Page 43 of From Now On

We tap them all together, then down them in unison.

It’s expensive vodka, the kind that doesn’t taste like rubbing alcohol. It burns when it hits my stomach, warm numbness spreading a few seconds later.

“Let’s go, ladies!” Harlow cheers, then heads for the door.

I pat my pockets to make sure I have my phone, and then follow.

“How long has it been since they came upstairs?” Rylan asks as we walk down the empty hallway toward the stairs.

“Ten minutes?” Harlow guesses.

It’s beenat leastfifteen, but I don’t point that out. I’m guessing Aidan will.

The sound of sports commentary is audible before we hit the first step, but the guys are gathered by the front door, not in front of the television. Aidan is tossing pieces of popcorn in his mouth, while Conor is sipping from a water bottle.

I focus on Hunter. He’s showered and changed since I went upstairs to get ready. His hair is still damp, the dirty-blond shade slightly darker than usual. He’s wearing jeans and a gray Henley that looks like it’s constructed from the softest cotton in the world. Standing and typing on his phone, with a worried wrinkle creasing his forehead.

I linger on the last step, letting Rylan and Harlow go ahead to greet their boyfriends.

Aidan’s loud joking about how long we took to get ready distracts Hunter from his phone. He shakes his head at the foursome gathered by the door before glancing at me.

And I freeze like I was caught doing something wrong beneath a bright spotlight.

Up until the recent overlap in our social spheres, my glimpses of Hunter have all been around campus. We’ve never interacted in this context—theflirty outfit and vodka shotskind of atmosphere. The closest was the school-sponsored event where we first met.

I can’t tell what Hunter is thinking. If he’s even noticed that the top I’m wearing is held together by four bows, exposing the center strip of my chest. This is undoubtedly the sexiest I’ve ever looked in front of him—I dressed this way with him in mind—and I’m…deflated that he doesn’t appear to register any difference.

A gust of colder air alerts me to Rylan and Aidan’s exit.

Conor is halfway out the door. “Dude. Come on.”

Hunter drops the foot he had propped against the wall. Tucks his phone into his pocket. “Yeah. Ready,” he says gruffly.

It’s not until he moves toward the door that I register how motionless he was before. Maybe he was alittleaffected? Guys have always praised my big boobs, and they’re the star of my outfit tonight.

“Eve!”

Harlow holds out her right hand—her left one is clasped with Conor’s. As soon as I take it, she pulls me out the door with them. Conor pauses to lock the house, and then we follow Hunter to his car. The boys must have made a plan while we were getting ready, because Conor heads for the driver’s seat and Hunter climbs into the passenger side without any discussion of the seating arrangements. Aidan dives into the back seat, pulling Rylan in behind him.

“This should be interesting,” Harlow whispers to me, then climbs in next.

I end up with most of the seat behind Hunter. My right hip is pressed tight against the door to accommodate for the four people wedged across the back, but it’s not that uncomfortable. The heady feeling ofbelongingeclipses any discomfort. I don’t feel like an outsider as I stare at one of the strands of blond hair that curls against the back of Hunter’s neck.

“You guys good back there?” Conor asks as we start rolling down the driveway.

“Living the dream, man,” Aidan answers easily. “I’m surrounded by hot girls. Wanna sit on my lap for the ride back, Hayes?”

Conor hits the brakes.

Aidan—the only one not wearing a seat belt—flies into the back of Conor’s seat. His hand hits the headrest a second before his nose.

“I waskidding, Hart. Jesus. I prefer brunettes.” He nuzzles Rylan’s neck.

“Right,” Rylan drawls. “That’swhy the blonde who works in the campus coffee shop always gives you free drinks.”

“I think she’s just a really big hockey fan,” Aidan says. “Right, Morgan?”

“I never got the impression your discounted lattes had anything to do with your subpar slap shot, Phillips,” Hunter replies.

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