Out of Breath (Breathing, #3)(23)

I eyed the plastic-cup-carrying multitude of scantily dressed girls – skin on display despite the chilly night – trying to locate Peyton among the blondes. But this was California, so that was a daunting task.

I pulled out my phone to text her but couldn’t send; the estate, carved into the hills with the ocean in the distance below, apparently had made my cell signal sketchy.

Instead of searching for the right spot to send the text, I headed towards the bar in hope of spotting Peyton. A guy in a multicoloured tropical shirt stood behind it. He paused a second after handing a beer bottle to the guy in front of me. I stepped up to the bar and looked behind me, confused by the recognition that flashed across his face. When I turned back towards him, he produced a charming smile and asked, ‘What can I get you?’

‘Vodka with something,’ I requested. Not expert enough to know what I liked, I decided to fall back on my mother’s liquor of choice.

‘I can do that.’ He began scooping ice from a bucket. ‘Who do you know here?’

‘No one,’ I answered, fidgeting awkwardly. He kept looking at me with this ridiculous grin, like he knew an inside joke that I wasn’t privy to. ‘I’m supposed to meet a friend, but I haven’t seen her yet.’

‘Well, I’m Brent,’ he stated, holding out his hand for me to shake. ‘This is my friend’s place. I’m staying here with him and a few other guys for the weekend.’ He handed me the drink.

‘I’m Emma. And now I know you. So if anyone asks, I’ll tell them that you and I are friends.’

‘We are friends,’ he replied adamantly, as if this was a known truth. I wrinkled my brow at his peculiar answer.

‘I think I’m going to go find my other friend,’ I told him, glancing around the pool. I took a sip of the clear bubbly drink with a lime floating in it. It didn’t taste bad. I turned back towards Brent and asked, ‘What am I drinking?’

‘Vodka soda. I kept it simple,’ he answered while preparing a drink for a girl leaning against the bar. ‘I didn’t figure you for the supersweet girly-drink kind of girl.’

‘Good call,’ I noted with a small laugh.

‘I will talk to you later. I’m not at the bar all night. We need to catch up, since I haven’t seen you in … ever,’ he stated with a gleaming smile. I nodded and couldn’t help but smile in return before walking towards the stairs.

‘Emma!’ I heard my name above the noise as I was midway up the steps. I tried to turn around, but was forced to keep moving up, caught in the line of people going into the house. I looked over the railing and spotted Peyton waving frantically below. ‘I’ll come up!’

I moved to the corner of the large upper deck to wait for her. ‘How long have you been here?’ she asked when she finally made it to the top of the stairs.

‘Not long,’ I told her. ‘This party is pretty huge.’ The crowd continued to grow around the pool, and inside it was packed with people dancing.

‘I know, right?’ she responded. ‘You look amazing.’ I smiled uncomfortably. ‘But … that’s not a dress.’

‘I don’t wear dresses,’ I told her. ‘Where’s Tom?’

‘Getting us drinks.’ She nodded towards the bar on the patio, but it was difficult to spot him from the aerial view. However, she seemed to know exactly where he was. Her gaze lingered and her lips drew up dreamily.

‘I take it you had a great date.’

‘You have no idea,’ she gushed. Then she waved, and I saw him nod his head in our direction.

Tom handed Peyton a drink when he joined us and slid his arm around her shoulder. Peyton nestled into him, her arm snug around his waist. I tried to act casual, but the amorous energy they were emitting was making me uncomfortable.

‘So … Tom, I heard you’re staying in Santa Barbara,’ I finally said, feeling like I should say something to distract from the awkwardness.

His eyes twitched slightly, and he looked down at Peyton. I heard her mumble, ‘I didn’t tell her.’ I stared at Peyton, silently demanding her to spill whatever she was keeping from me.

‘Yeah,’ Tom answered hesitantly. ‘The place is right down the street from here. The house isn’t very big, but it’s right on the beach. It’s pretty sweet.’

‘Great,’ I forced, still watching Peyton, who refused to look at me.

Then I heard, ‘You’ve got to be f*cking kidding me.’ I looked past Tom, and there stood Cole, staring at me in disbelief. Shit.

I couldn’t speak. My eyes shifted from Cole to Peyton, who still refused to look at me. I downed the last gulp in my cup and announced, ‘I think I need another drink,’ quickly slipping into the house. After navigating my way through gyrating hips and flinging hair, I arrived at a bar on the far side of the cleared-out living room.

The bartender at this bar wore a blue tropical shirt. His brown hair was full of dreads and pulled back into a low ponytail. He scanned me casually, and his mouth tightened into a subtle smile. I was beginning to wonder if I had something stuck to my face. ‘Can I get you a drink?’ he offered. I requested the same concoction that Brent had prepared; then he asked the question of the night: ‘Who do you know here?’

‘Brent,’ I answered automatically.