When I look up, Shawn and Adam are walking toward the keg. Toward me.
There are two ways this can go. I can pretend to be confident, offer to pour their beers for them, smile and start a normal conversation so I can say what I need to say, or—nope! I drop the tap, nearly twist my ankles in a supersonic twirl, and bite my lip all the way to a secluded spot that doesn’t feel nearly secluded enough.
“What the hell was that?” Kale asks breathlessly from behind me.
“I think I’m having an allergic reaction,” I say through a throat that feels too thick.
Kale laughs and pushes me. I stumble forward as he says, “I did not come all this way to watch you turn into some kind of girl.”
With my lip still pinned between my teeth, I glance back toward the direction we came and see Shawn and Adam, beers in hand, slip inside the house through the patio door.
“What am I supposed to say?” I ask.
“Whatever you need to,” Kale says, and then he circles behind me and nudges me toward the door again.
In a daze, I continue walking forward, my feet eating the long distance step by step by step. I don’t even realize that Kale hasn’t followed until I turn around and he’s not there. My Solo cup is empty, but I cling to it like it’s a security blanket, avoiding eye contact with everyone around me and pretending I know where I’m going. I navigate a narrow path through a few familiar faces from school, but not many seem to recognize me, and the ones that do just kind of raise an eyebrow before going back to ignoring me.
Everyone from school knows my older brothers. Everyone. Bryce was on the football team before he decided getting into trouble was more important than a scholarship. Mason, two years older than Bryce, is infamous for breaking the school’s record for number of suspensions. And Ryan, a year and a half older than Mason, was a record-shattering track star back in his day and remains a legend. All of them straddle this weird line between treating me like one of the guys and acting like I’m coated in porcelain.
I find myself looking for Bryce, desperately wanting to see a familiar face, when I spot Shawn instead. He’s sitting in the middle of the couch in the living room, Joel Gibbon on one side and some chick I instantly hate on the other. I’m frozen in place when some idiot slams into me from behind.
“Hey!” I shout over the music, whirling around as the jerk leans on me to steady himself.
“Shit! I’m—” Bryce’s eyes lock with mine, and he starts laughing, wrapping his hands around my shoulders to steady himself in earnest now. “Kit! I forgot you were here!” He beams like a happy lush, and I scowl at him. “Where’s Kale?”
“By the keg out back,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest instead of helping my drunk-ass older brother stay on his feet.
His brows turn in with confusion as he finally finds his balance. “What’re you doing in here by yourself?”
“Needed to pee,” I lie with practiced ease.
“Oh, want me to take you to the bathroom?”
I’m about to chew him out for treating me like a baby when one of his on-again, off-again girlfriends sidles up next to him and asks him to get her a beer.
“I think I can find my way to the bathroom, Bryce,” I finally scoff, and he studies me through a glassed-over gaze before agreeing.
“Okay.” He eyes me some more and then unties the over-sized flannel from around my waist and man-handles my arms into it. He pulls it closed over my chest and nods to himself like he’s just safeguarded national security. “Okay, don’t get into trouble, Kit.”
I roll my eyes and take my flannel back off as soon as he walks away, but then I regret dismissing him so quickly when I find myself standing alone in a crowded room. I root myself to a spot by a massive gas fireplace and pretend to drink an empty beer while trying not to look awkward, which is probably useless considering I’m spying on Shawn from afar like a freaking creeper.
What the hell was I thinking coming here tonight? He’s surrounded. He’s always surrounded. He’s amazing and popular and way out of my league. The blonde sitting beside him looks like she was born to be a cut-out advertisement propped in front of Abercrombie & Fitch. She’s hot and girly and probably smells like fucking daffodils and . . . is standing up to leave.
The spot next to Shawn opens up, and before I can chicken out, I rush across the room and dive ass-first into it.