Page 6 of Lights Out

“Hot enough,” I answer. “I won’t be taste testing though. I have big plans and falling for some guy who’s only going to hold me back isn’t one of them.”

“How do you know he’d hold you back?” Bane asks.

“Because that’s the kind of luck I have.” I lift the plastic sword dangling in my third martini of the night and eat the olive at the end of it. “I can’t do casual, and I don’t have time for anything more.”

“Like, forever?” Jerryn asks.

“Well not forever, I hope. Just until I’ve launched my own amazing career designing for the ultra rich. As soon as I get a layout in a big design mag I’ll know I made it.”

Indy is staring at me with the fatherly set to his jaw he gets sometimes. He’s mere months older than me but for some reason, he’s always felt more like a big brother than a peer.

“What?”

Indy shrugs. “Nothing, man. Sounds like you got it figured out.”

Not even a little bit but I’m not announcing that. “Come on, guys, it’s not like I don’t have experience with this. Do I need to remind you of Joshua Brennan in junior year?”

Kit cringes and moans. “That douchebag. I hope you’re not basing future romantic choices on that loser.”

“No, but I am basing my choices on my reaction to that loser.” I blow out a huff of breath as disgraceful memories rush back. “I was a mess after he cheated on me, and it took me way too long to bounce back. I can’t afford to lose time like that.”

“Hey,” Indy says, reaching over to squeeze my shoulder. “That was a long time ago. Don’t miss out on something good because of that. The right guy will complement your life, not distract it.”

“Wise words from an eternal playboy,” Kit says, grinning, and we all laugh at poor Indy’s expense.

Indy flashes a lazy, alcohol-laced grin that still manages to be sexy. The man is literally sex on a stick who had a starring role in my jack off fantasies the first month I met him. I learned quickly that he’s got a soft spot for the twinkiest of twinks and he’s a player like he’s trying to win a medal in the fuckboi Olympics. I’m not a twink, thank you very much. Okay, maybe I’m twink-adjacent.

“Are your parents coming to graduation, Low?” Bane asks.

“Oh yes. They’ll be here to take the pictures so they can get in the newspaper back home. Instead of a brand new Mercedes like my sisters got, I’m getting a wardrobe budget and my flat paid for.”

The guys fall silent, staring at me like I just started speaking French again.

“What?”

“Nothing, man,” Ridley says. “Just us losers trying to make sense of what you said.”

“Don’t everyone’s parents take out a press release in the local newspaper when their children get a degree?” My tone is dripping in sarcasm. “And trust me the fancy gifts are nothing but plot points to alleviate their guilt for being such shit parents.”

“You okay?” Indy asks.

I nod, straightening my shoulders. “Yep. In a week I’ll be sitting in cafes eating freshly baked croissants and heading to my dream job. What do I have to be sad about?”

Besides being absolutely fucking terrified, wracked with loneliness, and tragic about leaving my friends. Little things.

“It’s ten past midnight,” Kit says. “Can I cry now?”

“No,” Ridley says. “We’re closing this place down so keep the waterworks at bay for two more hours. Who wants to dance?” He’s out of his seat and shaking his slender hips. “Come on, Kitty Kat.”

Kit laughs, scooting his chair back. Soon enough, all of our chairs are scraping across the wood floors as we head to what is scarcely a dance floor but it’ll do.

“Remember New Year’s Eve?” Jerryn asks, his words slurring a little as he sways to the music.

“Which one?” Bane asks.

“Um… the last one I think.”

Indy laughs, putting his hands on Jerryn’s hips from behind. “The table dance?”

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