As soon as we got back to my place, Liz made herself at home like she owned the damn penthouse. Not my family's house—too many rules there, too many eyes.
My dad's the Governor, plus he owns the biggest tech company in the country, which basically means living under his roof feels like living in a damn prison. Here, though? Here's where I can actually breathe… and have some fun."
Her heels clicked against the marble floor as she strutted to the bathroom, peeling off her top without a second thought. "Ugh, I need a shower," Liz announced, throwing me a wink over her shoulder. "Be back, babe."
I leaned back on the couch, phone already in hand. Again, I do not have a girlfriend. Don't get me wrong—I like Liz. She's hot, she's fun, she's obsessed with me… but a girlfriend? That's a full-time commitment, and I already know I'd get fired from that job in a week.
Am I an asshole? Don't answer that.
I sprawled out, scrolling through my notifications until the boys' group chat caught my eye. Our sacred temple of chaos. The one place we talked about everything and anything—girls, parties, bets, and the kind of stuff that could get us all arrested if anyone ever leaked it.
The last string of messages made me snort.
Ryan (24m ago): Guess who's got the new blonde's phone number? 😉
The thread exploded.
Jude: No fucking way.
Ethan: Pics or it didn't happen.
Tyler: Bro you move fast lmao
Ryan: Don't be jealous boys.
Jealous. I wasn't. At least, I told myself I wasn't. My thumb hovered over the screen, scrolling back up to Ryan's smug little message. Guess who's got the new blonde's phone number.
Brittany.
Yeah, I was definitely jealous. Not that I'd ever admit it in the chat.
Before I could type something, another message popped up.
Jude: How about the party Friday night?
That got everyone talking.
Ethan: Hell yes. Who's hosting?
Ryan: Doesn't matter. I'll bring the blonde. 😉
Tyler: Bet you can't.
Ethan: I'll put $100 on Ryan striking out.
Jude: $200.
I smirked. This was why I loved these idiots. They'd bet on anything, no matter how messed up. We tell each other everything—sometimes more than we should. Like that time Jude admitted he fucked his aunt. Yeah. His aunt. Fucked up, I know. We didn't talk to him for, like, a week. Okay, maybe not a week, but you get the point.
And yet… we're still boys. That's how it works.
I was typing out a snarky reply when the bathroom door opened. Liz walked out, steam curling around her, bare legs smooth and glowing under the lights. She was wearing only one of my shirts—buttoned halfway, clinging to her curves like it was made for her.
I locked my phone with a flick, tossing it onto the couch like I'd been doing absolutely nothing.
She padded over, damp hair dripping down her shoulders, and slid onto the couch beside me. "Who you texting?" she asked, voice soft but laced with that spoiled-girl edge, the one that always made it sound less like a question and more like an accusation.
"The boys," I said easily, draping an arm over the back of the couch. "Normal stuff."
Liz pouted, lower lip jutting out as she tugged the hem of my shirt down over her thighs. "You always have more fun with them than with me."
I bit back a grin. That's Liz—rich, popular, spoiled to her core. She's used to being the center of attention, and when she isn't, she makes damn sure to remind you.
---
Liz leaned into me, her damp hair brushing my arm as she curled her legs up on the couch. "So… what about the party?"
I blinked. "The what?"
"The party Friday night."
I narrowed my eyes. "How did you—" Then it clicked. "Jude. Of course."
She gave me a smug little smile, like she'd just checkmated me without even moving a piece. "Yes, Jude. You really think I wouldn't know when you guys are planning something?"
I sighed, dragging a hand over my face. "Unbelievable. He can't keep his mouth shut for two seconds."
She tapped my chest with a manicured finger. "He's my big brother. Of course tells me everything."
And there it was. Jude. The golden rule, the unspoken threat behind every kiss, every night with Liz.
I couldn't exactly break up with her—not when she was Jude's sister. Suicide mission.
Liz smirked like she knew it too, like that safety net was part of her crown. Spoiled didn't even begin to cover her—she was untouchable, and she thrived on it.
"Yeah, well," I muttered, leaning back into the cushions, "remind me to kill him later."
She giggled, that spoiled-princess kind of giggle that said she'd already won this argument before it even started. Then she wriggled closer, resting her chin on my shoulder. "So. What should we do?"
I raised a brow. "Do?"
"At the party," she said, drawing lazy circles on my chest with her finger. "We could make an entrance together. You know, show up late. Everyone will stare, they always do. And I could wear that red dress you like. The one from the gala last month?"
"Mm," I said, noncommittal, though the image of her in that dress did flash in my head.
She smiled knowingly. "Yeah. That one. Or maybe I should try something new… shorter. Tighter."
"Don't you think you've already traumatized half the girls on campus?" I teased.
She swatted me with a laugh. "Please. They love me. They copy me. Big difference."
"Right, right."
Liz shifted again, now lying half across me, her hair spilling over my arm. "We could throw an after-party here. Your penthouse is way better than Ryan's place."
I shook my head. "Last time you threw an after-party here, Jude found out and I didn't hear the end of it for weeks. I'm still finding glitter in the bathroom."
She grinned. "That wasn't glitter. That was... shimmer powder."
"On the toilet seat?"
She burst out laughing. "Okay, maybe not shimmer powder. But it was worth it. Everyone still talks about that night."
I rolled my eyes but couldn't stop the smile tugging at my lips. This was Liz—dramatic, spoiled, and way too good at pulling me into her orbit.
She leaned in, whispering, "We should outdo it this time. Something bigger. Something everyone remembers."
Her words drifted over me, sweet and confident, but my mind was already slipping.
Back to Ryan's text.
Back to that smug little line in the group chat.
Guess who's got the new blonde's phone number?
I could almost see him typing it, grinning ear to ear, waiting for us to hype him up.
My jaw clenched.
Liz kept talking, her hands sketching out some grand vision of what we'd do at the party, who we'd invite, how she'd look, the playlist, the drinks, even which champagne we should serve. I nodded at all the right times, threw in a grin here and there, but inside, I wasn't thinking about her plans.
I was thinking about Brittany.
Would Ryan actually get her to show up? And if he did, what then?
The blonde had walked into class today like she belonged to another world—calm, quiet, untouched by the noise around her. She didn't look like the type to get swept up in some frat boy's party invite. But then again, she'd smiled at those guys in the cafeteria, laughed at something one of them said.
She had given Ryan her number.
My chest tightened at the thought. Ryan, the golden boy. The QB. He had the looks, the charm, the team's glory behind him. Girls tripped over themselves for him. Hell, half the time I tripped over myself for him—and I was supposed to be his equal.
Liz shifted on top of me, pulling me back for a moment. "You're not even listening, are you?"
I blinked, dragging my eyes back to her. "Of course I am. After-party. Champagne. The red dress. I got it."
She narrowed her eyes, suspicious. "Uh-huh."
I smirked, kissing her forehead. "Relax, Liz. We'll do it your way."
That seemed to appease her. She settled back against me, satisfied, already humming to herself like she was picturing the whole night in vivid detail.
But even as I held her, even as I played the role of attentive boyfriend—I wasn't.
I was thinking about Friday.
About the bet.
About Ryan.
And most of all… about what would happen if Brittany Vetrova walked into that party.
---
To be continued...