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“Of course. Do you want any brownies to take with you?”
“Sure, that would be great.”
My mom disappears into the kitchen again.
“Make sure you ice that arm tonight,” my dad tells Weston. “And do the exercises I showed you.”
Weston smiles. “Yes, sir.”
I figured he’d just shown up for dinner, but it appears that Weston has been here for a while. It should be a relief—my dad’s constant attention and intensity are exhausting. But there’s resentment too, that he’s training Weston—probably with a hell of a lot more confidence than he shows me—and that settles atop all my other complicated feelings where Weston Cole is involved.
I shove away from the table. “I’m going to shower,” I mumble, then head upstairs without waiting for a response.
CHAPTERTWO
NATALIE
Alleghany parties haven’t changed since high school. Same people. Same games. Same music, even. I tap my fingers against the side of my Solo cup in time with the beat, grimacing at the mess I made of my manicure earlier.
Jess and Madeline are leaning against the island across from me. Josh’s kitchen is huge, just like the rest of his family’s house.
“Wes just showed up,” Jess comments, her eyes on the doorway.
“Who cares?” Madeline replies. “He’sstillwith Maeve Stevens.”
“According to Josh, she’s out of town this week,” Jess replies.
I take a sip of my drink. The chilled burn of alcohol fills my mouth and slips down my throat, settling in my stomach. I wasn’t planning on drinking tonight.
Maybe I’m more like my mother than I thought.
I chase that worry away with another sip.
“It won’t matter,” I counter, chiming in on their conversation for the first time in ten minutes. Weston Cole is a good guy, part of the rare breed of male who could get away with a lot but generally chooses not to. And I’m tired of hearing about gossip and parties and posturing. It used to be an escape and now it’s a taunt of all I used to care about.
“You guys have history,” Madeline tells me. “And history repeats itself.”
“Not always. He has a girlfriend.”
“And if he didn’t?”
I shrug. “Maybe.”
There’s probably nomaybeabout it. I was more than a little disappointed when Wes ended our fling in high school for good. But that was almost two years ago. Wes may be the lethal combination of considerate and hot as hell, but there are lines I won’t cross.
Cheating—either encouraging or participating—is not something I have any interest in. If they’ll do it to someone else, they’ll most likely do it to you. And if you want the opportunity to hook up with anyone at any time, stay single. Seems simple enough to me, but I know from personal experience plenty of people make a mess out of it.
“You guys said you were coming right out.” Tory appears, bringing the strong scent of chlorine with her. She wrapped a striped beach towel around her waist, but her hair is dripping and there’s a trail of wet footprints across the floor. She grabs the Solo cup she left on the counter next to me and takes a long sip before looking around at the three of us accusingly.
“We were about to,” Madeline states, while leaning against the island like she intends to stand here all night.
Tory rolls her eyes.
In high school, we were collectively known as the Fab Four. A moniker we all claimed was stupid, but guess what our group chat is called? Of the three of them, I’m probably closest to Madeline. But they all know the Natalie Jacobs who’s perfectly put-together, so I’m not sure any of them know me that well at all. We’ve stayed in close contact since graduating high school, despite the fact that none of them ended up at Boston University with me. Tory is at Rutgers, Jess went to Penn State, and Madeline goes to Bates, a small school up in Maine.
“Oh hey, Wes.” Jess’s voice sounds breathy, and Tory and I exchange an amused smile.
“Hi, Jess,” Wes replies. He smiles at Tory and Madeline, then looks at me. “Hey, Natalie.”
