In the Air (The City Book 1) - By Crystal Serowka Page 0,10

he and Hadley were "off" right now. Hadley swiftly brushed past Jay into the elevator, ignoring him and the blonde.

"There you are, Sam. Where the fuck have you been? Wren is upstairs already." Jay had a grin plastered on his face, which could only mean one thing: he was about to get laid.

"Standing here for the past fifteen minutes. You could have remembered to put me on your list, asshole."

"Fuck, my bad." Jay's palm hit his forehead. "I had Patsy create the list and she must have forgotten you." What the hell is the use in having a party planner if they forget a simple task like that? Jay turned to the security guard. "Tom, let Samson up to my place. He's cool." He walked to the doors, turning back before exiting. "Samson, I'll be right back. This beauty right here wants to take a joyride in my Porsche."

There's that term again.

The doors to the penthouse opened and there stood a waiter, with a glass of the best whiskey on the planet. This was exactly what I'd needed all day. My hand wrapped around the cool glass and my throat began to ache for the slow burn of the liquor. I walked into Jay's place and noticed a few of the guys from St. Luke's hanging out in the kitchen, probably reliving our high school days. If there was one thing I didn't want to do, it was dwell on the past. I was over trying to keep up the facade of what the preppy kid with lots of money was supposed to act like. I wanted to focus on dance, not on how much my car was worth or how many girls I'd slept with. I steered clear of the kitchen and headed into the living room.

Jay's condo looked like a picture from those house magazines my mother always read. White furniture went perfectly with the dark wood floors that lined the entire loft. A stone wall stood opposite the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked Manhattan. I had a feeling Jay's mother designed the space. I saw Wren sitting on the stark white couch, talking to another one of our friends.

"Dude, where the hell have you been?" Wren stood up and slapped me on the back. I hadn't seen him in six months and I barely recognized him. No longer preppy, he had on a flannel button up, dark jeans that looked as if they had been painted on, and his hairstyle had changed dramatically. The once short spikes had been replaced with closely shaved sides and a messy, grown out top. Then I noticed the tattoos. My best friend was now a hipster.

"Wren? Is that you, or did you kill off my normal-looking friend and replace him?"

"Funny, Samson. I'm glad your humor stayed intact through all of those ballet classes."

When Wren first moved to New Canaan, Jay and I were freshmen in high school. I remembered the first day of school, Wren walked into the cafeteria and straight to our table. "Can I sit here?" he'd asked. We all stopped talking and looked up at the voice none of us recognized. Wren had moved from South Africa that summer. Since that first day of freshmen year, Wren, Jay, and I had always been best friends.

"When did all of this happen?" I pointed to the black drawing peeking out from Wren's shirt. I wasn't entirely surprised by his new appearance. He was the rebellious one in the group. Every time his parents pushed him to do something he didn't want to do, he pushed back harder and refused. I respected him for always sticking to his guns.

"I started with this one." Wren pointed to the inside of his wrist to a solid black triangle. "Then I got this," he pointed to his other arm and showed a black ink drawing of his favorite writer, Kurt Vonnegut. "After these two, I became addicted and I couldn't stop." Almost everything, including Wren's knuckles, was covered in art.

"Whatever makes you happy, dude." I patted him on the back and stood up to grab another drink from the bar.

As the night went on, my buzz grew stronger. Jay finally got his ass back to his own party and he, Wren, and I took some much-needed shots. The blur of the day's events faded, and I was well on my way to feeling numb.

"Wren, who you banging these days?" Jay asked loudly over the music. He was never the kind of guy that held his