Page 7 of Alive At Night

“Collins is mad at me.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Julian frown with concern. Genuine, actual concern.

“Why?”

Cameron shook his head with a laugh. “I said something about how they should move to the East Coast, and now Beau’s throwing out house offers left and right.”

Julian perked up. “They’re actually coming?”

“No.” Cameron’s dimples appeared as he smiled into his drink. “But he wants to buy property so they can spend more time visiting.”

“Damn, that’s too bad. Would love to have them move here.”

Julian’s disappointment was evident. Maybe his range of emotions was broader than I thought.

The pieces slowly came together as they talked; Cameron’s sister, Collins, and her husband, Beau, were Julian’s friends from undergrad, which explained how Cameron and Julian connected in law school even though they weren’t in the same year.

I leaned back, listening to them go on about all of Julian’s hotshot friends from his early college days. A billionaire, a few pro football players, an upcoming singer-songwriter. Apparently, playing Division I football at a California university also meant collecting famous people as friends along the way. It was hard to wrap my head around, but then again, Julian was always that golden boy, the fan favorite at every school he went to. For some goddamn reason, he attracted people everywhere he went.

Meanwhile, I struggled even making one new friend as an adult. I’d had the same singular best friend since childhood.

“You remember meeting them, right?”

Julian directed the question at me, and I was so taken aback that he deliberately included me in the conversation that it took me a second to figure out what he was talking about.

“Who?”

“My friends from college. You must have met them when you and Gemma came to visit.”

Oh yeah.That.

I’d blocked out most of the memories from that night in California. After Julian found me on the floor by the toilet at the end of it, there weren’t any other options except to forget it ever happened. But if I skipped through my recollections to the earlier part of the evening, Icouldrecall being introduced to a handful of nice couples and having a tipsy conversation with one of Julian’s hot roommates.

“That was years ago,” I said, deciding Julian didn’t need to know that I understood exactly who, what, and where he was talking about. “Their names ring a bell, though.”

“They’re all great,” Cameron said warmly. I could tell he was someone who always gave his undivided attention. And I couldn’t help but melt a bit at being on the receiving end of it. “Honestly, I was concerned when Collins wanted to live across the country from my mom and me, but she made friends with the right people.”

He said it so sincerely that I bit down on a teasing retort about Julian being considered one ofthe right peopleand smiled back at him. “It sure sounds like it. I’d love to meet her again sometime. Maybe when I’m sober enough to remember it.”

Cameron laughed, his deep brown eyes twinkling. He ran a hand over his black, buzzed hair, smoothing an already perfect style, and it occurred to me that maybehecould solve all my problems. Well, not all of them. That was probably impossible. But at least the one involving needing a date to my sister’s wedding. My only sister. The one I’d never met and felt the innate need to impress.

Cameron wasveryimpressive.

“I don’t blame you for being too drunk to remember,” he said. “I’ve heard about the parties Julian used to throw.”

He shot a look at the party-thrower himself, who I expected to smirk. But Julian had his eyes narrowed on me instead. He even went as far as to tip his head slightly to the side, studying me, and I resisted the urge to look down at my dress to make sure nothing had spilled on it.

Distracted by Julian’s sudden stare-down, I jumped a little when Cameron pushed back from the bar and excused himself to go to the bathroom.

Great. Alone with Mr. Killjoy again.

Julian silently took another drink of his beer, holding the stem of the bottle with two fingers lazily. Finding my mouth suddenly dry, I also threw back some of my Spritz.

“For the love of God, don’t go trying to get into Cameron’s pants,” he said abruptly after a few seconds of only the chatter from nearby drinkers to keep us company. He didn’t bother looking at me, keeping his gaze on the bottles that lined the mirror behind the bar.

I took another sip of my drink to buy myself time on how to respond.

Finally, I decided, “Why not?”

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