“Whiskey,” I said loudly. “Whiskey on the rocks. Please. Make it a triple.”
“A double.” The bartender raised an eyebrow as he lifted a bottle of Blue Label and poured, handing it to me. He looked at Adam. “For you?”
“I’ll have the same.”
“Is this an open bar?” I asked as Adam got his drink and turned around, leaning against the bar.
“You think we’re going to invite people to a party and charge them for the alcohol they consume?”
“I mean, isn’t that what most people who throw a party like this do?”
“Not unless they’re trying to raise funds for a good cause.”
He looked like he wanted to ask me something, but thought better of it, and I decided I needed to get my rich girl lingo together before I made statements like that again. It was just foreign to me. I mean, what kind of life did an Astor live? What kind of life did a Thompson live? Where I was from, people charged five dollars to get into a regular house party and you were supposed to bring your own booze. Bringing the glass up to my mouth, I took a sip of whiskey and nearly orgasmed. I usually stuck to Jameson. It was what Karen kept in the house. It was cheap, but I liked it. This, however, was unlike anything I’d ever savored.
We both looked at the dance floor as we stood there sipping our drinks and I wondered where in the world the real Stella Thompson could have been. If she’d really been dropped off here, how had she not made it inside the house? It seemed impossible, yet I had her key. She’d left it behind in her backpack. I had two red keys that opened the front door, which meant I had also been given a key to come here. My blood ran cold. I’d been so distracted with the house and the party and moving forward and getting this over with, that I completely forgot to go back to my own backpack. I glanced up at Adam.
“Do the other girls have names?”
“What?” He leaned in.
“Do the other girls you’re expecting to come have names?”
“Of course.”
“Do you know what they look like?”
“No.”
“So the president doesn’t know everything.”
“Neither of you have social media, which is pretty ridiculous.” He shot me a pointed look. “How do you show off about your life?”
I hid my laugh behind the glass as I took another sip. I had no life to show off about, so even if Dr. Maslow hadn’t insisted from early on that social media was bad, I probably wouldn’t have caved. Aisha was obsessed with Instagram and TikTok. Sometimes, when I was feeling extra lonely, I understood the value of the platforms. You couldn’t feel like you were alone in the world if you were scrolling endless content with proof that there were others out there. I also wasn’t as desperate for attention. I lowered my glass and nodded toward the dance floor.
“There are a lot of girls here.”
“An all-guy party wouldn’t be very fun.” His mouth tilted.
“Are you going to dance?”
“No.”
“So you’re just going to stand here all night and watch everyone dance?”
“You’re free to do whatever you want.” He shrugged a shoulder.
I drained the rest of my whiskey, set the glass down, and made my way to the dance floor. There was no way my hips could ever resist a song, and I definitely wanted to talk to someone besides Adam. When I reached the side of the dance floor opposite of him, I looked back up and saw him watching me.
“You here alone?”
“Maybe.” I looked up at the guy beside me. He was wearing a black cloak and mask. His lips pulled into a wide, slow grin at my answer.
“I’m assuming the black cloak means you’re part of a different secret society?”
“The best one.”
“Really?” I let out a laugh. “What’s so special about it?”
“Aside from the fact that I’m in it?” He glanced around the room. “I guess the same thing that goes along with most of the other societies.”
“Ah, I thought you were going to try to convince me to jump ship and join yours instead.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” He smiled and eyed me again. “That white cloak means trouble.”
“Trouble how?” I glanced around the room quickly and realized I was the only one wearing one. Shit. How had I not noticed that before?
“It means you’re off-limits.”
“Yet you decided to saddle up and come talk to me.”
“I have a thing about rules.”
“Interesting.” I raised an eyebrow. “So do I.”
“What’s your name, Lamb?”
“Stella.” I fought back a shiver. “What’s yours?”
“Nolan.” He cocked his head. “Stella what?”
“Thompson.” I mimicked his movement. “Nolan what?”
“Astor.”
“Well, shit.” I shook my head and looked in the direction I’d left Adam, finding he was still staring at me.
I couldn’t say exactly how, but I could tell he was brooding. Maybe in the way his jaw ticked or the way his glass seemed to be frozen mid-air, as if he was holding his breath in anticipation of how this would play out.