I press my lips together. He has a point. Sort of. “What will I wear?”
Immediately a triumphant smile crosses his face and his eyes light up. “Anything. It’s not the same kinda party as Austin’s. This one’s more…chill. You could turn up in a pair of sweats and you wouldn’t be out of place.”
“Chill?” I arch a brow again. A bunch of ideas float around my mind.
“Yeah,” he says. “Are you up for some predrinks while you’re getting ready? My stash is running a little low, because Mom’s constantly searching my room, so all I got is beer and some Jack and a little vodka. You know what, I’ll surprise you.” He smiles. And it’s a genuine smile, not a sarcastic one and not a smirk, without a single trace of egoism.
He heads back through to his own room, leaving me baffled. For someone who hates me so much, he seems pretty persistent that I attend this “chill” party with him. But as long as he isn’t muttering insults at me or shooting death glares in my direction every so often, I don’t mind. And if accompanying him is what it takes to get on his good side, then so be it. I like the softer side of him he’s briefly shown me and I hope he’ll remain in a good mood for the night, because I think I might just find him less annoying and more likable if he does. It’s a chance I’m willing to take.
Thankfully, I’ve already showered. Midafternoon, I got so bored that I resorted to watching hair tutorials on YouTube and trying to follow along, only to be greatly disappointed when my results looked nothing like all those British beauty gurus promised me. Eventually I found one that worked, so my hair has been in a cute messy updo for the entire night, so I consider it done and ready to go.
“I’ll probably be ready in twenty minutes,” I tell Tyler when he waltzes into my room, two drinks in his hands, one a bottle of Bud Light, the other a glass of what appears to be Coke.
“No problem,” he says as he hands me the glass, his cold fingers brushing mine. I flinch at his touch, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Here.”
“Vodka and Coke?” I guess.
“Yeah,” he says, almost sheepishly, as he pops off the cap of his beer on the edge of my dresser. “Always a safe bet. You like it, right? If you want beer, I can get you some—”
“This is fine,” I gently cut in. He’s rambling a little. “I like it.”
“Okay, good,” he mumbles. Tilting his head back, he takes a long swig of his beer and then glances around my room. “Just, uh, come get me when you’re ready.”
“Are you guys drinking?”
Both my head and Tyler’s snap over to my open door to find Jamie staring back at us, his expression glum as his eyes run over the drinks in our hands. Tyler tries to hide his behind his back, but he’s fifteen seconds too late.
“No,” he lies as keeps the bottle out of view, despite how pointless it is. His tone is gentle. “You know we’re not twenty-one. Why would we be drinking?”
“I can see it right there,” Jamie points out, and he nods his head at the glass I’m still holding. “Does Mom know?”
Tyler places a hand on the back of his neck as he strains it to one side. “It’s only a little. Can you give us some space?”
“Twenty bucks,” Jamie says, but there’s a mischievous grin playing on his lips as he holds out his hand. He blinks at Tyler with an expectant look in his eyes.
“I gave you thirty the other day,” Tyler claims. Nonetheless, he places his beer on my dresser and reaches into the back pocket of his jeans to pull out his wallet. “Because you wanted that video game, remember? Don’t think that I forgot, because I haven’t.”
“Hmm.” Jamie thinks for a moment. “I’ll take ten then.”
Tyler’s laughing. It makes me wonder if they do this a lot: Tyler buying Jamie’s silence. “Fine, ten.” He passes Jamie a ten-dollar bill and then gently pushes his head away with the quick flick of his wrist. “Now get outta here.”
Jamie brushes Tyler’s hand away. Stuffing the bill into his pocket, he quickly darts across the hall and back into his own room, calling, “I would have taken five.”
Tyler chuckles and reaches for his beer to take a long swig. He swallows it with a sigh. “Kid treats me like an ATM.” He turns his smile on me and then edges out onto the landing. “Get ready,” he says.
I close the door after him and then drift into my bathroom. After freshening up and applying a not-too-heavy layer of makeup, I pull on a pair of skinny jeans and a tank top with a red hoodie thrown over my shoulders. After all, Tyler implied I would be out of place if I made too much effort, so I’m relieved that I can wear Converse this time rather than heels.