Betrayal Codes

Chapter 20: Cole

It was the night of The Gala, with a capital "T." The girls were still in their rooms getting ready while we were impatiently waiting for them downstairs. Tucker pulled a few strings and got us a limo (meaning hired a Band member or two to steal the car). Aiden has given himself the title of driver, so as he attempted to start up the car again (because the Band member who brought it so kindly turned it off when he parked it), Tucker and I hung outside talking nonsense while we waited for the girls to come out. I keep checking my watch because damn, these girls take forever to get ready.

Suddenly, I see Cleo's red hair out of the corner of my eye. Then the doors open and four stunning women exit the hotel, waving goodbye to a profusely blushing doorman. Tuck lets out a low whistle. "Holy shiiiit."

"Hey, guys. Are you ready?" Cleo leads the pack. She's rocking a dress that is so un-Cleo — her shoulders completely exposed and has a slit in her dress that cuts all the way up her leg.

"To find the nearest bedroom or to go to the gala?" Tucker asks us all, but won't tear his gaze from Shay, who joins the doorman in the blush fest. For a man who claims he could never fall in love, he's doing a pretty great job at pretending.

"You're so dirty, Tucker," Taylor scolds. She comes out from behind Shay and drags her into the limo.

"Says the girl wearing a dress with a neckline almost at her stomach," Tucker argues, following them in.

"Now I have to go supervise," Cleo scurries off. With them gone, I finally notice Libby hanging in the back.

"Libby," I breathe, or maybe I don't breathe because I've suddenly forgotten how to. Her dress is a dull gold with tiny sequins covering the fabric, reflecting the moonlight and making her look like a goddess. It doesn't help that she's braided her hair into a crown with tiny ringlets framing her face.

"You look..." I start, standing there, staring at her. Then the limo rumbles to life, breaking me out of my trance. "I don't know. No word could even begin to describe how beautiful you are."

She gives me a shy, half-smile as she approaches to adjust the matching bow tie secured to my neck. "Thanks. You don't look too bad yourself."

"God, I..." All the words in the English language have suddenly packed up and taken a vacation. I can't even formulate a sentence. And I'm supposed to leave her tonight? I shake my head fiercely to get rid of the thought.

"Come on, you two," Taylor calls from the car. "We're going to be late!"

"Then I nominate myself to be the one who tells them we were fashionably late because you couldn't figure out the best shade of lipstick," she calls back before grabbing my arm and guiding us into the car.

"Hey!" Taylor scowls at Libby. "It's a big night. I can't walk in there looking like a clown!"

"I didn't know clowns took half an hour picking out their oh-so-horrible lipstick every day."

Taylor gasps. "Are you saying my Charlotte Tilbury lipstick is horrible?!"

"Yes," Aiden answers from the front seat. "Yes, I think it looks like you smeared blood all over your lips."

"Well," Taylor starts. "I think–"

"We should all shut up. I think we should all shut up," Libby cuts in. "Aiden, please just get us there before Taylor crawls up there and claws your eyeballs out and we all fall off a bridge and die."

"Woah, so detailed, Lib. You okay?" I squeeze her hand.

"Yeah, fine. Just don't want to die on our way to the death gala."