Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
The party escalates, as parties do. Clothes loosen, shoes are abandoned, and someone has the brilliant idea to start a game of truth-or-dare that spills from the formal dining room into the grand hall. At midnight, Kayleigh dares me to shotgun a beer in the great room, and when I do, the whole crowd goes wild. I finish the can and tip it upside down over my head, letting the foam drip onto the rug, and everyone howls. I’m more buzzed than I want to admit, but not so far gone that I can’t sense the eyes on me—the way Brad is still watching, like he’s waiting for a cue.
It’s after one when the music dips into something low and dangerous, and the first wave of people begins to peel off. I find myself in a patch of relative quiet by the curved staircase, glass in hand, the hem of my dress riding up my thighs. My hair is wild, and my lips are numb from the cold outside and the steady stream of vodka cranberries.
Brad finds me there, stepping into my orbit like he’s always belonged in it.
“Still standing,” he says, and there’s a note of admiration in his voice.
I look up at him, letting my head fall back just a bit. “It’ll take more than a little tequila to bring me down.”
He laughs, and it’s a good sound, deep and honest. Then he steps closer, so close I can smell the cedar of his cologne, and puts his hand lightly on my elbow.
“Want to get some air?” he asks. “The real kind, not the kind in the freezer.”
I nod, and let him steer me through the thinning crowd, back onto the patio, where the night is so dark it feels like we’re standing on the edge of the world. For a moment, neither of us speaks. I stare out into the winter black, the far-off city lights winking through the skeletal trees.
He’s the first to break the silence. “You always throw parties like this?”
I shake my head. “Only when I need to prove I’m still alive.”
He considers that, then turns so we’re facing each other, almost close enough to touch. “You seem pretty alive to me.”
I smile, but it’s a small one. “Do I?”
“Yeah.” His thumb traces a slow circle on my arm, just above the bone. “You’re, uh, kind of electric.”
I should say something clever, but I can’t think of anything. So I just look at him, letting the seconds drag out, and then I tilt my face up, almost imperceptibly. He reads the signal, and in one smooth motion, brings his lips to mine.
It’s not a sweet kiss. It’s hungry, and a little clumsy, and more honest than anything that’s happened tonight. I feel it all the way down to my toes. My hand goes to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, and his other arm wraps around my waist, holding me like he’s afraid I’ll evaporate.
For a long moment, there’s nothing but the sound of our breathing and the pulse in my ears. Then I pull back, blinking, and realize I’m grinning like a fool.
“Wow,” I say, because it’s all I can think of.
He laughs, low and soft. “Yeah. Wow.”
We stand there, caught in the afterglow, until the cold finally seeps into my bones. I shiver, and he pulls me in tighter, tucking me under his chin. It’s a little weird because I feel like I should be more attracted to him. He’s tall, handsome, athletic, and genuinely nice. But there’s no danger to him, no spark of electricity that makes my body hum.
But I should make the most of the situation because how often do you meet a bona fide “nice guy”? I pull away, smoothing my hair, and look him straight in the eye. “Want to see the rest of the house?”
He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Lead the way.”
We slip back inside, unnoticed, the party still thumping on somewhere in the background, but for us, the world has narrowed to just this: the hush of empty hallways, the whisper of our footsteps on the runner, the fizz of anticipation between us.
At the top of the stairs, I pause and glance back at him. He’s looking at me like I’m a riddle he wants to solve, and I like the feeling of it. I gesture down the hall, and he follows, his hand never leaving my waist.
We walk together, side by side, through the dark, echoing house.
A plan starts to hatch in my mind. It’s not cute, nor all that nice, but if things stay on course, then Brad is going to get the surprise of his life tonight.
The hallway is so quiet it feels like we’ve slipped into another dimension, the world below muffled to a distant, persistent thump—pulse of the bass, the ghost of laughter, the memory of a party still spinning in the bones of the house. Brad’s hand is a steady weight at my back, and I realize, as we walk, that I’m not breathing. Or maybe I’m breathing too much—lungs working overtime, chest tingling, each step toward the guest suite calibrated so precisely it might as well be choreography.