Page 7 of Tell Me You Like It

She frowns at me. “You’re not wearing that.”

I glance down at myself and shrug. I’m wearing jeans, my cleanest pair of tennis shoes, and a sweater that’s kinda cute. It’s not as fancy as her dress, but it’s not as casual as my usual outfits, at least.

“There wasn’t a dress code on the invitation,” I point out.

With a sigh, Bree pushes into my room. “Hi Emily,” she says, waving at my roommate, who is sitting on her bed with her laptop, headphones covering her ears. Emily waves, then goes back to whatever she was doing.

Bree goes straight to my tiny closet, tearing through itlike a woman on a mission. She pulls several things out, looks at them, then puts them back with a huff—until, finally, she finds something. She holds a short, maroon dress up to me, eyeing it critically. “Are your legs shaved?”

“Yeah. I shaved them yesterday before we went to the beach.”

“Good.” She pushes the dress into my chest. “Put this on while I find some shoes.”

I take the dress. “This dress is two years old. It’s way too small for me now.”

In the past two years, I’ve gained about fifteen or twenty pounds. And I don’t hate it, honestly. I know you’re supposed towantto be skinny, but I’ve always liked my curves, and the extra weight has never bothered me.

But shoving that twenty extra pounds into this dress is like asking me to stuff a rolled sleeping bag back into its sack. Some things are just impossible.

“Perfect,” Bree says. “It’ll show off your assets. Now, hurry. We’ve got to go.”

With a sigh, I tug the dress on just to prove how wrong Bree's vision is. But once the dress settles into place, it actually doesn’t look too bad. It’s tight, but it props my breasts up nicely, making them look far more perky than they actually are. The only downside is that the dress isreallyshort, so half my ass is hanging out. But whatever. It’ll work for a couple of hours.

Bree steps back, and looks me over, head to toe. “Minimal makeup, but you can get away with that. You look gorgeous.” She shoves a pair of black strappy kitten heels at me. “Now let’s go. It’s going to take at least ten minutes to get across campus.”

Thankfully, the residence halls here don’t have curfews, otherwise, we’d be fucked. We make it across campus inrecord time, but that’s because I’m practically running. The campus is dead at night and darkness seeps into every corner, so the unease I feel is pretty intense.

I’m so anxious, I barely notice the cold wind coming off the ocean. I’m just determined to get to Rush House, clutching my pocket-sized stun gun the entire way. I only shove it into my small purse once we see the spire of the old house jutting up over the student affairs building.

The house is just as dark and mysterious as I remember, and a shiver rolls down my spine as we walk past two gnarled gargoyles that flank the walkway leading up to the porch.

As we get closer, I can see there’s someone dressed in a tux standing at the door. He eyes us as we walk up. “This is a private event,” he says just as we mount the top step.

I pull out my invite and hand him both pieces. He glances down at them, then looks up at me. “Name?”

I hesitate, and Bree nudges me. “Lux Anderson and Bree Langley.”

His gaze shifts to Bree, and there’s a second when I think he’s going to turn us away. But instead, he holds out a basket that has a pile of cell phones inside. “Phones aren’t allowed,” he says by way of explanation.

Bree pops forward, dropping her cell phone into the basket, then snatches mine and puts it in the basket, too. I open my mouth to say something—namely how ridiculous their no cell phone rule is—but the guy opens the giant oak door, and Bree is already pulling me inside.

The second I step over the threshold, into the foyer, I suck in a breath. The outside of the house is creepy as fuck, but the inside isn’t much better. It’s giving…Haunted Mansion. Wide sweeping staircase, dark hallways, oversized portraits. Wealth practically drips from every antique surface. I’m betting the vase in the foyer alone would fetch a fortune on Marketplace.

Bree and I are guided to the right, and into a large room, where everyone is gathered. Right outside the doorway, there’s a sign on a pedestal that reads, “Silence past this point.”

I grab Bree's arm, and make a face, likewhat the fuck?She just shrugs and continues walking deeper into the room. Someone with a tray hands us each a glass of champagne, which I tip back and drainimmediately, grabbing a fresh glass before the guy can walk away.

Bree gives me a look, but whatever. If I’m going to make it through the next couple of hours, then I’ll need to be comfortably numb. It’s the only way.

We stop at the edge of the room, and I scan the large, elegant space. Expensive-looking paintings hang on the walls in gold frames, and there’s a crystal chandelier suspended in the center of the room. Everything about this ancient house screams wealth, privilege,elite.

My gaze shifts to the faces surrounding me, and the first thing I notice is the fact that there are so few guys here. This room isfilledwith girls, probably all ExU students, each more stunning than the last. They’re all wearing designer dresses paired with chunky jewelry, and Gucci purses slung over their bony shoulders. I feel like I’ve tumbled down the rabbit hole and landed in some kind of couture ad.

Heels clack on the hardwood floor as the girls walk around, completely silent, sipping their drinks. Some stand in groups, while others look like they’re making an effort to be seen–strutting elegantly, champagne in hand, chins tilted upward.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

I can’t see where the sound is coming from, but on the other side of the room, four cloaked figures emerge, filing into the room—the same mysterious figures from last night. But this time, they’re not wearing the gold masks.

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