Kiss and Break Up (Magnolia Cove, #1)(8)

“This jacket is bomb,” Daphne breathed, running her hand over the worn leather covering my arm.

“Thrift store find. I’m worried I’ll get hot.” I dipped my mascara brush back inside the tube, then brushed it over my lashes one more time.

“You won’t get hot,” Willa said, lacing up her heeled boots. “He’ll have the A/C on all night.”

We were getting ready at Daphne’s place, a French provincial-styled home near the woods on the other side of the creek that sat behind my house.

I loved going to her place. Not because it was huge and filled with amenities—I could get all the amenities I wanted by visiting my dad—but because it was renovated tastefully. A lot of the patterned molding remained in the ceilings, the brass fixtures on the fans, and the lamps in the hall. The wooden floors were original, polished, and lovingly maintained. Her mother was a lingerie model, and her father was a doctor at the local hospital.

“Okay, selfie before we go.”

I scrunched my nose, capping the mascara and tossing it inside the tiny purse I never typically used, but I’d need for tonight. “Where are you posting it?”

“Who cares?” Willa said. “We look great. We need proof we can look this good again.”

I snorted but moved in beside Willa while Daphne took photo after photo. “How many is that? Twenty?”

“It takes that many to get at least three photos worth sharing.”

“Sure.”

She smacked me, then got to work posting on Instagram as we filed outside and down the hall. Wade’s house was a five-minute drive from hers, and we spent it staring at our Instagram accounts while her driver sat stone faced up front.

“I look constipated.”

“You are smiling a little too hard,” Daphne agreed. “You’ll get used to the no braces thing in a few weeks.” The ones she’d worn were mostly invisible, and she hadn’t had them for longer than the duration of our sophomore year.

Willa zoomed in. “You look stunning. Like a sexier version of Marilyn Monroe sans mole. I, on the other hand, look like someone slapped me in both cheeks.” She dropped her phone and started rubbing at her blush coated cheeks.

Daphne grabbed her hands. “Quit.” She laughed. “It looks good on you.”

The car stopped.

Willa looked panicked as the driver got out and opened the back doors, exposing us to the partygoers who were lingering on the sprawling front lawn. “I really think I need to fix my face.”

“Your face looks amazing. Let’s do this,” I said, pumping my shoulders.

Daphne muttered what sounded like, “Oh, Jesus.”

Together, we sauntered over the grass. Some kids from school smiled or waved, mostly at Daphne, but I smiled anyway. I was wearing my signature floral Doc Martens, a bright purple skirt that looked more like a tutu, and a ripped black T-shirt featuring Stevie Nicks. My curls bounced around my face with each step I took, and Willa’s straightened hair stuck to her lips. She pushed it away, her eyes still veiled with uncertainty as we reached the door.

Leon Franklin, who was in my trig class last year, slouched against the door. “Tickets, ladies.”

“Ticket this, Franklin.” Daphne flipped him off, and we headed inside.

“Badass,” Willa said, stealing an unopened beer as soon as we neared the ice box in the living room.

“Don’t drink beer,” Daphne said. “You’ll bloat. Here.” She grabbed some fruity looking drinks, handing one to Willa, then grabbed another for me. “Drink this.”

Shrugging, I removed the cap and sniffed it.

“Did you just sniff it?” Willa asked.

“Smells like apples.” I took a careful sip. “Hey, yum.”

Daphne popped open her own, and Willa and I watched as she drained half of it in a few pulls. She dragged a finger over her red lips, inspecting it, then nodded. “Right. Let’s mingle.”

Mingling wasn’t so fun, and sick of feeling awkward standing off to the side with Willa while Daphne chatted with some girls I’d rather not talk to, I decided to grab another drink.

Three drinks later, I was feeling fuzzy around the edges, my limbs limber, and my smile a permanent fixture on my face as we danced around to the little jukebox we’d found in the upstairs living room.

That was, until we went to the bathroom and found a bunch of guys inside smoking pot.

“Dash?”

A slow grin shaped his lips, and he flicked ash from his blunt into the sink he was sitting next to. “Freckles.”

Heat infused my cheeks. “Don’t call me that.”

“Embarrassed?” he asked.

I rolled my eyes as Daphne pushed the door open, then walked right over to Lars. She plucked the blunt from between his lips and stuck it between hers.

I turned to leave. I couldn’t believe he was here.

“Aw.” I heard his boots thud to the tiles. “Not happy to see me? What am I, your dirty little secret?”

“I don’t care. You can do what you want.” I just hoped he’d leave me alone to do the same. I grabbed Willa, who was looking around the confined space as if she was trying to find something. Probably alcohol, I mused. “Let’s go.”

“Not so fast, Cotton Candy,” Lars said when Daphne turned to leave with the remains of his joint. “You owe me.”