for having good grades, so most of dinner consisted of Ross debating the injustice of the situation and Colton trying to quiz Ross because his inferiority complex seems to heighten hourly, and the other half my dad spent on phone calls.”
“Sounds fun,” she says, wrinkling her nose.
“It wasn’t the worst. I’m being unfair and am giving you the highlight reel of the worst parts.”
“I’m surprised there were any good parts after hearing that.”
I shrug. “It wasn’t awful.”
“Well, as a friendly reminder, this Sunday is the first Sunday of the month, so we have brunch this weekend with my dad. And fair warning, he just got back from a trip to Scotland to check out our ancestry, so if he’s wearing a skirt, I can’t be blamed.”
“Pretty sure all of Scotland would be insulted by you referring to a kilt as a skirt.”
“Pretty sure it’s going to look like a skirt on my dad. He’s not a highlander.”
“You’re painting mental images that might have me developing food poisoning late tomorrow night that will start reacting really badly on Sunday morning.”
Rose leans toward me, laughing so hard and loud the entire SUV is filled with her giggles. “If you get sick, then I get sick.”
The car pulls to a stop, and the faint sound of music distracts our conversation. Lights are threaded through the trees, and the front door of the house is wide open, people spilling out onto the lawn.
“Welcome to the most lit party you’ll experience.”
Rose looks out at the expansive house I’m still staring at.
“Ian’s,” he says.
“Wait. The party is at Ian’s?” Rose asks, looking at Arlo.
He flashes a smile.
“You have mace, your phone, and protection?” I ask, turning to Rose.
“Check, check, and check. You have your phone and the clear conscience reminder that you’re not actually dating Matt, and after seeing his picture yesterday, you are welcome to have fun and even make out with some really hot guy tonight.”
“Except, I don’t have your speech rehearsed to warn the guy it means nothing, and he has to be out by morning.” Regret sits on my chest nearly as heavy as the doubt that’s been weighing on me since last night when I polished off a bag of cookies and sent Matt a dozen accusing texts that he still hasn’t responded to.
“That’s it. That’s all you have to say,” Rose says.
Arlo glances at me in the rearview mirror, but thankfully, if he heard, he doesn’t say anything.
We unload from the Tahoe, the thick cloud cover making the night warmer. “Shameless flirting will not get you sent to hell. We’re twenty and hot. Flirt. Kiss a cute boy.” She looks back at Arlo as he joins us on the sidewalk. “Arlo, we need you to be a good wingman. Look at her. She’s gorgeous. Introduce her to the guys on the football team.”
“Give it a rest, or I’ll definitely be coming down with something on Sunday morning,” I warn her.
“Okay. Okay. I relent … for now.” She bats her eyelashes at Arlo. “But will you still be a good wingman and introduce me to your friend and super-hot teammate, Ian?”
He smirks. “Don’t ruin him. He’s a good guy, and he’s been playing well.”
Rose links her arm with mine. “Let’s have some fun.”
Inside, the music is so loud I can hardly hear Rose telling me to check out a cute guy on my right. Lights flash overhead like we’re in a real club, highlighting faces like the headlights of cars passing on a darkened street, revealing more people with every pass.
“This place is packed,” I say.
Rose nods. “Arlo has connections to the best parties.”
I glance behind us, catching sight of Arlo giving a head bob to someone we pass. His eyes cut to me as though he can hear the hesitation in my thoughts, the ones saying this is a party on a whole new level, with expensive alcohol and other material things flaunted as we continue deeper into the large house. We pass tables set up for poker and an area where a stage has been built where girls are dancing in bikinis. It feels like something out of a movie—a far cry from any of the college parties I’ve attended in the past couple of years.
“Let’s get something to drink,” Rose says.
I nod, though I know that won’t help to make me feel like I belong here. A guy smiles as we pass, his stare long and intentional—wanting me to know he’s watching.