Nolan could envision Beau when they were forty years old—unchanged, the eternal playboy. Nolan would be married with children and Uncle Beau would come over on Sundays to eat pot roast and play in the yard with his kids.
“I thought we were going to study together tomorrow,” Priscilla reminded in a singsong voice, as though that would somehow lessen her judgment.
“We will,” he promised.
She nodded and sipped from her straw as they headed outside.
His sister and friends walked ahead of them. Nora and Reed waved good night and headed for their car.
Priscilla started talking about everything they needed to review, and it all felt so very safe and uninteresting. Like most of his nights.
He wondered if Hayden Vargas wasn’t maybe a little right about him. If he wasn’t typical. Predictable. Boring.
Lesson #6
Anything can happen at A party . . . and it usually does.
x Beau x
Beau lifted his lips from the girl he was kissing. He brushed his fingers over her cheek and spoke quietly, kindly. “Hey, I’m going to head downstairs, Chloe.” A gentle voice always softened the sting. She was cute, but she tasted of cigarettes, and he didn’t smoke . . . and he didn’t like kissing girls who did.
“Caroline,” she corrected with a pout, her fingers crawling up his chest like a spider. “I’ll come with you.”
When he’d gone upstairs it hadn’t been to hook up with anyone, but then he’d bumped into Chloe—er, Caroline. She was a sophomore in his health class and she plastered herself to him and one thing led to another, and now he was under her in a giant beanbag chair in the rec room.
Not that the distraction was unwelcome.
He’d taken himself upstairs after the awkwardness of the media room. He wanted some space from Emmaline. He couldn’t believe he’d walked in there with her. With Emmaline of all people. He shuddered.
He might be known for his exploits, but he wasn’t the kind of guy who watched porn at a party. That kind of thing didn’t strike him as a collective activity, and he definitely didn’t want to watch something like that in the company of his best friend’s little sister. That was just gross.
To add to the creepy factor, he’d looked from bouncing boobs on the big screen to Emmaline’s cleavage.
It had been a knee-jerk reaction. He blamed it on the shock of walking in on hot, writhing, naked bodies. That big screen was bigger than his bedroom wall. It was a lot to take in. And there was Emmaline . . . wearing that snug sweater. That was a lot to take in as well. He’d never seen her wear anything like that . . . anything so . . . fitted. At least, he had never noticed before.
He’d noticed tonight.
Emmaline’s face had turned beet red and she’d run from the room, proving it wasn’t just an awkward moment for him. She’d been mortified, too.
She didn’t go to many parties and mostly stayed in with her friends. He shook his head. That would probably keep her from venturing out for a while. Not a bad thing. Emmaline was good. Too good. She didn’t need to be tainted by all this.
Caroline latched onto his hand as they descended the stairs, Beau leading the way. He guessed she hadn’t gotten the hint. When he said he wanted to go downstairs, he’d meant he wanted to go downstairs without her.
“Hey, Beau!” Dorian waved at him as soon as he touched down on the first floor.
Beau wound his way through, extricated his hand from Caroline’s, and fist-bumped Dorian. “Hey, man.”
“Hey.” Dorian’s gaze skimmed over Caroline appraisingly. “Who’s your friend?”
“Hey, I’m Caroline.” She stepped forward, smiling widely as she put herself between Beau and Dorian.
“Caroline.” Dorian looked down at her with interest. “Are you a freshman? Haven’t seen you around.”
“Sophomore.” She pulled back her shoulders indignantly. “I’m not a baby.”
“I can see that.” Dorian lifted his cup and drank. His eyes met Beau’s questioningly over the rim. It was Dorian’s way of asking if Beau and Caroline were a thing . . . if he was crossing a line in flirting with her.
Beau answered with a shrug.
Dorian didn’t have to worry. Beau flirted and fooled around, but he didn’t feel possessive or overly attached to any single girl. He was young. Too young to be in a relationship. He didn’t want to tie himself down like that. He saw the way Nolan was chained to Priscilla . . . accountable to her for everything he did. No thanks. Beau wanted no part of that.
“Cops! Cops out front!” someone yelled, and the house broke into instant chaos. Cups of beer hit the floor.
Beau shook his head. He thought the party had at least another hour before it got shut down. Everyone pushed toward the front door, shouting like they were a bunch of swimmers in shark-infested waters.
Still shaking his head, Beau turned for the double French doors that opened out into the backyard. Fewer bodies headed in that direction. It was the path of least resistance and it made the most sense. Panicked teenagers under the influence of alcohol weren’t known for good decisions.
He strolled outside and located the back gate. Beau always knew how to avoid tricky situations.
Soon he was headed down the street, hands buried in his pockets, leaving a house full of teenagers and several flashing cop cars behind.
Lesson #7
Always have a plan, but know that no plan is etched in stone.
x Hayden x
Hayden’s morning started out normal enough. Like any other Monday. She woke up at her usual time, showered, dressed, and grabbed a Pop-Tart from the box she kept in her room—definitely not in the kitchen where any one of her mom’s friends could help themselves.
It was the same as any other morning.
Except when she stepped outside, she immediately saw that her car was blocked.
Joann, one of her mom’s friends, had crashed at their place, and it was impossible to rouse either one of them from their alcohol-induced comas. God knew what they’d done. Copious amounts of alcohol, definitely. Possibly more than that.
Hayden had heard them come in last night. Or rather, this morning. The clock read 3:57 a.m. when she’d glanced up at it. They hadn’t exactly been quiet. Knocking into furniture. Laughing uproariously.
Hayden had fallen back asleep. Just another day—or night—in her house.
Maybe if she hadn’t been so groggy at four in the morning, it would have occurred to her that they had likely pulled in behind her in the driveway.
She shook her mom’s shoulder. Hard. “Mom!”
Nothing. For a moment, she debated tossing a glass of water in her face, but decided she valued her life too much.
She turned to Joann, who was passed out on the mattress with her feet at the head of the bed. “Joann!”
Mom stirred for half a minute, lifting her hand. She was hanging half off the bed, the ends of her hair brushing the flattened carpet. She fumbled around on the floor until she came in contact with a shoe. Seizing it, she launched it at Hayden, striking her in the hip.
“G’way!” Mom mumbled. “Sleepin’.”
With a sigh of disgust, she searched the house until she unearthed Joann’s keys. Rushing outside, she pulled the little hatchback out of the driveway, all the while holding her breath inside the car. It smelled like an ashtray.