Page 31

“My apologies,” I mock bow. Upon rising, I take a step closer and a warning flashes across Everest’s already taut features. “I should have messaged ahead, given you time to find a tie to match my eyes.” It was a low blow, especially after last night, but in the light of another day that I’ve had to see those articles plastered all over campus, I’m feeling a little salty. Running a hand through his hair, Everest curses beneath his breath.

“I thought I’d already apologized for the photoshoot,” Everest grinds out, only loud enough for my ears. His shoulders has tightened, every trace of the languid limbs we shared fading away. For a fleeting moment, the fight drains out of me. There’s no one here, no one to stop me from kneading the tension from his muscles, but I stay exactly where I am.

I need to keep focused on the plan, need to keep my head straight. Once Meg is gone, we won’t need to hide behind their rivalry anymore. Whether it be now or the day we graduate, the entire campus will know Everest Calloway belongs to me. They will know how we’ve suffered, how we’ve waited, how our love story is carved out of determination and sacrifices. Sorry, Meg. In this instance, that means you.

Noise from inside the house bleed through the brickwork. Bass thudding, laughter echoing, footsteps passing close enough to remind us that we’re never truly alone. Everest’s eyes cut through the darkness between us, the exhaustion he’s carrying slipping from beneath his polished facade. He wants me to leave, but he’s not willing to say it and this time, I’m not going to bow out. Not when there are sleeping pills in my pocket, the impending arrival of Laura, and the stress of watching my plan play out to deal with first.

“Enjoy the party, Code,” Everest finally sighs and heads inside. I watch him go, taking a long swig of beer and exhale deeply.

“I assure you, it’ll be life-changing for us both.” Only once I’m sure no one is going to be watching where he came from anymore, do I nudge the door open and slip inside. I follow the trail of Everest’s cologne as if it was left for me, one last reminder of what I’m fighting for before I appear back in the kitchen.

Despite the short amount of time that I was outside, barely enough to drink a full beer, the bodies in the house have more than doubled. The music is louder now, rolling through the floorboards and shaking the bottles lined up on the kitchen island. I slide through the center of it all without being noticed properly, most attendees turning up already half-drunk and sporting that pre-party haze that they think makes any outfit look better. Spoiler alert, it does not.

My phone buzzes, and I draw it out of my pocket to glance at a message from Laura. She’s outside somewhere, about to set the wheels in motion. Finding a corner of the kitchen with a perfect vantage point of the drinks, I swap out the empty beer bottle for a red cup. I’m not sure what’s in it, but it doesn’t matter. In the other pocket of my navy slacks, I turn sideways to crush the sleeping pill between my index finger and thumb, dropping the dust into the cup and swirling it dangerously close to the rim.

Then, turning back to face the room, I wait. It doesn’t take long for Laura to appear, her blonde hair like a beacon. As previously agreed, she doesn’t catch my eye, moving over to the refrigerator with Meg at her back. I get my first full view of Meg, and my mouth runs dry.

Wearing a leather jacket over her shoulders, a burgundy red tank top clings to her lithe frame, a heart cut out over her cleavage. She’s paired the outfit with dark high-waisted jeans and ankle boots. She stands out purely because she’s not dressed like every other woman in this house, tiny strappy dresses and skinny heels leaving nothing to the imagination. How is it Meg is wearing double the material, and somehow looks hotter than everyone else here? Frowning to myself, I shake my head. That’s enough beer for me, apparently.

I just about manage to recover by the time Meg nears, hunting for a bottle opener. Lifting the red club to my lips, I fake taking a sip as her blue eyes land on me, widening with recognition. Her jaw drops, and irritation quickly follows. Paying no attention to the amusement that tries to rise, I lower the cup, letting her see me fully, and her feet are moving before she can stop herself.

“How the fuck did you get an invite?” she blurts. Again, that sliver of amusement pushes too close to the surface.

“I didn’t.” I raise my pierced brow, letting my gaze roam over her slowly. Taking her cue, Laura slips away to carry out what we’ve planned. Make a scene, be noticed, and to be fair, have the night of her life. This is her one chance to experience an authentic frat party. But before I feel too bad for her, I remind myself she won’t need to struggle for the foreseeable future. I’m setting her up with the life-starter package for one.

Meg remains before me, eyes blazing and attitude remaining at the forefront. For a second, I worry she’s going to be more tenacious this evening than I anticipated, but then the cracks begin to show. A flicker of unease passes through her features, a brief shudder disappearing beneath her leather jacket. All of a sudden, she’s not seeing me as a monster she hates, but one she’s starting to fear.

“You’re looking at me differently,” I point out, tilting my head.

“No, I’m not,” Meg shoots back too quickly. I watch her cheeks color with the lie, and just as predicted, she snatches the red cup from my hand. “I’m absolutely not.” Downing the contents of the cup, her shrug becomes a shudder, whatever is in the cup causing her mouth to turn downwards.

“Yes. Since you snooped in my room,” I reply, much to her surprise. I hadn’t planned to confront her about it, feeling an intense amount of shame about my drawings and canvases. But now I’m looming over her, watching her flounder beneath my gaze, I can’t remember what I felt ashamed of. I drew what I saw. That’s all. Instead of arguing with me, because tonight Meg is full of surprises, her throat works, and her voice becomes small against the music pounding around us.

“How did you know?” Instead of answering, I peel away from the counter and take the smallest step into her space. She doesn’t take a step back as I intended, holding her ground to stare up at me. I clench my jaw, unfamiliar with having the attention of anyone who isn’t Everest for this long.

Around us, the kitchen heaves with bodies, laughter slamming into the bassline, someone shouting near the archway, and bottles clinking against the island. At a loss for what to do next, but needing a reprieve from her bright blue eyes, I lean down for my jaw to brush her temple. She smells of her rosewater body wash, tainted by the liquor being passed and spilled nearby.

For one insane second, I forget all about Laura, the plan, the drink Meg just swallowed and the line I crossed before she even arrived. Her chest touches mine as she seeks balance, and my pulse answers in a way that makes no sense at all.

“You’ve lost your charge.” I breathe. Gasping, Meg’s head whips around to see the space where Laura once stood is now empty.

“Dammit!” she hisses, her fury snapping back into place. I inhale deeply, curious about what Everest finds so intoxicating about it. Meg is beautiful in a subtle way, of that there’s no doubt. Unlike the rest of the girls on campus, she’s tenacious, stubborn, and strong. Again, no one can deny these things. Yet, I’m aching to know exactly what has charmed the love of my life to throw away everything we’ve built for her. I want to understand.

Maybe that’s why, as Meg turns to leave, my hand slides beneath her jacket and settles on her hip. She flinches against my palm, a sharp recoil that has become second nature to her. I know that fear all too well, so I immediately start to withdraw. Recreating her trauma is one thing, causing it by my own hand is another. Although before I get the chance to do the one chivalrous act I could afford her, Meg leans into the pressure of my hand, her back resting against my chest.

Now, it’s me who freezes. I don’t push her away, but I don’t draw her closer either. Instead, I just stand there with the noise and fallout of the party unfolding around us.

“Relax,” I murmur. “I’ve got eyes on her.” Pointing beyond Meg toward the open archway, Laura has found the beer pong table, exactly as instructed. She laughs loudly, her curls bouncing, cheeks pink, and arm raised with a dramatic flare as she tosses the small ball into the opposing cup. Around her, people cheer, cameras lift, phones record, and I must say, I’m impressed. Perhaps Laura does have a future in acting after all. Meg softens against me, just a fraction, but I feel it.

My thumb moves against her hip of its own accord, absently rubbing back and forth. I don’t know what’s come over me. I intended to stop Meg from following Laura too closely, and I’m conscious we have limited time before Meg will pass out, but I hadn’t meant to insert myself so physically. Yet my thumb continues sliding over her jeans, and Meg’s tension begins to drain away.

I reach past her for two fresh drinks from the island, the plan shifting to keeping her close, keeping her drinking, and keeping her uncertain. Our fingers graze as I pass the fresh cup over, which she accepts without a fight. The sedative in the first cup has already vanished into her bloodstream, loosening her inhibitions. To this end, I keep her away from those who would take advantage of her relaxed state. The irony isn’t lost on me.

“Huh,” I grunt by her ear. “You do know how to have fun.” Meg glances over her shoulder, catching the curve of my mouth, then narrows her eyes and downs the drink like a challenge. I laugh against her back, low enough that only she can feel it, and I throw my drink back too. Another cup appears, then another. Time begins to loosen, the edges around us blurring with music and heat. As Meg wriggles out of her jacket, my hand slides higher, skimming warm skin at her stomach beneath the hem of her top.

The small voice that sounds a lot like Nicholas tells me this is all part of the strategy. That I’m simply controlling the narrative, just like he always told us to. An obstacle was in my way, and I’m working to remove her. Yet as Meg pushes back against me, her hips finding the beat, something in me short-circuits.

This isn’t part of the plan. Meg was supposed to drink, unravel, and become easy to doubt. She wasn’t supposed to lean against me as if she trusts me to remain steady behind her. She wasn’t supposed to drop her head onto my shoulder while some remix of a song everyone seems to know spills through the room. My hand wasn’t supposed to spread wider over her stomach, feeling the warmth of her skin and the shift of her abs underneath.