*
An hour later my teeth were rattling from the bass pumping through Knox Hoyle’s home, a massive ranch-style house that reeked of oil money from the stone facade to the shrubs that were manicured into evenly spaced orbs and planted along the circle drive. I peered up at the vaulted ceilings, feeling instantly underdressed. I wondered how anyone could live in a place where they felt awkward wearing sweatpants.
Cassidy, on the other hand, surveyed the place like this was her natural domain. “Hang on. I’ll get us all a round of drinks,” she said, then took off toward a back door.
Adam and I stood a couple of feet inside the entryway, staring at our shoes and looking conspicuous. “So, uh, this is what it’s like to have money.” I stared up at the dangling chandelier. Crystals quivered from the beat of the music.
“I don’t like dead things hanging from walls,” Adam said matter-of-factly.
A deer head stared out at the party from its place over the mantel. Near a set of towering bookcases, Mr. Hoyle had hung the shaggy head of a buffalo, and across the room, another antlered animal—maybe an antelope—had reached its final destination nailed to a mahogany plaque. Each had hard marble eyes that reflected the flashing blades of the ceiling fans.
“I don’t like white furniture,” I said, noting an entire living room upholstered in cream. “I get the urge to throw drinks on it. Seriously, don’t let me near that stuff.”
Adam dipped a hand into a bowl in the foyer and pulled out a red chip. He took a bite and then spat it back out into the bowl. “I don’t like that stuff.”
“I think that’s potpourri. You’re not supposed to like it. You’re supposed to smell it.”
Adam picked up the glass bowl and held it up to his face, where he scrunched his nose. “Oh, nice.”
I lifted my eyebrows. “Look at us. A couple of party animals. Watch out, next we’ll be sampling the room spray.”
Knox swaggered down a white marble corridor toward us, clutching a bottle of vodka by the neck. “You know, at a party, you’re supposed to actually venture into the party. That place where the other people congregate?” Knox had changed into a pair of rumpled khakis and a collared shirt that poked out from underneath a gray sweater. His freshly showered hair was darker than its standard wheat hue.
I stuffed my hands in my pockets and rocked back onto my heels. “Beautiful home. Adam and I were just saying.”
Adam still clutched the glass bowl like he was about to take a long drink of dried flowers. “I thought you hated the furniture.”
Knox narrowed his eyes, took a swig from the bottle, and then shook off the burn. “Guess there’s no accounting for taste,” he said, casting a look from me to Adam and then back to me. “Obviously.”
“Right. Anyway, great party. Really top-notch.” I gave him an awkward thumbs-up. Not even a minute in and I was already wishing that Owen had decided to party-crash. Screw the no-invite rule. Besides, Knox gave me the creepy crawlies.
His eyes flashed, snakelike. “Better with a little of this.” He shook the bottle of vodka. “Strong enough to ward off serial killers, I hear.”
“That doesn’t sound scientific at all. And thanks, but Cassidy’s on drink duty, anyway. There she is.” I pointed at no one in particular and grabbed Adam by the arm.
“I’ll come find you later, Tor,” Knox called after me, and for some reason, it sounded like a threat.
Deeper into the Hoyles’ house, the music grew more earsplitting. I found a spot where I could move in a two-foot radius without bumping elbows with someone spilling beer on me. I pressed my fingers into my temples, trying to drown out the music that was pounding around in my skull. I pulled Adam down to my eye level, speaking close to make sure he could hear me. “Listen, I don’t think alcohol’s a good idea tonight. We don’t know how it’ll affect you, and I don’t think the time to experiment is now.” I dropped my voice low. “Right after a game. If you know what I mean. We’re going to be here for one hour. Tops.”
I glanced back toward the door where more people were pouring in. Red cups had been set up on the dining room table, and guys were tossing Ping-Pongs into them before downing the contents of each cup. I felt the worried pull of my forehead. “Can you promise me you won’t drink?”
He put his hand on my shoulder. Half his mouth swooped into a smile. Leftover black paint smudged his cheeks. Adam Smith, whoever he was, really was kind of adorable. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“You’re learning,” I said, and felt the gleam in my eye.