Alex steps closer, his voice dropping lower. “You hate it.”
“I don’t hate it,” I clarify, crossing my arms over my chest. “It’s just… a lot.”
“Too much like my father’s house?” he asks, seeing through me as easily as those giant windows overlook the city.
I shrug. “Not really. It’s just… it doesn’t seem like you.”
“It came furnished,” he shrugs. “I’ve barely changed anything.”
Before I can respond, Kayla pokes her head out of the bathroom, her eyes wide with excitement.
“Vincent, you have to see this shower! It has like twelve different jets and a built-in sound system.”
Alex’s lips curve into a smile. “Want a demonstration?”
The image that flashes through my mind—Alex and me under those twelve jets, steam rising around us—sends heat curling through my body. I force it away, painfully aware of my friends just feet away.
“Maybe later,” I manage, and I’m rewarded with a darkening of his eyes that tells me he’s thinking the same thing.
We continue the tour, passing what must be Alex’sbedroom (the door remains firmly closed, though I catch him glancing at me as we walk by) and finally return to the main living area, which has begun to fill with other guests.
“The bar’s self-serve,” Alex tells us, gesturing to a setup that would put most professional establishments to shame. “And there’s food over there. Make yourselves comfortable.”
Kayla’s eyes widen at the spread of food. “Is that… sushi? From Nobu?” She looks like she might pass out from excitement.
“Yeah,” Alex says casually, as if dropping several thousand dollars on party food is nothing.
“Alex!” A tall guy with sandy blond hair waves from across the room. He makes his way over, followed by another guy with brown hair and an easy smile.
“Ronan, Ed,” Alex greets them with bro hugs. “Let me introduce you. This is Vincent, Kayla, Mark, and Rina.”
I recognize them vaguely from the frat party—Alex’s college friends. Ronan’s eyes linger on me a beat longer than necessary, a hint of recognition flickering across his face.
“Vincent,” he says, extending his hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
I take his hand, wondering exactly what Alex has told him. “All lies, I’m sure.”
“No, actually,” Ronan says with a grin. “But I’m starting to think Alex undersold a few things.”
The way he looks between Alex and me sends goosebumps running down my spine. Great. Just what I need—more people aware of whatever fucked-up dynamic exists between Alex and me.
“Ed,” the other guy says, shaking my hand next. “Don’t mind Ronan. He thinks he’s perceptive.”
“Iam perceptive,” Ronan argues good-naturedly. “It’s why I’m acing Behavioral Psychology.”
Kayla, who’s been hovering near the sushi, finally gives in and grabs a plate. “This is incredible,” she moans after her first bite. “Vincent, you have to try this.”
“In a minute,” I promise, heading for the bar instead. I need liquid courage. Lots of it.
Alex follows, reaching past me to grab two glasses. “What’s your poison?” he asks, his arm brushing mine as he selects a bottle of whiskey that probably costs more than my rent.
“Whatever’s strongest,” I mutter.
He pours two generous measures, his knuckles grazing my fingers as he hands me a glass, sending a jolt up my arm. We both pretend not to notice.
“You look good,” he says, voice low enough that only I can hear. “That shirt brings out your eyes.”
I take a large swallow of whiskey, welcoming the burn. “Are we really doing this? Small talk?”
