“What’s the big deal? You really wanna go get limes?” Snake laughs as though he’s mocking how pathetic I must sound and he turns for the speakers, resting his elbows on the worktop as he starts to play around with the settings, attempting to connect his phone. “You’re better off here, where you can get a head start.” He gives the pile of alcohol a sideways glance.
I’m just about to roll my eyes, but suddenly his words give me an idea. A head start. Exactly. A head start is beneficial to me, only it’s not the kind that Snake’s thinking of.
“I’m gonna go get ready.” Grinning, I spin around and make my way out of the kitchen and through the living room, barely giving Snake a second glance as I slip into Tyler’s room.
“Already?” he yells, but I don’t reply. I’ve already shut the door.
I’m still smiling to myself, and I’m feeling pleased because I already know exactly what I’m going to wear. It’s the one thing every girl owns and it’s the one thing I made sure to pack—a little black dress. A necessity. Ella helped me pick it out a few months back while telling me that it would be sure to impress Dean. Ironically, I’m now wearing it to impress her son.
Slipping the dress over my arm, I grab some more of my things and make my way back into the living room, weaving my way around Snake as I claim the shower before he can. If I’ve learned anything over the past two weeks, it’s that it takes forever for four people to get ready when there’s only one shower available. Sometimes Snake even gives up entirely.
“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” he asks as I pass.
“Totally sure,” I say.
I dart into the bathroom and ensure the door is locked behind me—I even double-check, just to be sure—and get myself freshened up. I go all out, using my most lavish body wash and my most expensive perfume, all in a pathetic attempt at outdoing Emily. I know I shouldn’t stoop to this, but I can’t think of anything better. Emily has that accent. Her hair looks softer than mine. She’s shy in a way that makes her seem nicer than me. She’s intelligent. And, more importantly, she seems to have Tyler’s attention more often than I do. The only thing I can do is resort to my little black dress.
I only spend fifteen minutes in the bathroom once I decide not to wash my hair, making my way back into the kitchen only once I smell like vanilla and my legs are smooth. I’m wrapped in nothing but a towel, but it doesn’t even bother me as I brush past Snake once more, my dress over my arm again. I’m too afraid to let it out of my sight.
“They’re not back yet?” I call over my shoulder just before I reach Tyler’s room.
“Nope.” Snake pops his lips on the “p” and shrugs. Still drinking that Bud Light. Still listening to that same music that I’ve never heard before.
I click Tyler’s bedroom door shut behind me and carefully lay the dress down on his bed, worried I might crease it. I’m glad that Tyler and Emily aren’t back yet. The more time I have, the better. If Tyler saw me right now then my pathetic attempt at grabbing his attention would be ruined. Unless, of course, I dropped my towel a little lower.
God, Eden. I shake my head at myself and turn for my makeup bag, perched safely on Tyler’s bedside table. I drop down to the floor, crossing my legs and edging close to his mirrored closet doors, and I start. I can hear Snake increasing the volume of the music from the kitchen and it soon becomes loud and clear enough for me to hear it through Tyler’s closed bedroom door. I might not have heard the music before, but it’s not half bad. Slightly indie, but mainly rockish. I nod my head in sync with the guitars, which results in some uneven applying of my makeup. I go for dramatic but not too heavy. I spend most of my time working on my eyes, concentrating carefully on creating the perfect smokey eye, but it doesn’t quite end up the way I hoped it would. It’s enough, though, and once I’ve convinced myself that I look nice, I turn my attention to my hair.
That’s another task altogether. It’s been thrown up into an extremely messy bun all day, and when I try to take it down I discover it’s matted and horrifically tangled. I have no option but to sheepishly video call Rachael. Thankfully, she answers, but I’m pretty sure she wishes she hadn’t once she sees the mess I’ve gotten my hair into. She gasps for a while, but eventually talks me through the steps necessary to convert my hair into a subtle, sexy updo.
“So how’s life in the city?” she asks. She’s observing me through the screen as I follow her instructions, carefully attempting to pin back the specific strands of hair she’s told me to.