The Stars Will Shine (13 page)

“I sing and play guitar,” he says, and my breath, embarrassingly enough, catches. Another step closer so that he can lean in by my ear, he lowers his voice until it’s deep and husky. “Does that turn you on?”

This forwardness—it’s purely because of last night and how he got me flustered with his striptease. He enjoyed it then, and he enjoys it now. Sure enough, in the long pause that follows, my skin hums with the heat of his proximity and warmth rolls through my spine, but this time I manage, not without effort, to push the evidence of his allure away.

I tell him, “I think maybe you already know the answer to that.” I’m not so immature that I can’t admit to some things, after all.

Aiden steps back and crosses his arms. Looks me over thoughtfully. “I think I do, but I’m not sure.” He laughs a little. “You’re kind of a mystery, you know that?”

I pick at my sleeve while avoiding his eyes. “I pride myself on that.”

“And I have a feeling,” he continues, “that either way, whether you’re interested in me or not, you’re going to reject me.”

“And I’d tell you that’s a really good guess.”

“I just don’t know why.”

“Well”—I take in a deep breath, but I don’t say anything more. Inside, I know the answer. I could have him…I could have his body and satisfy this physical attraction I feel to him as I did every other guy after Tommy. I could do it, and maybe he would let me. But there’s something more to Aiden that holds me back. Maybe it’s the authenticity in his eyes and in his smile when he looks at me that makes it so much harder to use him.

Aiden steps closer again, levelling his eyes with mine, and there resumes the thrumming in my skin, so much wilder now. As I struggle to hold hard the eyes that probe mine, exhilaration ripples through me. Without even touching me, his body reels me closer.

“One of these days, I’m going to crack your stone casing,” he says, his voice even lower now.

I want to look away—my mind begs it of me—but my body won’t let me. I look up at him instead, and with a voice that doesn’t quite sound like mine, I tell him, “And you’ll be disappointed to find that there’s no gold beneath. Not even fool’s gold. Just solid stone through and through.”

We stare at each other in silence for what feels like a whole minute before Aiden backs away. His lips curve up at one corner, but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“For someone that’s so hard to read, you’re kind of a terrible liar,” he says. And then, before I have a chance to reply, he’s gone, and the bells on the door are jingling in his wake.

Chapter Nine

I smirk when Dylan gives me the evil eye in his rearview mirror.

I’m sitting in the back of his car on the way to some party he and Aiden were invited to by one of my future classmates. It’s been weeks since I’ve had any alcohol, and I could really use it tonight.

You see, this afternoon after work I got a call from my brother Dave, who happily informed me that my father booked me a flight home for the third week of July.

“Why?” I sputtered.

“Because, favorite sister—”

“
Only
sister—”

“
I
am going to be home then, too. For Dad’s birthday.”

I couldn’t care less about my traitorous father’s birthday, but I haven’t seen my brother in about seven months, not that he ever expressed feelings of missing me until now. For a brief moment, I entertained the idea of reconnecting with my brother, of returning to how we were before I ever hooked up with Tommy, not that he had any clue about that whatsoever. But less than five minutes later, Dave texted me:

Your other big bro just agreed to come too! :)

The semi-excitement I felt…It imploded in an instant at those words, sucked toward something dark and bottomless. Because the “other big bro” my brother was referring to was none other than Tommy Higgins, the boy who tore my world apart.

So, yeah, don’t mind if I take some shots straight, down a few beers, lay waste to my mind so I don’t have to dread, for one night, the day I’ll have to face Tommy again.

“Cut it out you two,” Aiden orders. “You’re making me uncomfortable.” I’m still smirking scornfully at Dylan in the rearview mirror.

“Maybe if you hadn’t invited her,” Dylan says, shooting a pointed look at his friend, “the atmosphere in here would be more conducive to your comfort.” In the mirror, Dylan’s eyes flick to me again, and I bare my teeth at him.

“I didn’t realize it would be this big of a problem,” Aiden mutters. I watch him for a moment in the side mirror. He has the window down, his elbow resting on the ledge and his chin tucked into his palm. The last of the sunlight dances over his face as we pass by a row of tall trees.

I look out my own window. Rolls of clouds in the distance hint that a storm is sweeping in. The air feels like it, too, that coolness that consumes it right before the rain comes.

“Listen,” I say, speaking to Dylan, “I won’t bother you. I won’t embarrass you. I won’t even say a fucking word to you if you don’t want me to.” When I draw my gaze back to the mirror, he’s staring right at me. But this time, it isn’t quite the callous one he usually gives. I stare back for a long moment, and then we break it.

Neither of us says anything the rest of the drive, no matter how many conversations Aiden tries to start.

The party is in full swing when we arrive. The bass is turned up so high that every musical riff and drumbeat vibrates to my core. We’re at a house up in the rolling hills, surrounded by nothing but grass for miles on end, and every partygoer is taking advantage of the isolation. Girls are squealing; guys are shouting across the yard to each other; underage kids are drinking left and right, and I’m about to join them.

The girls here are dressed like they’re at a nightclub—super short, form-fitting dresses paired with tall pumps to make their bare legs look abnormally long. I, on the other hand, am rocking my Southwesterness in a tribal print crop top, white jeans shorts, and dark brown combat boots. I make my way to the wide-opened front door, where light from the inside spills out and silhouettes the bodies congregated on the porch. I don’t know where Dylan and Aiden head off to, but I figure it’s far away from me.

Fine by me. Tonight, I have one purpose and one purpose only: to lose my mind.

Which is why, when a burly footballer-esque guy hands me a red plastic cup, I don’t ask what’s in it; I don’t even hesitate when I tip the cup toward my mouth and down the contents. My throat is assaulted with a mix of coke and rum—though, let’s be honest, it’s more,
Would you like some coke with that cheap-ass rum?
I choke it down and have to use every ounce of will to keep it there, too, but I’m successful. For now.

“Damn, girl,” the guy says and flashes me a swaggering smile. “Let me get you another.” As soon as he disappears into the kitchen, I spin and dart for the next room over, which turns out to be a grand dining room. A long, polished dark wood table sits at its center, with a somewhat creepy antler chandelier hanging above it. A table liner, with a Native American black and maroon zigzag print that almost matches my top, has been thrown haphazardly into a corner, and instead the table is decorated with Solo cups at each end.

Beer Pong, no doubt.

A guy tosses a ping-pong ball, and it arches over the table and lands in one of the cups at the other end. He and the girl beside him throw up their arms and cheer. I watch them play for a few minutes, feeling the music pump through me, then push my way through the crowd of people to the next room. When I enter, the guy who went to get me another drink returns with said drink in hand, the contents sloshing over the rim when he spins around, looking for something. His eyes light up when he sees me.

“There you are! Thought I lost you in this crowd.”

Apparently that something is me.

He seems nice enough, if not a bit cocky, but I can’t decide if he’s really who I want to be with later in the night when, you know, I’m ready to rip someone’s clothes off.

“My name’s Paul, by the way.”

“Listen,” I say, when he eagerly thrusts the drink into my hands. The sides of the cup are sticky with juice and alcohol. “I’m not looking to hook up or anything.”
With you
, I add in my head as I swirl the contents of the cup.

“Oh.” Paul’s face falls for a moment, though he tries to hide it. He doesn’t want to look like a douchebag, after all. But then he asks, “Do you have a boyfriend or something?”

I press my tongue to my cheek. “Is that really the only form of rejection you’ll accept? No, I don’t have a boyfriend. I just don’t want you.” I shove past him, leaving behind the cup of mixed drink he brought me, which smelled strongly of orange juice and vodka.

Once in the kitchen, I grab my own cup and fill it to the brim with beer from the keg. I sip it while I stand there silently, watching the other people in the room go crazy. Some girl does a keg stand, and the guys holding her up holler wildly in approval. One of them is wearing a pair of those cheap plastic, neon green sunglasses and a striped tank top, the epitome of a West Coast douchebag.

My eyes settle on a large wine cabinet behind them, which another guy is on the verge of toppling into. It’s loaded with what looks like fancy bottles of reds. It’s locked too, which verifies the luxuriousness of its contents.

“How’s that piss taste?” The voice is right in my ear, and warm breath stirs the strands of hair there. Startled, I jerk away to get a look at the speaker.

“Oh,” I say with…Was that a relieved sigh? Aiden’s mouth quirks up a little, but it’s friendly, not smug. “It tastes like piss,” I say. He nods very seriously and slowly pulls a flask from his trouser pocket.

“Which is why I brought this.” Eyes twinkling, he unscrews the top and takes a deep swig, watching me with a conspirator’s gaze. When he lowers the flask, he tilts his head back, let’s his eyes half close, still watching me, and slowly blows out a breath like someone would a smoke ring. The scent of bourbon floats to me, and I don’t know if it’s that sweet, woody aroma or that I’m already a little buzzed or that Aiden looks so goddamn sexy making that face, but I find myself losing my balance and swaying just a little closer to him. His dark eyes brighten a fraction, and I study his face, my gaze roaming the planes of his cheekbones, trailing down his nose, settling too long on his parted lips…

I clear my throat and look elsewhere.
I only want to use you
, I warn him in my head.
I only want to use you.
A moment later, I feel a nudge at my arm. Aiden stands right at my side now, his elbow lightly tapping my arm, and he’s holding the flask over with his other hand, offering it to me.

I accept it, take a small sip, and hand it back.

As I swallow, I let my eyes fall closed.
God, that’s smooth.

He brings the flask back to his own lips, regarding me as he does so, and I see him smile around the top as he takes another swig.

“You like it,” he states, and sounds impressed. I shrug indifferently, but I guess my face gives away my desire for more.
He holds the flask out to me again.

“Nah, it’s yours,” I say.

He shakes his head and flashes a grin so wide my chest feels like there’s a riot inside.
I just want to use you
, I repeat.

“I’ll gladly share it with a girl that can drink it straight,” he says, leaning in close like he’s sharing a secret, “
and
appreciates it.”

We stand there for a while and pass the flask back and forth between us, not really talking, just watching all the drunk kids stagger through the kitchen with discarded morals. A girl, way past wasted, stumbles up to us, presses a palm to each of our chests, and gives us this look like she needs to tell us something really important. Aiden glances to her hand on my chest and grins brightly. I cut him a half-hearted glare.

The girl moves her hands to our heads and pulls us all together. “Yewtwo” she slurs. “Youguyz are an adorblible cup”—
hiccup
—“couple.”

“Oh, we’re not a—”

But she shushes me and hums to the music while swaying us back and forth so we’re dancing in a threesome.

“Yewtwo shud geh married.” And then she falls forward onto me and starts snoring.
Perfect
. I transmit Aiden a look for help, but he only stands there, laughing.

“Aiden!” I say, but I can’t help laughing, too. “C’mon, get her off of me. I can’t hold her up anymore.” And it’s true. She weighs more than me, and she’s currently in a state of dead weight. In her drunken slumber, I’m a cuddly pillow; she’s got her arms wrapped around my neck and her face plastered to my chest.

“But I’m really enjoying this,” Aiden says. I groan, and Aiden takes it as his cue to finally assist. He untwines the girl from my neck and tosses her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry as if she weighs nothing. I straighten my shirt, a bit breathless, and watch him carry her from the kitchen, her head lightly bobbing against his lower back each time he takes a step.

He returns a few minutes later. “Stuck her in a bed.”