Page 30 of Fighting the Forbidden

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An hour later, bored with touring the kind of house I won’t be able to afford for who knows how many years, I plunk myself down at a long wooden counter in Grinder’s finished basement.

I pull out my phone and send Molly a quick text.

Me: How’s your party?

Muffin: Get there in one piece?

That didn’t answer my question. My mouth tilts to the side as I reply to her text.

Me: Yup. Ride was good.

Muffin: Is Remy okay?

I lift my head, searching the area around me. I lost track of Remy near the sauna.

Me: So far, so good. How’s your party?

Molly: Meh.

Agitation flickers through me. That’s not a normal reply from Molly. She shouldn’t be unhappy hanging out with her friends at Hayden’s house. They’re pretty tight. Shit, Hayden was trying to set Molly up with some douche canoe. Maybe that didn’t go well. Would Molly tell him she already has a boyfriend?

No, why would she when I won’t even tell her brother?

Why do I have to be so damn far away tonight of all nights?

Me: What’s wrong?

I stare at my phone, willing her to reply.

“Too much home improvement info for you?” A gravelly voice interrupts my staring contest with the empty screen.

Recognizing the voice, I tuck my phone away. “What’s up, Dex?” I slide off the stool and hold out my hand to the road captain of the Lost Kings MC.

“What’s going on, brother?” He jerks me closer and slaps my back in greeting. “It’s been a minute.”

“It has,” I agree. “Good to see you.”

At least a conversation with Dex will take my mind off of missing Molly tonight.

Molly

The night started out pretty great. I helped Hayden fix snacks and lay them out on her long kitchen counter. Her cousin Jenn showed up an hour later with her giant kit full of hair tools, styling products, and barrettes.

Where Hayden is loud and bright, her cousin Jenn is sweet but plain—our friend group equivalent of vanilla pudding. She’s even wearing a cream sweater and tan leggings tonight—plain as can be. We’re friendly enough. Sometimes I feel like she’s jealous of my friendship with her cousin and it makes our hangouts awkward.

But tonight Jenn and I are bonding over our search for the perfect prom hair style. “You should leave your hair down but maybe do some small, strategically placed braids,” Jenn suggests, pulling a few strands away from my face and weaving them into a halo and pinning it in the back.

Kyla waves a packet of tiny clips shaped like little red roses. “I assume your dress will be red or purple?”

“Purple.” I throw my hands up in an of course gesture.

“Don’t get her started,” Darcy warns. “She’ll tell us all about how purple has been associated with royalty since ancient times, during the Bronze Age, blah, blah, blah.”

My cheeks heat. I did probably say something like that—back in seventh grade. Of course, Darcy remembers.

“And she’s going to marry Griffin Royal one day,” Hayden sings. “So purple’s her color forever.”

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