I stepped back. “Are you okay?”
“I…yeah, fine. Would you like something to drink?” He took in my skimpy dress for the first time and scowled. “Or a coat, maybe?”
I scoffed. “Yes to a drink. You can keep the lecture.”
“No lecture. I just didn’t realize this was a costume party.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?
“It means you never needed to dress like this before.”
“I don’t need to dress like this now,” I shot back. “I choose to. And why do you care what I wear, anyway?”
“I don’t, that’s the point.” He carved a hand through his longish hair, frustrated. “Shit, sorry, never mind. Can we go somewhere quiet? I need to talk to you.”
“I could use that drink first. Just water. I’m a bit wobbly.”
We pushed our way back through the crowds to the kitchen. Curious stares followed us, but no one gave Miller a hard time. He poured me a cup of water from a Britta on the counter, then got himself a beer from the keg.
He downed the whole thing, then sucked in a steadying breath.
“Is everything okay?” I asked. “Did Shiloh come with you?”
“Just Ronan. Listen—”
At that moment, the beer pong game broke up and the guys flooded back into the kitchen, a gaggle of girls following after, Evelyn, Julia and Caitlin among them. More curious glances landed on Miller, but River’s eyes—and smile—were only for me. I smiled back, then looked away, acutely conscious of Miller standing beside me.
Evelyn smiled like the Cheshire Cat. “Oh goody, everyone’s here…” The snap of a Zippo lighter caught her attention. “I take it back,” she purred. “Now everyone is here.”
The scent of clove cigarettes suddenly permeated the kitchen, and we all turned to see Holden Parish leaning in the corner between the hooded stove and the stainless-steel dishwasher. His sudden appearance was so startling, it was as if he’d been conjured in a puff of his own smoke.
He was dressed all in black—a silk buttondown shirt, dark jeans and sleek black Oxfords. Despite the late summer night, he wore a black pea coat—unbuttoned—the collar turned up. A blood red scarf was slung around his neck and dripped down either side of his torso. Tall, slender, elegant, with his striking eyes and silver hair, Holden reminded me a little of Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
“Vampires have to be invited in,” I whispered to Miller with a beer-induced giggle. “If he starts feeding on us, blame Evelyn.”
She sidled up to Holden, linked her arm in his. Taking possession. “Everyone, you remember Holden Parish.”
Chance, his face flushed with beer, frowned. “Smoking’s outside, dude.”
A lazy smile spread over Holden’s lips. “You sure about that? Your living room smells like a Snoop Dog concert.” He tucked the clove cigarette into the corner of his mouth, squinting against the smoke, and handed Chance a small paper bag. “A token of gratitude for having me at your little shindig.”
Chance pulled out a bottle of Patrón Silver and a grin split his face. “Dude. Thanks.”
“Perfect,” Evelyn said, still attached to Holden as if he were her own personal party favor. “Line up the shots, boys, because it’s time to play Seven Minutes in Heaven.”
Cheers and woots went around and the shitty, cheap vodka punch was replaced with the expensive tequila. Holden poured the first two shots.
“To our host,” he said and handed one to Chance.
The guys clinked glasses and tossed the liquor back. Chance shook his head, blowing air out his cheeks, eyes watering. Holden took his smoothly, as if it were water. But the booze seemed to animate him, instantly warming up his cold front. He took command of the kitchen like a circus ringmaster.
“Step right up, ladies and gents, and let’s make some beautiful memories.”
“I need to talk to you,” Miller said in my ear, under another round of cheers.
“She’s busy,” Evelyn said. She’d detached herself from Holden long enough to press a solo cup with an inch of tequila into my hand. “And it’s a party. Drink now, talk later. After we play.”
“She doesn’t need to drink that,” Miller said.