Nate sits beside her, chatting to Eli and Brantley about something, ignoring our entire conversation.
“Nate?” I question, waiting for him to answer.
“Yo?” He stops midconversation.
“Party at Carter’s this weekend. You in?”
He looks to Bishop then slowly smirks. “Yeah, sounds good.” Why do I feel like I’ve missed something? Why are they suddenly so interested to go to one of Carter’s parties? Spinning back around to face Bishop, I see he’s already staring at me when my eyes lock with his. I open my mouth, but he shakes his head, eating another carrot stick. “Later.”
Giving him a small smile as a reply, I settle for it and turn back around. “So, outfits?” I grin at Tatum.
She wiggles her eyebrows. “Outfits.”
“Jeans and a t—”
“More like skirts and G.”
Bursting out laughing, I shake my head. “Oh, Tate.”
“I HATE YOU,” I MUTTER to Tatum. “I can’t believe you’re making me wear this.”
She laughs, walking out of the bathroom, spraying her Coco Chanel perfume all over herself. “Well, you know I know what’s best for you. Like that dress—that dress is what’s good for you.”
I pick at the skirt. It’s a tight, knee-length, black leather pencil skirt with a split that goes almost all the way up to my hip. She paired it with a thigh chain that dangles over my very exposed leg, and a little bralette crop top. Yes, the outfit is almost no outfit, and because the split is so high, I decided it was either a G-string or commando kind of night. Commando won. I slide on the nude lipstick and ruffle my hair into a nest of tousled mess. “Well,” I mutter, slipping on some red pointy heels. Totally don’t know how this is going to end, what with me in heels and everything, but again, that was Tatum being Tatum.
She snatches her bottle of vodka off the dresser. “Let’s go. Is Sammy driving us?”
I nod. “Yeah, she’s already waiting.”
“And Bishop and Nate?” she asks, going for casual, but I see what she’s doing.
“They’ll meet us there, had something to take care of beforehand.” I don’t know what it was they had to take care of; I didn’t care to ask. I respect there will be some things that Bishop can’t tell me, especially when it comes to the Kings, so I won’t pry for information unless it directly impacts me. Daemon still hasn’t come out of his room, but I try every day. I knock, but he doesn’t answer. I’m not sure what’s going on with him, but all I know is I want to be there for him. Whatever it is he’s going through.
Piling into the limo, Sammy gets into the driver seat and looks at me in the rearview mirror. “You be safe now.”
“I’m always safe, Sammy.”
She rolls her eyes. “Dressing like that is only asking for trouble.”
“Just drive,” Tatum says sassily to Sammy.
“Tate!” I growl her. “Shut up and drink.”
She takes a sip and then passes it to me. “I don’t want to get white girl wasted, but I’ll have a little bit.”
“Myth” by Tsar B starts playing, and I take a sip of the vodka, ignoring the way it stabs my throat when I swallow. “Sammy! Turn it up!” She does as she’s told, winding up the window separator while she’s at it. I give the bottle back to Tatum, and she scoots over beside me. “Oh! Selfie! Right now.” I move next to her and she snaps a hundred different selfies. All ranging from serious to duck face, to smiles, laughing, to funny faces. I laugh, leaning back in my seat, and look to Tatum. “I enjoy our friendship. You know that, right?”
She waves me off. “Don’t go soppy.”
“I’m not!” I reply defensively. “Okay, maybe just a little, but I just don’t want you to feel left out now that Bishop and I are….”
“Are…?” she prompts, an eyebrow raised. She must realize she’s being a brat, because she rolls her eyes, her shoulders dropping. “Look, okay, I’m just worried he’s going to hurt you.” After drinking some vodka, she hands me the bottle.
“With good reason, but I don’t think he will.” I stare in front of me, watching the tinted back window and the headlights of the car following us.
“What? So you’re in love?” she asks.
I take a long pull of the vodka. Longer than I intended. I really wasn’t planning on getting drunk tonight, but with the way this conversation is going, I’m going to be legless before we even reach the party, and that will probably do all sorts to piss off Bishop. Only because he’s not there right now—I don’t think.
“I don’t know. Love is a weird word.”
“It’s not a word, Mads.” Tate looks at me, taking the vodka from me and bringing it to her lips. “It’s a feeling.”
“Well, I don’t know what I’m feeling.”