“I, uh, I, we…we never slept together,” Chloe says, flustered from being put on the spot.
“Awkward,” Mason says with a snort of laughter. “Though don’t feel bad, Chloe. Sam was a manwhore.”
“Thanks,” I say pointedly.
“I am dying to know if the rumors about him are true!” Lennon finishes her drink and sets the cup down on the ground. “He is one fine-looking man, and that accent—oh my god.”
“Charles is one of my best friends,” Chloe goes on, gripping her glass of wine a little tighter. I can tell she’s uncomfortable with this. “I, uh, I…”
“Nicole Kidman,” I tell everyone. “She’d be mine. I’ve had a thing for her since Days of Thunder.”
“Dude, she’s old.” Mason stares at me dubiously.
“Yeah, but have you seen her?” Chloe points out. “I hope I look half that good when I’m in my fifties. And speaking of mature women, Shakira would be my hall pass, and I know, we’re both straight, but damn, she is hot.” Chloe laughs, but the laugh turns into a cough. She shivers, pulling her arms in close to her body.
“Are you cold?” I ask. I’m sweating sitting here by the fire with a blanket wrapped around the two of us, but if Chloe wanted another blanket, I’d go get it for her.
“A little,” she says, and I pull the blanket up tighter around her shoulders. “I’m okay, though.”
“We can go in if you’re cold.”
“And miss the fun?” she counters, smile on her pretty face. “It’s my turn to ask a question, anyway.” She puts her wine glass on the ground and rests her head against my shoulder as she stares into the fire, thinking. “Okay…um…location where you lost your virginity and how old were you.”
“Bed of my truck,” Jacob answers right away. “I was seventeen.”
“Late bloomer,” Mason heckles. “My room, when I was sixteen.”
“Oh, a whole year younger,” Jacob huffs.
“I got you beat,” Lennon retorts. “Fifteen, and my boyfriend at the time’s bed. And yes, I still regret it a little. We had no idea what we were doing.”
“Fifteen,” I say. “And the living room couch, while everyone was home.”
“Eighteen for me,” Chloe goes on. “And it was in Jason McCleary’s bedroom.” She looks out at Lennon. “I have my regrets too. Mostly because I wasn’t ready but didn’t want to say no.”
“Me too!” Lennon takes a sip of her drink. “I wish I could talk to my teenage self and give that girl a boost in confidence.”
“Oh, same! I mean, I wasn’t forced into anything, but I wish I stuck up for myself a lot more. There are a lot of incidences where I wished I had.” Chloe shakes her head. “Things worked out for me, though. I hope they did for you too.”
“For the most part,” Lennon agrees and takes another drink. “Though I could use another boost of confidence when it comes to standing up for myself.”
“It’s hard,” Chloe agrees. “And I know this is lame, but a lot of times, I pretend that I’m my main character from Nightfall and do what Kellie would do. She’s so much more badass than me.”
“I think you’re pretty badass,” Lennon tells her with an encouraging nod.
“I do too,” Mason agrees, holding up the bottle of whiskey as a toast. “Even more so for putting up with his cranky ass.”
“Hey,” Chloe laughs, turning around to cup my face in her hands. “I happen to like this cranky ass.”
The sliding glass door opens, and we all turn to see my mom come out onto the patio. “Sorry to interrupt whatever is going on,” she starts. “Chloe, your phone keeps ringing. Someone named Karina has called a few times.”
“Really?” Chloe sniffles and gets up, turning her head to cough. She’s sounding sicker and sicker as the night goes on. “Thanks.”
“Who’s Karina?” Lennon asks, finishing her wine.
“My publicist,” Chloe tells her. “And I don’t know why she’d be calling me this late on a Satur--ohhhh.” Chloe makes a face, looking at the glowing screen of her phone. “I think this is what she was calling about.”
“What?” Mason asks, peering over. Chloe turns the phone up for me to see, and a photo of us locked in a kiss at the airport is the last thing I expected. The article headline mentions Chloe’s famous relationship with Charles Baldwin, who sources—according to this article at least—claimed was still dating Chloe.
“Who the hell took this photo?” Chloe asks, eyes narrowing as she reads the caption.
“What photo?” Lennon is on the edge of her seat—literally as well as figuratively—trying hard to look over at Chloe’s phone.
“This,” Chloe sighs, holding up the phone to show everyone the rather passionate photo of Chloe and I reuniting at the airport after days away from each other. “I still don’t get who took these photos. No one knew we were together or that I was even coming to the Chicago.” She looks up at me, brows furrow. “You’re not named,” she says quickly, worried I’m going to get upset for being dragged into the middle of her PR affairs. “You’re just an unidentified male kissing me.”