Looks like the party is off to a great start. Hartley’s most likely about to get in a fight with Alice—she doesn’t take well to his bossiness, or so I’ve been told—Asher is talking to some Zoey lookalike, and I’m just waiting for the moment when I spot—

  Holy . . .

  Fuck . . .

  Indie.

  Indie in a pair of jean shorts that barely cover her ass, a form-fitting black shirt. Her straightened hair is dancing across her shoulders.

  She’s . . . fuck.

  She’s hot.

  Her tits are barely contained in her shirt, her lips are glossy and screaming to be fucked, and her eyes are heavily highlighted with mascara, making them stand out even more than before.

  I grip my beer tighter, not realizing how desperately I wanted to see her, and now wishing I never did. Because she looks all kinds of good, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

  Especially when Deacon walks up to her with a goofy grin on his face, pulling her into a hug and kissing the top of her head. She laughs up at him, cups his freshly shaven face and then holds him around the waist.

  Yup, can’t do this. No fucking thank you.

  Beer clutched to my chest, I turn away from them and make my way to the back of the house and into the backyard where there are fewer people. I spot a vacant chair near the property fence with absolutely no one in sight and claim it as my sulking spot.

  I take a seat and then lift my beer to my lips, gulping down about half of it before coming up for air.

  This is what my junior year has come to: me, drinking by myself in a rickety lawn chair, scowling at the back of my house.

  How the mighty have fallen.

  Why does she have to look so damn good tonight? Then again, like it would matter. If she came here in her sweats and a simple shirt, with her hair tied up in a ponytail, I probably would have thought the same thing.

  She’s so fucking naturally gorgeous.

  “What are you doing over here all by yourself?” Hutton asks, his eyes a little hazy, trouble written all over his face.

  There is an unsuspecting girl who’s going to be wooed by this man tonight and frankly, I feel bad for her. Hutton, although a nice guy, will never commit to anyone.

  “Needed some fresh air.”

  “It’s stuffy as fuck in there. It got crowded faster than I expected. I told the freshmen to hold people from entering for now.”

  “Smart.” I take a smaller sip of my beer this time.

  “Well, you’re boring.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  “Sure.” He claps me on the back and goes to stand when I spot Scarlett walking up toward us. “Oh shit,” Hutton mutters. “Is it just me, or does she have dick on the brain?”

  “Nope, not just you.”

  “Hey boys,” Scarlett says, sizing Hutton up who stands and shifts in place.

  Out of all the girls Hutton knows, Scarlett’s the one who has him tied up in knots. She could get him to do anything she wants at the snap of her finger, even though he’s never fucked her.

  One night, he’s told me multiple times. He just needs one night to get her out of his system. Then he can move past this strange . . . obsession.

  “Scarlett, what’s up?” Hutton says, sticking a hand in his pocket.

  “I’m sick of using my vibrator. I came here for you.”

  Damn.

  Looks like he’s about to be granted that one night.

  A grin spreads across Hutton’s face. “Then get the hell upstairs, woman.”

  If only it were that simple for everyone else.

  She holds out her hand, and he takes it. Calling over her shoulder, Scarlett says, “Indie’s looking for you by the way. Pretty sure she’s been chomping at the bit to chew your head off.”

  “Great,” I say sarcastically while drinking my beer. “Tell her I’m back here.”

  “You got it.” Hutton pulls Scarlett in closer and presses his lips to hers. They both stumble forward and laugh, then disappear into the house.

  Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Hutton is the one who’s going to have to look out.

  Indie pops through the back door, brow furrowed, and I realize I was wrong again.

  Nope, I’m the one who’s going to have to look out.

  I silently beg for the chair to swallow me whole, help me disappear into the grass, anything that will take me away from this moment, but then she spots me.

  She charges toward me and even in all her anger, she’s fucking beautiful. Her hair blows in the wind, her tits bounce toward me, and her long legs eat up the grass as she makes it to me in no time.

  Hand on her hip, she says, “Why are you being an asshole?”

  “That’s quite the greeting.” I down the rest of my beer and set it on the grass next to me, then stand so we’re eye to eye.

  “What did you expect? A hug?”

  I open my arms wide and say, “Yeah.” She doesn’t move. She’s really pissed. Lowering my arms, I say, “Look, Indie—”

  “No, you look, Lincoln.” She steps up to me, her flowery perfume inching up my nose, shooting my brain into a dizzy spell as she pokes me in the chest. “You had no right to be rude to me the other night. I got the project done.”

  “I know,” I say, staring down at her lips. “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s right you’re sorry. Friends don’t treat each other like that.”

  Ah yes, you’re friends. Best be remembering that, Lincoln, as you stare at her tits and back to her eyes.

  “You look good.” The compliment slips past my lips before I can stop myself, and I wonder for a brief second if I drank more alcohol without knowing it. Because that’s how I feel right now—drunk.

  But it might just be drunk with lust.

  “Do you really think a compliment is going to work on me?”

  “Maybe?” I try to say cutely.

  “It didn’t,” she deadpans.

  I shove my hands in my pockets and shrug. “It was worth a shot.”

  “Whatever, Lincoln. Clearly you don’t care about me like I thought you did.” She starts to walk away when I quickly grab her hand and pull her back.

  “I care, Indie. Don’t say I don’t care, because I do. It’s just . . . hard.”

  “What’s hard?”

  She crosses her arms over her chest, waiting for a response—a response I’m not sure how to deliver.

  What’s hard?

  Well, my dick is when she’s around, but that’s not really the answer I want to give her.

  I wrack my brain as she stares at me, waiting. Tapping her foot, her eyes racing back and forth over mine, she continues to wait as a trickle of sweat hits the back of my neck.

  Fuck.

  Say something.

  Anything.

  She’s waiting and this girl is persistent. She will wait forever if she needs to.

  “What’s hard, Lincoln?”

  I bite the side of my cheek and finally say, “I’ve never had a girl friend before.”

  “Girlfriend?” she asks. “Uh, didn’t realize we were dating.”

  “No, not like that. I mean a friend that’s a girl. A close friend.”

  “So are you telling me you get jealous when your guy friends are seen with another girl.”

  “What?” I scoff. “I wasn’t jealous.”

  She laughs, louder than expected. “Oh my God, Lincoln, you had jealousy written all over you when you saw me and Deacon at Deluca’s.”

  “That wasn’t jealousy. I was hungry.”

  She rolls her eyes and says, “When you decide to be real with me, then you can come talk to me, but until then, just leave me alone.”

  Turning on her heel, she walks back to the house and I stand there like a moron who doesn’t know what the hell to say.

  Seems like that’s the new normal at this point.

  “Fuck.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and turn away from the house, trying to figure out what to do. I’m so confused. Where is all this coming from? Her anger, my anger. This friendship that doesn’t seem to work, but when it does, I feel like I’m on cloud nine.

  And all I can think is if it wasn’t for my meddling mom, I wouldn’t be in this position, this weird position of being a girl’s friend and wanting her so damn bad that I can feel my balls ache when she’s around. And when she’s not around . . . I need to jerk—

  “If I were you, I’d go after her,” a voice from the side says. When I look over, I spot Brandon, a guy on the men’s soccer team. “She’s a fucking catch, dude. Everyone in this house knows it and if she’s giving you attention like that, it means something. Trust me, she doesn’t give anyone that or talk to anyone with passion.” He tips his bottle back. “But that’s just me.”

  I don’t know Brandon well.

  I think I’ve spoken to him twice in my years at Brentwood, but right now, in this moment, it almost feels like Brandon was placed on my lawn, beer in his hand, to kick some sense into me.

  “I think you’re right.”

  “I know I am,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Indie Mayhem is one of a kind. If she was talking to me like that, I’d be one happy motherfucker.” He smiles lazily at me and his head lulls to the side. Yeah, he’s drunk, but a drunk guardian angel is better than none.

  I send him a quick mental thank you and then jog into the house.

  The crowd is even worse, and I move people to the side to make my way through the open layout. I scan the heads, looking for long brown hair and when I spot her by the stairs trying to make her way through the throng of people, I quickly squeeze my way through and take her by the arm.

  She spins, ready to take out whoever is touching her. “It’s me,” I say quickly, over the booming music. “Can we talk?”

  “Are you going to be real?”

  “Yes,” I answer, looking her square in the eyes.

  “Then let’s talk.”

  “Not here,” I say, taking her hand in mine. I thank the guys protecting the stairs, who aren’t letting anyone up to the bedrooms who don’t live in the house. I walk past Hutton’s room, where I already hear moaning, to my room at the far end of the hallway. I take the key from my pocket, unlock my door—because sometimes, people slip by the stair patrol—and I guide her in. I go to my desk and flip the light on, casting a light glow in the decently sized space. She shuts the door and then we both stare at each other, a few feet apart.

  My body itches with an overwhelming need to cut the space between us, push her down on my bed, and explore every inch of her with my tongue. And for a second, I get a bout of courage, as if it could really happen, as if I wouldn’t think twice about taking what I want, but when she crosses her arms with impatience again, I snap back to reality.

  “I’m sorry,” I start. “I’m really fucking sorry, Indie. I didn’t mean to be a dick to you, and I was. When I said it’s hard, I meant . . .” I take a deep breath and decide to just tell her the truth. “It’s hard trying to be cool around you. I, uh . . . I, hell, I think you’re a goddamn bombshell, okay?”

  Her eyes soften and her lips curve into a smile.

  “And yeah, I was jealous. I was jealous that Deacon was holding you and touching you, and I know I have no right to be jealous, since we’re friends, but I was, okay? I took my irritation out on you later and it was wrong.”

  She’s still smiling, not saying anything. The silence is killing me.

  “Can you respond? Christ.”

  She chuckles. “I knew you were crushing on me this entire time.”

  “Jesus,” I groan and go to my bed where I lie down. I kick my shoes off and lace my fingers behind my head. “Way to make it easy on a guy.”

  “When would I ever make it easy on you?”

  “Point taken.” She sits down on the bed, near my feet. “I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to make you mad at me. I do value our friendship.”

  “Yeah, I do too,” she says, and my heart falls as I realize she just agreed with the whole friendship thing. I was hoping that maybe she’d see I was interested in being more than friends, but from the way she’s twisting her hands and avoiding eye contact, I have to assume she’s trying not to hurt my feelings by letting me down.

  Sticking with friendship, okay. Got it.

  “Are we cool?” I ask.

  She nods. “Yeah, we’re cool.”

  “Good.” I reach for the remote to my TV and say, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have no interest in being downstairs right now. I’m going to take my pants off and watch some TV.”

  “Are you kicking me out?” she asks, a lift in her questioning eyebrow.

  “You’re more than welcome to stay, but watching season three of Ozark is as fun as it’s going to get in here.”

  “Ugh, you watch Ozark?”

  “Uh, you don’t?”

  “It’s so dark and the weird blue filtering depresses me.”

  I scratch the side of my jaw and flip the TV on. “Yeah, it is quite dark, hard to see sometimes.”

  She takes her shoes off and bounds toward the headboard. She cuddles into my side and rests her head on my shoulder. “Let’s watch something else.”

  “Uh . . . who said you could use me as a pillow?”

  “I did.” She snuggles in even closer and my body thrums with excitement from the combination of her soft scent and supple body curling into mine.

  Oh, and the fact that she’s practically twisted around the side of my body.

  Firm but soft breasts press into me.

  A long leg tangles over mine.

  A warm palm falls to my chest.

  Okay, yeah, I could get used to this.

  Didn’t expect the night to end with her nestled around me, but I’m not going to complain. I would do just about anything to keep her where she is. “If not Ozark, then what do you want to watch?”

  “Have you watched To All the Boys I Loved Before?”

  “Oh hell, no. Sorry, Nope. I’m not watching that high school love story.”

  She hauls herself up and stares down at me. “How do you know it’s high school?”

  “Uh . . . word on the street?” I ask in question. I’m so busted.

  “Oh my God, you watched it.”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  She points to the screen. “Then why is it under the row that says watch again?”

  “It’s my moms’ account,” I say with a smirk. Ha, thank you, moms.

  “Must I remind you that we’re being real with each other?” Her finger taps my chest and I groan in exasperation.

  “Fine. Hartley and I watched it one night. I don’t see what the big deal is about that Noah guy. He’s just a younger version of Mark Ruffalo.”

  “And Mark Ruffalo is the Hulk. So technically, Noah Centineo is Hulk’s offspring and if I were you, I’d be kind about Hulk’s offspring.”

  I stare at her, silently, and then turn back to the main screen. “There is no validity in that argument.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yup, now if you would like to watch something from a neutral party, then I will consider that.”

  “What do you consider a neutral party exactly?” she asks, her hair floating over her shoulders, framing her face, adding to her beauty by tenfold.

  I reach out and push her hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering on her cheek longer than they should. She doesn’t seem to mind as she stays still, waiting for me to answer. “Not something super girly, maybe something with Adam Sandler.”

  “But you watched To All the Boys I Loved Before. That’s girly.”

  I smirk and say, “I only watch those types of things with Hartley. It’s a bonding thing we do. Sorry, Mayhem.”

  Her smirk damn near kills me.

  “Fine, pick an Adam Sandler movie but can I please borrow a pair of shorts, because the ones I’m wearing are clawing up my ass.”

  “Can’t have that.” I point to my dresser. “Third drawer, take what you want.”

  “Thanks.” Her cute ass hops out of bed and she goes to my dresser while I find an Adam Sandler movie with Jennifer Aniston. That should work.

  I start the movie, and then look over at Indie just in time to see her drop her shorts, revealing a black lace thong.

  “Whoa, Indie, what are you doing?”

  “Changing,” she answers casually. “It’s just underwear.”

  That is not just underwear.

  That was . . .

  That was anything but just underwear.

  That was something I never should have seen, because now it’s imprinted on my brain, and there is no way I’ll be able to focus the rest of the night.

  She slips on my shorts and the hem falls down to her shins, the waist loose on her but she lets it just hang on her hips, showing off her midriff.

  Hell, her body is fine as fuck. Tight waist, long legs, and the perfect little bubble butt, probably from all the lunges she’s done in the past. She has an athletic body, and it’s one I want to climb all over and explore. She pulls a hair tie from the pocket of the shorts she just took off and I watch as she flips her head over, gathers all her silky brown hair, and then ties it into a long ponytail on the top of her head.

  “There,” she says, finding her comfort level. “Now if I could trust you not to be such a horndog, I’d take my bra off too, but I think we both know that is not going to happen.”

  I swallow hard and say, “I won’t be a horndog. Go ahead, take it off.”

  “Yeah, right.” She chuckles and hops into bed next to me. Once again, she snuggles into my side and I move my arm to embrace her. “Aren’t you going to take your pants off?”

  “Do you want me to take my pants off?”

  “You said that’s what you were going to do when I left. Don’t let me stop you.”

  Yeah, the only reason I still have my pants still on is because they’re containing my half hard-on. If I were in anything else but jeans, it would be way too noticeable.

  “I’m good, but your attempt at getting me naked is flattering.”

  The movie starts and we lie there together, watching, our breathing syncing.

  It’s nice.

  So much better than being downstairs with a bunch of inebriated asses trying to get drunk myself.

  No, I’ll take cuddling with Indie in my bed—as friends—over being downstairs any day.

  Her finger taps my chest and she says, “Deacon and I are just friends.”