9781250209153

15
The party is at some hip, boxy monster of a house with floor-to-ceiling
windows and decor straight out of Mad Men. It’s the epitome of
Candlehawk taste. I can just imagine what my friends and sisters would say
if they walked in here. Danielle would give me that side-eye look she
learned from her mom. Thora would wrinkle her nose like she was smelling
a fart. And Irene would—
“Welcome,” says a tall, brooding guy with a craft beer in his hand. I
recognize him instantly. His chambray button-down looks intentionally
wrinkled and his hair is deliberately windswept, held in place with some
brand of fuckboy mousse. “I don’t know you. I’m Prescott. This is my
house.”
He doesn’t shake my hand, almost like our introduction hinges on what I
can offer in return. I know you don’t know me. I’m Scottie. This is my exgirlfriend.
“Scottie,” I say, giving him a nod.
“You go to Candlehawk?”
“No. Grandma Earl.”
He laughs. Flat out laughs. Tally glances at me, puts her hand on my
arm like I might say something—
“Aren’t you dating a Grandma Earl girl?” I ask pointedly. “Or do you
just block that part out when you’re sucking face?”
“Scottie,” Tally hisses.
Prescott regards me like a funny pet that just pissed on his rug. His eyes
are bleary; he’s already had a lot to drink. But then he starts to laugh again,
tipping his beer in my direction.