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I leaned over and brushed a kiss on his lips. “See you inside.”
I opened the door and was hit with loud music and the smell of fireworks. As I stepped out, a fissure of blue and gold shot into the sky behind her house, illuminating the palm trees in color before exploding overhead with a deafening pop. From behind the majestic home, a crowd cheered and the music resumed. I adjusted my veil and closed the door, stepping across the golf-course quality lawn and onto the driveway, following the sounds of the party and steeling myself for what might be inside.
13
Amid belly dancers and a naked Brad Pitt ice statue with excessive genitalia, someone called my name. I turned, looking over the sea of black-clad bodies, and searched for a familiar face.
I didn’t see anyone I knew, the group a mix of late twenty and thirty-somethings, half of who were wearing the same veil I was and all who were a lot drunker than me.
“Elle!”
It was Aaron. I felt a wave of relief at the familiar face and worked my way through the crowd toward him. He crushed me against his chest in a hug. “Elle Bell.”
I pulled away enough to look up at him. “Who are all these people?”
He shrugged. “You know Chelsea.”
Yeah. The girl had never met a stranger she didn’t befriend, and managed to effortlessly maintain her connections for years after creation. “Where’s she at?”
He said something, but I couldn’t hear it over the band, who kicked into a Katy Perry song on the other side of the pool. “What?” I leaned closer to him.
He placed his hand on my hip and spoke into my ear. “She’s the only one wearing white. You’ll see her.”
“Hey, HEY!” Chelsea collided into us with the grace of a bowling ball. She flung her arms around both our necks, kissing Aaron on the cheek before doing the same to me. “You’re late,” she accused.
I shrugged. “Traffic.”
“Yeah, whatever.” She began to jump in place. “Let’s dance!”
Aaron held up his hands and stepped back. “Unless it’s a two-step, I’m useless. You guys have fun.”
She shimmied up to me and I laughed, looping an arm around her shoulders. “Fine. But I need a drink first.”
“I can help with that,” Aaron offered. “Chels, you want another Malibu and pineapple?”
“No, I’m good.” She grinned up at him. “Find us by the stage?”
“Sure.” He held her gaze and my blood chilled at the warm smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. This couldn’t be what it looked like. They were roommates. Maybe the last two weeks had brought them closer as friends, but this couldn’t be sparks between them. Not after a decade of friendship. Not after what had happened in my bedroom between Easton and Aaron and me.
He stepped back and was quickly swallowed by the crowd, who swelled across the pool deck in dangerous proximity to the glowing red depths.
“Did you see the trapeze artists? And just wait—at midnight is when all of the excitement will really start.” She high-fived a passerby.
“Oh yeah. The guys at the gate wanted me to remind you of the neighborhood noise ordinance which is starting, like, now.”
She waved her hand dismissively as she climbed the stairs down to the pool deck. “They came by once already. There’s nothing they can do, short of fining me. If someone calls the cops, I’ll turn it down a smidge, but for now…” She shrugged.
I needed her attitude toward things. That laissez-faire approach would probably kill half the knots in my back. Oh, our cell phone bill is overdue? Fuck them in a forest of unicorns. It’s all good. But that sort of attitude only worked for people like Chelsea. Fun, happy, fat allowance and salary from daddy, Chelsea. I’d managed to control my envy over her money during the course of our friendship but it still stung at times.
“Are you hungry? We have steak kabobs on the grill and finger food platters out.”
“I’m good.”
“Oh! Your listing appointment with the mafia! How’d it go?” She zeroed in on me, and I hesitated, struggling with what to share in this noisy and crowded place.
“It went well. They signed the paperwork—or rather, I signed their paperwork…” At her confused look, I waved off the story. “Nevermind. It’s good. I got the listing!”
“And that’s… good? Right? We’re happy?”
“Yes, very happy,” I assured her.
“You have to tell me everything. Play hooky one day this week and let’s do a pool day. This outfit has made me realize how pasty I’ve gotten.” She swung her hips to the beat, and I focused on her outfit, noticing the all-white getup that was way too conservative for Chelsea to ever wear anywhere, much less a party.
“Yeah, what’s going on with all of this?” I twirled a finger over her outfit. “The death of your slutdom?”
