinking warm beer out of plastic cups on the roof, snuggled under a blanket beneath the stars.

Goddammit. Kit.

Unbreakable. Rules.

Jett is totally off-limits.

And he doesn’t think of you like that. If he did, he’d have given you a hint or clue or something.

While I’m spiraling, he replies.