Page 39 of Fire Fight

She places her phone, screen up, on the table between us.

“Now tell me the truth. Does this dress look as stunning as I think?”

It's long but constructed from gossamer silver panels, designed to flow apart as she moves, revealing the darker sapphire skirt underneath. Even in the website quality photo on her tiny screen, it sparkles.

“That’s a gorgeous dress,” I say, partly because she looks stressed. Mostly because it’s true. “Though I don’t know how you’ll wear a bra in this.”

Gretchen takes her phone back, a soft smile on her lips as she stares at her selection. “It doesn’t require a bra.” She tilts her nose in the air. “It doesn’t requireanyunderwear.”

An idea that sounds both horrifying and incredibly sexy. I shift on my seat, trying to imagine how it would feel to go bare when there’s…

“How many people are coming?”

“Two hundred.”

I gulp, sharing a sympathetic glance with Rox. “How on earth do you cater for that many?” At a guess, chips, dips, and salted peanuts aren’t the expected standard.

But while I’m impressed, Felicity snickers. “She makes a call to the catering company, gives them the quote per head, and recites Gretchen’s dad’s credit card number. Big whoop.”

“And how much is it per head?”

“Fifty plus alcohol,” Gretchen supplies, then her forehead creases. “Unless you think it should be more.”

Ten grand before booze? My mouth falls open.

“Uh-oh.” Rox gives another delighted giggle. “We’ve broken the new girl.”

Not broken so much as stunned.

All that to get Drake to a party where even if he attends, he’ll ignore her? The lowkey pinch of anxiety twists deeper. I hope he won’t do anything to embarrass her.

A quick glance in his direction is met with a fiery glare and I rip my eyes away.

Of course he’ll embarrass her. If he even bothers to show.

“Promise me, you’ll work your magic,” Gretchen says as we take our trays to the recycling bin. The confidence she usually exudes is missing, an anxious expression in its place. “I really like him.”

An instant quip springs to my lips—you don’t know him, then—but I bite it back, hiding my doubts behind a reassuring smile.

“Anybody who doesn’t like you is crazy. And believe me, hanging around crazy people is well overrated.” As I stack my tray, Hudson sends a text. His arm is around his little brother who holds a cup almost half his size. I smile as I weave among tables, typing back a congratulations message.

Then my ankles are swept out from under me.

My hands widen to brace my fall, but I still land hard, my knees and palms stinging from the impact. The phone goes skidding across the cafeteria tiles, only stopping when Drake stamps his large foot on the device.

I quickly scramble to my feet, blushing furiously as students stare. When I turn to see what tripped me, a boy I’ve never seen before grins, sitting well back on his chair, arms folded in a challenge.

“Careful,” I growl, desperate to cover my embarrassment.

“You’re the one not looking where she’s going,” he says, pulling a face. “Next time, you be careful.”

Meanwhile, Drake has my phone in his hand, turning it over, pressing buttons and I storm over to claim my property.

“What’s the magic word,” he teases as I hold out my hand, standing and lifting the phone until it’s well out of range.

“Can I please have my phone back?” My words are muffled, emerging through gritted teeth.

“Since you asked so nicely.” He places it in my hand, then snatches it away again as I try to take it. “But you’ve just added another level to your forfeit. Are you sure you want it back?”

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