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Oh fuck...
I suck in a breath, battling a wave of faintness, like the aftershocks of a strong hit of nicotine.
Ohhhhh fucking hell...
Juliana steps off the elevator, and I'd swear on behalf of any religion, all I see is a goddess. Perhaps it's time for my conversion, for I've never felt so compelled to drop to my knees, only so I can repent for each and every one of my sins. Truly, in this moment, if a priest laid my hand atop some holy text, I'd tell him time has slowed to an aching crawl—and I couldn't be more grateful.
My gaze traces down her figure as I'm gripped by the most peculiar of sensations.
Nervousness.
As if, at any moment, she might turn and head right back down to the lobby, snuffing my party altogether. Because a girl who looks like that—she's got ten others to go to.
Flaring out at the end of its long sleeves and cutting off sinfully short at the thighs, a white, fishnet cover up drapes across her silhouette, but that doesn't mean it actually covers up a damn thing. Especially not the red bikini flashing beneath, sporting bottoms tied high on her hips and a triangle top that plunges low, low, low...
With every footfall of her heeled sandals, I'm drooling more and more as she bounces in all the right places. And when I spot the diamond shining inside her belly button, I nearly weep.
"Hey."
And her hair... God, it's perfect. Dark silky curls flow from her high-pony, bangs falling freely, framing her beautiful face, and—
"Hayden?"
My eyes snap to her green ones. Like some enchanted forest, they're impossible to look away from, as her flowery scent douses my senses.
I break from the mist. "Huh?"
"Umm..." Her teeth sink into her bottom lip distractingly. "You're still holding the phone to your ear."
I freeze, her words punching me square in the gut. What is this, fucking amateur hour? Snap the hell out of it! I slot my phone into my pocket quickly, clear my throat, and plaster on a look of cool indifference. Anything to get a grip on my long-lost dignity.
"You look... good."
But she's already wearing a wolfish grin.
Shit. And away it goes...
The upper hand.
At least, so I thought, until I intertwine my fingers with hers, and her confident gaze withers at the sight of the party, through the foyer windows. I squeeze her hand, dragging her attention back onto me—and the fear there, behind her stare, I wish I could squash it dead.
"Just stick with me," is all I say, even though I know the real reason she'll be okay.
I was wrong. So thoroughly wrong. I didn't need to tell a damn soul of her coming. She could show up all on her own. Early, late, on-time, whatever. Everyone would still wonder who she was, and worst of all, every man who's not blind would turn his head to look at her.
TWENTY-THREE
JULIANA
Being on the arm of Hayden Kingston is the closest brush with stardom I'll ever experience. I don't know how much time has passed, it's all a blur, but the one thing I do know is suddenly the entire world wants to be my friend.
Hayden weaves us through a mob of rowdy party guests, all of whom glance our way at least once. "Oh my gosh, I love your heels!" a girl squeals from behind. I swivel my head, finding her trailing me like I'm Regina George. "Where'd you get them?" she asks over the blaring music.
I shoot her a smile, the forced one I've worn since my arrival. "Thanks, girl!"—girl, really? Who are you, Mei?—"They're from—"
Shit. Where are they from?
Uhhhhhh... Static buzzes through my brain.
