He Says He's Just A Friend

Chapter 25 - Should've Said No

- Emmett -

Inside the massive house—which was really more a mansion—Clay circled around in wide-eyed wonder at the opulent entryway with its antique bronze chandelier and the curving staircase that wrapped around half the room. With everyone so packed in, the air conditioning could barely keep the temperature tolerable, combating the throngs of people inside and the suffocating heat outside. The windows (along with my eardrums) rattled from the throbbing bass in the basic electro-pop dance song that auto-tuned the voices so badly the singer was unrecognizable. If I didn't already know, I never would've guessed her identity. Or even that she was a woman with the way they pitched her voice too low or too high half the time. I loved a good pop song, but I'd had my fill of DJ remixes. If I never heard another over-synthesized, manufactured hit with inane lyrics, I'd be content.

My breath hitched when I looked up at the huge banner hanging from the second floor landing. Pink glitter spelled out, "Happy 18th Birthday, Whitley!" I did not know this was her house, or that it was her birthday.

Clay rushed over and clung to my arm. "You can't just wander off and leave me like that. This is your turf, remember?"

"Hardly."

Clay hung his arm around my neck, giving me a good whiff of his cologne. He smelled so good I wanted to lick his neck. Such a lovely neck. It wasn't too thick nor too gangly. His Adam's apple was prominent, but not huge like Alfie's. Above that was his strong chin, which had a small indention in the center, not pronounced enough to call it a cleft. The perfect sprinkle of freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. And his rosy lips. The sharp peaks of his upper lip, and the soft swoop of his thicker bottom lip that I just wanted to suck on.

You can't think like that, I scolded myself, pinching my leg as a bit of negative reinforcement.

A few people cheered as Whitley swept down the staircase, throwing harsh sneers at anyone who blocked her graceful descent. She wore an eye-catching off-the-shoulder red dress. The hem fell to her calf with a slit up the side all the way to her thigh, which was as rail thin as the rest of her. Her dark brown hair was pulled up into an elaborate twist in the back. She looked more like she belonged at the Golden Globes than a birthday party. No one else was even close to being as dressed up as she was, except for the four girls trailing behind her, all of them wearing dark colors so they didn't steal focus.

At the bottom of the stairs, Whitley paused, noticing me. She was no more than three feet away. Her ruby lips parted, her blue eyes rolling back, annoyed. She turned her head to the side, keeping her eyes locked on me. "I really should've hired a bouncer to keep out the undesirables and the freaks." She made sure her voice was loud enough that the entire room could hear.

I guess she was still sore at me for getting her brother arrested for a hate crime. Even after three years. Not that he served a single day for it. But he got expelled, which was better than nothing.

Her friends laughed, scrutinizing me as they passed, heading through the living room and out the back doors.

Clay pulled me closer and said, "I know it's terrible, but I kinda want to go key her car."

I smiled at him, his face once again so close. All I'd have to do is lift my chin a bit to kiss him. But I restrained myself. "She has that effect on people."

Clay and I headed into the cavernous living room that had three separate sitting areas and a fireplace on both sides of the room for some godforsaken rich people reason.

"Emmie!" Carrie squealed from across the crowded living room, garnering a few stares. Her curls were out in full force tonight—not that she had much of a choice with the humidity. Her cleavage also made a guest appearance thanks to a plunging halter top that looked like liquid gold every time she moved.