by Brooke Moss
I grunted. “No, I’m—”
“Aubrey, right? Glad you came.” Preston nodded at me. “Do you want a beer?”
Liza’s smile faltered. “She’s my DD. But I do!”
I shifted in place. His gaze was heavy, and it made me want to kick him in the shins. Or purr. One of the two. “Aubrey Snow.”
His full lips pulled back, revealing that prize-winning smile. Somebody give that boy a blue ribbon. “That explains a lot.” Preston took Liza’s hand. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to my friend, Becker. This is his step-dad’s cabin.”
“Hey, wait.” I shoved my way through the crowd of partygoers. The scent of barbequed burgers and beer were heavy in the air, as we rounded the side of the house and strode onto a wraparound deck which faced the water. “What explains a lot?”
“You’re kind of an ice queen,” Preston replied, pulling my best friend along. “Get it? Snow? Ice? By the way, you smell great, Liza.”
“Thanks!” she squealed.
“Ice queen? Are you kidding?” I had to take two steps to keep up with one of theirs. Curse Liza and her long legs. “Need I remind you that you buy flowers every other day, for a different—”
“For my mother? I know. She loves them.” Preston pointed to a group of guys pumping drinks from a row of bright silver kegs. “Thirsty, Liza?” When she nodded with enthusiasm, he glanced over his shoulder at me. “You’re driving home?”
“Sooner rather than later,” I blurted. “And I’m not an ice queen. Those flowers weren’t for your mother, either.”
Liza’s brows pinched close together. “Aubrey, please.”
The back door swung open, hitting the cedar shake with a bang. A guy with dark hair emerged in a cloud of pungent smoke. “Oh, look,” Preston called. “Hey, Jer, your date’s here.”
With a whoop, my date trotted over. He smelled like he’d started drinking at least eleven hours ago. “Where’s the hottie?”
Preston punched him in the shoulder. “Snow White, here.”
Jeremy looked at me and his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Cute. But sort of emo. You from around here?” When I nodded, he grunted, “Figures.”
Liza nudged me. “Say hi, Aubrey.”
I glared at her. “Can we just leave?”
Jeremy’s eyes examined Liza from head to toe before he turned back to Preston. “Trade ya?”
CHAPTER FOUR
An hour into the party, and I was ready to do three things:
1) Kick Jeremy—who’d ditched me the first chance he got, and was presently making out with a girl on the kitchen counter—right in the balls.
2) Knock Preston and Liza into the lake for abandoning me in a crowd I didn’t know. They went down to the boathouse where people were playing beer pong, leaving me at the cabin with nobody to talk to.
3) Go home and put a bag over my head. When Jeremy had asked Preston to trade dates for the night, it’d set off an unpleasant chain of events that seemed to reinforce why I hated parties.
First, a beer was spilled down my arm by a couple so involved in their grinding session, I was almost certain they’d need a doctor for chafing. Then when I’d used the second floor bathroom, a guy without a shirt on burst in and took my picture with a Polaroid camera while I was buttoning my shorts. As he’d left the room, he’d thrown his arms up and screamed, “Summer 2018!” before falling down the stairs. When I’d texted Liza, asking her if we could leave, she’d promptly written back: Don’t B so lame 2nite, k?
I’d plopped down on the deck steps, pissed off and wanting Liza to come to her senses. I wanted to get back to town while there was still a touch of daylight left, and the sun was quickly sinking into the hills. While I’d sat there, observing the beach through the trees to make sure I didn’t see my friend taking off into the woods alone with Preston, two girls I’d never met before—wearing matching tube tops—had the following conversation with me:
Girl one: “So, like, do you live here year around?”
Me: “Yup.”
Girl two: “Here? Like, in this state?”
Me: “Uh, yeah. Right here in Idaho.”
Girl one: (Giggling) “You-da-ho? No, she-da-ho!” (Points at her twinsie.)
Girl two: (Feigning offense) “Idaho? No, she-da-ho!” (Points down at me.)
Girl one: (Snorting beer through her nose.) “That’s not very nice, Madison.”
Girl two: (Legitimately offended that I wasn’t amused by their comedy act.) “Like, seriously? Get it? Idaho? It’s funny.”
Pushing myself off of the step, I shoved past them and went down to the beach to retrieve Liza. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard that joke, and likely wouldn’t be the last. In fact, I fully expected to hear it again if I stayed much longer. It was time to go home. Like, seriously.
“Liza?” I called, approaching the groomed sand of the private beach. Preston sat alone in an Adirondack chair facing the waves, a pensive look on his face as he twisted a water bottle in the sand next to his feet. The sun peeked out from between the mountains, casting a goldish glow on his face. I stomped up, spraying his hand with sand. “Hey, Frat Boy. Where’s my friend?”
He took his focus off of the lake, and settled it on me. Damn it all to hell if those eyes weren’t beautiful, not that I would tell him. “I’m not your friend, Snow White?”
I jutted my jaw out at him defiantly. “Where’s Liza?”
His face hardened, and he gestured behind me. “She sure likes to party.”
I whirled around. There, in the open sided boathouse, my best friend was being held upside down above a keg while a group of guys chanted her name. Her hair was hanging in sweaty strands, and the side of her panties were visible. Groaning, I tromped over with Preston close behind. “Way to watch out for your date, you jerk.”
He matched my pace. “I stayed down here, didn’t I? Made sure everyone was behaving, and all that crap.”
“Chivalry is not dead,” I snapped.
Preston doubled his pace to keep up with me. “Hey, I’m watching over her even though she ditched me. That counts.”
I scoffed. “Yeah. You’re a regular Prince Charming.”
“Well, I did ask you out first, Snow White,” he reminded me with a cheeky grin.
“Further proof that anyone would’ve done the trick.” I blew at my sweaty bangs. “Which is why I didn’t tell Liza.”
I stopped just short of the open threshold into the boathouse to observe the scene inside. He halted next to me, and rested his arm on a support beam casually before leaning close to my ear in a sickening display of machismo. “Does it look like she would’ve been torn up about it?”
I didn’t answer. Liza was clearly smashed and lavishing in all of the attention Preston’s friends were giving her. When the group of guys lowered her to the floor, she swayed in place and grinned demurely. With a giggle, she gazed at one through her thick eyelashes like a Playboy Bunny.
“I’m gonna kill her,” I muttered under my breath. The night was a bust. I should’ve just let her go out with Preston alone, and let her get played by the playa. It’s the only way she would learn.
“Well, don’t freak out. I’ll get her.” Preston stepped into the boathouse, only to be met with rousing cheers and slaps on his back.
I folded my arms across my chest. “Good lord, it’s not like he’s back from the war.”
A pink-cheeked, ginger guy shuffled past me. “Lighten up, babe. If he didn’t want you, then someone else will.” He had an equal neck-to-head ratio, making him look like a giant thumb. He hiccupped. “You can come up to my room to pass the time if you want.”
My mouth dropped. “Who are you?”
“Josh Becker.”
“Becker?” I looked up the hill at the posh cabin. “This is your party, right?” When he nodded proudly, I added, “Did you seriously just ask me up to your bedroom?”
He burped. “Guess so. I’m… I dunno, horny.”
My palm landed on my forehead with a sma
ck. “Of all the nights I should’ve driven myself—”
“What are you hitting yourself for, Snow White?” Preston approached, holding Liza upright. Her feet were pointed inward, and one of her eyes was slightly crossed.
“Seriously, Liza?” Groaning, I reached for her hand. “I told you not to get drunk.”
“It’s a kegger,” Thumb-head pointed out, sniggering at his own wittiness. “What did you expect?”
Pulling Liza toward me, I turned to leave. “Date’s over, Preston. Go find someone else to hook up with tonight.”
“Wow.” When Preston laughed, the sound was deep and smooth, as if he moonlighted as a radio deejay. “I’m not looking to hook up with anyone—”
“Yes, he is! Wallingford’s a god, man!” Becker released a war cry that sounded like a hound dog, before flopping down on the boathouse steps. “Dude, I’ve got the spins.”
I looked up at Preston and my throat constricted. Those damned eyes. “Do you think I’m an idiot?”
“Not at all.” Preston looked down at his friend. “Is Becker your new boyfriend?”
“Shut up,” I snarled. “He just asked… I mean, he came up and… ugh. Never mind. Liza, come on, we have to go.”
He used his toe to nudge Thumb-head’s leg. “Becks? Hey, guys! Becker’s fading. Someone should get him some water.”
The crowd turned and cheered their approval of the host’s inebriation. I rolled my eyes, and stumbled sideways as Liza threw her weight at me. “Preston, can you stop being a loser for, like, five seconds and help me walk Liza to the car? We’re going home.”
One of his eyebrows rose. “Loser? Wow. Strong words from the ice queen.”
“Go to hell.” I shoved past him. “Liza, walk please.”
“I can’t…” she announced slowly. Her lip-gloss was smeared as she slow blinked at me. I knew Liza very well, and passing out was imminent. “The ground is shwaying.”
“Who’s Liza?” Someone in the boathouse asked.
Preston put his arm around my best friend’s waist. “Let’s go.”
I bit back a snide remark, because I needed his help. Well, that and the fact Preston wasn’t nearly as much as a jerk as I’d originally thought. Not that I would tell him.
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
“Anytime, Snow—”
“Stop calling me that.” We began to climb the wooden steps leading up to the cabin. The sound of bass was throbbing from the open windows now, and I knew it was just a matter of time before a neighbor called the cops to complain. “I’m not laughing.”
“You should try it. It feels good.” He used his free hand to steady Liza’s gait. “And I’m sort of cute. At least, Liza thinks so. But so are you.”
I helped him maneuver Liza onto the back deck. “Don’t try to sweet talk me, just because your date is only semi-conscious.”
“I’m not. What does that even mean?” He grinned at me as we passed through a clump of partygoers. “Look at yourself. You’re super pale. You’ve got the dark Uma Thurman Pulp Fiction hair thing happening. It’s cool. A very modern day Snow White.”
“Lay it on thick, why don’t you?” His arm brushed mine, and I jumped away from the touch, pretending my insides hadn’t tied themselves into knots.
“I want summore of that yummy Schnapps.” Liza’s face was red and her smile was lopsided. I’d seen this before. She was about ten minutes from being on the ground with Thumb-head.
“No, you’ve had enough,” I told her, patiently.
Preston glanced at me. “Sort of a lightweight, isn’t she?”
“Just your type, I would imagine.” I shouldered my way through a clump of twerking blondes. “We’re out of here.”
Liza teetered. “I don’t want to go.”
“Why don’t you go home with your friend,” Preston offered her. “And I’ll text you tomorrow.”
“But our date’s just getting started,” she whined. Her boobs hit his chest with a bounce, and I rolled my eyes. “I wanna play quarters.”
The cockiness washed off of Preston’s face as he struggled to steady my friend. “She’s in rough shape. Are her parents cool? Will she get in trouble when you take her home like this?”
“No. They’re not cool, which is why she’s coming home with me.” I dodged a throw pillow that flew past my head as we shuffled through the living room. “I get it. Now that Liza’s of no use to you, you want her gone.”
“I didn’t say that.” His brow furrowed. “Listen, Becker’s parties get crazy, and—”
“I’m not stupid,” I snapped. “Do you expect me to think you’re gallant by sending her home? I made her bouquet, remember? I’ve arranged all the flowers you bought this summer.”
He winced. “There weren’t that many.”
“Right.” Liza’s head flopped to my shoulder, and I spat her hair out of my mouth. “Now that she’s trashed, you’re done with her.”
He nodded like I was stupid. “Well, yeah. I don’t want to hang with an inebriated girl. Slutty? Eager? Sort of dumb? Sure. But too drunk to stand? Pass. I’m not a monster.”
“Yeah, you’re a regular gentleman.” I made our way toward the front door with Liza wobbling along beside me. “Sorry, Pres. Gotta go.”
She held up her hand in the shape of a phone. “Call me.”
Preston’s eyebrows rose. “Uh, okay.”
I could tell by the tone of his voice he wouldn’t. “I wouldn’t hold my breath, Li.”
“What?” She hiccupped. “Why?”
“He’s not into you. Right, Prince Charming?”
Preston’s chiseled face blushed. “No… well, yeah. I guess. Snow White.”
“Figures.” I pushed Liza upright, then cursed when she flopped back against me. “Ugh, stand up straight.” Glaring up at Preston, I snarled, “Is this what happens on all your dates?”
He adjusted his hold on Liza’s other arm. “No. I wasn’t even drinking.”
“I should’ve stayed with you,” I muttered, stepping past a couple pressed against the doorjamb. “Should’ve followed you guys down to the beach, instead of sitting up on that deck alone all night—”
“You’re not her nanny, for hell’s sake,” he interrupted. “Listen, I’m really sorry.”
I was surprised. Pretty Rich Boy proved he had a moral compass. Digging in my pocket, I found Liza’s keys. “It… it’s fine.”
He helped me shuffle a giggling Liza down the front steps. “And you’re taking her to your house?”
I didn’t look at him. “I can’t take her home drunk. She can sleep it off at my place and go home tomorrow.”
I could feel him watching the side of my face. “You’re a good friend.”
“You don’t even know me,” I hissed, side stepping a dancing shirtless guy. “You don’t know any of us. You summer people think you’re better than us.”
“I’m not a summer person.” Preston’s eyes fixed forward “And I’m not a dirt bag. I didn’t know she would wind up on her face. And I didn’t know you were alone. I would’ve come to talk to you, but I didn’t want to leave Liza alone.”
The heat on my face increased. “You would’ve just made things worse.”
He shook his head. “Why?”
One of Liza’s eyes opened. “I don’t feel good…”
Sighing, I announced, “She’s a puker.”
Preston pressed his lips together. “Great.”
“Way to go, frat boy,” I hissed.
“Listen to me, Snow—”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Look, this wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go,” Preston helped me maneuver the barely conscious Liza around a Jeep. “Can I help you?”
I glared at him. “You’re kidding, right?”
Preston shook his head. “Why do you hate me so much?”
“Well, there’s this.” I gestured at Liza, whose eyes were now completely closed, though she was humming the theme song to The Office.
“Liste
n, Lisa was clearly here to party, so I backed off. She was playing quarters within minutes, and got sloppy. No offense, but sloppy isn’t my style.”
“That’s what she said,” mumbled Liza.
I gave him side eye. “It’s Liza. And… yeah, she’s a bit sloppy.”
I’d never been much of a partier. Probably because my mom was a recovering alcoholic, and attended her AA meetings once a week. It felt disrespectful to drink when she worked so hard to stay sober.
“I don’t want to send her home like this. That’s not my style, either.”
“Guys like you treat us locals like garbage. Is that your style? You’ve been buying flowers for different girls all summer.”
“Right.” He scowled down at the ground. “You don’t have to be so—”
“After the night I’ve had, I swear if you say I’m bitchy, I’ll scratch your eyes out.”
“I was going to say angry.” Preston grunted. “Do you know how to drive her car?”
I scoffed. “I know how to drive a car.”
“No.” Preston’s brow furrowed. “I mean... damn. I never say the right thing to you.”
I blinked at him, surprised he even cared. “Well what did you mean?”
We stopped walking at Liza’s car. Preston pulled Liza closer to his side, relieving me of the weight. “Do you know how to drive a manual? When I asked Lisa out—”
“Liza!”
“Liza,” he corrected, with a shake of his head. “Her car was in the driveway with the windows down, and I noticed it was a manual. Not everybody knows how to use a stick shift.”
I unlocked the car. “That’s so incredibly sexist.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.” With a groan, Preston adjusted his arm. “I don’t think my own dad has ever driven a manual. So can you?”
I looked into the cab of the car and chewed my lip. Up until June, my best friend drove her mother’s old automatic sedan, but with college coming up, she’d upgraded to a six-year-old compact car we’d nicknamed Tic-Tac. And sure enough, Tic-Tac was a manual.
“Well,” I admitted. “There’s no better time to learn.”