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“I’d rather hang out with you. Alone.” His voice deepens, the look on his face almost feral, making me shiver.
“We can hang out alone for a little bit,” I whisper. “She wants to meet us in an hour. I’m assuming that’s when the party should end.”
“We can do a lot in an hour, princess.”
An incessant throb starts in my belly. Lower. What he’s suggesting …
Am I ready for it?
My phone buzzes in my hand again.
Iris: So????????
I start typing.
Me: We’re in. Do you think the party will be done by then?
Iris: It better be. I want everyone out of here. Might go a little longer though. Are you still hanging out at the party?
Me: Where are you?
Iris: Um … in our room. With Brooks.
“Iris is in the room we share with Brooks,” I murmur.
“We can go to my room,” Rhett suggests.
I keep my focus on the phone, thinking. If my parents were here, I’d never have the guts to sneak into Rhett’s room. But they’re not here. Summer and Whit are too preoccupied by the party. So are all of my aunts and uncles who are in attendance. No one is paying attention to us.
Lifting my gaze to Rhett’s, I murmur, “Okay.”
***
It took us at least fifteen minutes to say our goodbyes to various people at the party, including Iris’s parents who both asked me if I’d seen her—talk about making me anxious. I hate lying but I just blew them off, claiming Iris was most likely in the kitchen. Why I said that, I don’t know.
I never claimed to be a good liar.
By the time we’re entering the house, I’m a frazzled mess. Well, inside at least. Outwardly, I’m trying my best to keep my demeanor calm. Almost nonchalant. Like it’s no big deal that I’m going to a boy’s room all alone on a Saturday night.
This is a huge deal. And it feels like we’re running out of time. Tonight, this weekend. I don’t know how long this is going to last with Rhett. It could all come crashing down around our heads tomorrow night. Monday morning. Just thinking about it fills me with agitated nerves accompanied by a wave of nausea.
Shoving the thoughts out of my mind, I focus on this moment. Right now. The way Rhett looks at me. How he touches me. Currently his hand rests on my lower back, his wide palm and long fingers pressed against bare skin thanks to the open back of my dress. He doesn’t say much, but I can feel the urgency vibrating off of him. He’s eager to get me alone.
I feel the same about him, though I’m probably more nervous than he is.
“Do you ever get lost in this place?” he asks, frustration lacing his tone as I verbally guide him toward the stairwell that leads us to our bedroom wing.
“I have,” I say with a laugh. “Plenty of times. When I was around six, I got so lost, I cried and cried for my mama. Iris’s dad found me in the butler’s pantry, sitting on the floor crying as hard as I can ever remember. It was a traumatic moment.”
Considering my upbringing and how loving our household is, that counts as one of the most terrifying moments of my childhood. Lost in this place.
“Sounds like it.” His tone is vaguely sarcastic and I ignore it. I’m sure he’s had a privileged upbringing as well.
I decide to change the subject.
“There are ghosts here you know,” I say as we come upon the staircase.
“Ghosts?” Now he sounds amused. “Like who? The creepy statue on campus?”
