Wilder’s daddy?
Where did he pop up from?
You guys together?
Where’s he been all this time?
“Well, I was drinking the grown-up stuff.” Annie tips her empty tumbler upside down.
“Hardcore, Annie.” Roman chuckles, making her cheeks turn slightly pink. Like most people who meet Roman, I’ve noted, Annie seems to have a tiny crush on him. But that’s because he’s nice to everyone else. He saves his annoyance for me, mostly. Though maybe a little less so lately?
“Want one of these?” He jiggles the green bottle temptingly.
“Personally, I can’t see anyone over ten years old being tempted by a green plastic bottle with a Minecraft face.” I wonder if the creepers have access to wine.
“I’ll take one,” Annie says, “but only if you’ve spiked the soda.”
“Annie, what do you take me for?” he admonishes playfully, sliding his hand into his back pocket. “But I do have a fifth of Jack if you’re feeling desperate.” At my sharp intake of breath, he drops his hands and chuckles. “Relax, it was a joke.”
“Sometimes, I think you don’t need an excuse to behave badly, just the opportunity.” Whoa, talk about wishful thinking and Freudian slips. Roman doesn’t answer, though the way the corner of his mouth curls pulls at some invisible string deep inside me. We don’t move, and we don’t speak, but it doesn’t stop something like electricity from passing between us. The air around us feels suddenly thick and weighty, crackling with charge. He knew I was watching, I know it. His little chair play was more for my torture than titillation, no doubt.
Not that it made me enjoy it any less.
“You know me, little love. I’m all about the opportunity,” he absolutely purrs.
“Oh, my,” Annie murmurs, pulling at the collar of her shirt, flapping it as though a fan. “Is it just me, or is it hot out?”
“Hot. Definitely.” Roman’s gaze flicks over me in a way that’s less than discreet. Fierce. Possessive. I roll my eyes while inside, my blood turns to steam in my veins. Roman grabs a green soda bottle from a creeper passing from the kitchen, offering it to Annie. “Here, this’ll cool you down.”
“Green soda?” Taking it from his hand, she frowns doubtfully at it. “I was kind of banking on another glass of wine.”
“It’s not soda. It’s juice. Come on, it’s good for you. Heaps of antioxidants and vitamin C, so I’m told. It’s one-hundred-percent natural, no added sugar, and none of those nasty e numbers.” As she brings the bamboo straw to her lips, Roman adds, “This feels like one of those full circle moments.”
“Because of green juice?” I say doubtfully, wondering what the heck he’s talking about.
“One minute you’re a kid, and partying and dropping E is the highlight of your week. The next, you’re a grown-up and fretting over what chemicals are put into your kid’s food.”
“What?”
“The other kind of party favours.” His eyes flick to his shoes before rising, accompanied by a grin. “Opps. I think I just flashed you my misspent youth.”
Annie laughs, but I just frown. So Roman dabbled in recreational drugs when he was younger. It’s just another mark on the side of how different we are. How unsuited we are. My youth was more overspent than misspent, between studying and looking after Holland. Though there was the week I met Roman. My one and only vacation. And a night that led to even more responsibility and growing up fast.
“Those are two very different things.” Annie’s voice pulls me from my bitter thoughts. “One mellows you out, makes you euphoric. The other type of party favour turns our little people into energy stealing demons.”
The pair laugh, but I have nothing to offer. I’m like the kid not invited to the party again. I feel so . . . urgh!
“I’m going to get a drink,” I mutter. I can’t stand myself, and I can’t stand here a moment longer.
* * *
“Who, Kennedy?”
I stop in my tracks, hearing my name in a voice I don’t recognise, carrying from the other side of the tall hedge. This is the longest kid’s party in existence, not to mention the hottest. It has to be in the high eighties, which is so unusual for this time of the year. In fact, the weather lately has been kind of crazy. It’s like Roman has brought the Australian sunshine with him.
Roman. I kick out at a snapped branch, still annoyed with myself at the way I’d reacted earlier. And annoyed that I’m hiding out in my own garden after another round of questions and calculating looks. Meanwhile, Roman has floated around like a hot, manly social butterfly, being everyone’s friend. People seem to gravitate to him, and I don’t think it’s just his accent. He’s been such an excellent host, better than me, making sure glasses and bellies are full. He even dug out the dusty old parasol from the shed to make sure Miss Betty and Miss Ursula were sitting in the shade.