Page 2 of Just Friends

“I better go see if Cam needs anything,” Ellie says. She looks back at me. “Doyouneed anything? You really don’t have to hide away back here.”

The thing is, at most parties, I’m right in the thick of it, hoarding all the socialization Cam so desperately avoids. Atthisparty, however, for people I’ve never met, where the only people I know are the photographer and the host, I feel an unfamiliar uneasiness in the pit of my stomach.

“I’m good,” I tell her, forcing a smile to my face.

Her brow crinkles with concern, as if she doesn’t quite believe me, and I feel guilty for putting that look there. This is her parents’ anniversary party, and from what I’ve heard, they’re incredibly picky. I know she’s been planning this event for months and doesn’t need to be worrying about me.

“You sure?” she asks.

My chin dips in a nod. “Definitely,” I say, and with one look in our direction, she disappears.

Alex’s gaze is heavy on me, and when I look up, a smirk plays with the edges of his mouth. “You hate this, don’t you?”

“I love parties,” I tell him, holding my sweating glass tighter in my hand.

“But you hatethisparty,” he clarifies.

I don’t know what makes me open up to him, but I do. Maybe he just has one of those faces, the kind that’s easygoing and nonjudgmental, with permanent laugh lines etched into all the right spots.

“I’m a little uncomfortable,” I say finally. With a hand, I gesture at my outfit, a honey-colored sundress with a plunging neckline and wide, fluttering sleeves, embroidered with tiny white flowers around the neckline and down the skirt. “I don’t think I quite nailed the dress code.”

Everyone else at the party is dressed like they’re drinking cocktails on a yacht. There’s more Lilly Pulitzer and seersucker here than in the Hamptons. Even Alex matches the aesthetic, although he’s easily the most casually dressed person here in the lightest shade of khakis and a white linen shirt with the top four buttons left undone and the sleeves rolled to his elbows.

My skin heats as his gaze dips, assessing my outfit. “I like it.”

“I’m also,” I say, swallowing, “more than a little nervous about running into your parents.”

His eyes glitter with mischief as they meet mine. “I promise you, they will never know. They invited all their rich friends, and their rich friendshadto bring along their children to show them off. And their rich friends’ children had to bring along their significant others or risk getting alcohol poisoning while trying to avoid their parents’ disappointment in their life choices. Somyparents know roughly 20 percent of the people here.”

“Surprisingly, that does make me feel a little better.”

“Good,” he says, his grin widening until it takes over his entire face. “Now, we just need to get you out of this corner. You look like a wallflower in a period drama.”

An unexpected laugh jolts from me. “You don’t seem like the period drama type,” I say, clutching my drink a little tighter.

“Oh, I’m most definitely not. But Ellie likes to watch them when she’s sad, and I can never tell her no.”

“Sounds like you’re a good brother.”

“Absolutely not, but I am a great dancer.” He extends a hand to me, his head tilting in the direction of the dance floor, where most of the younger crowd has gathered with their significant others, the middle-aged attendees observing with pursed lips.

Alex watches me expectantly, dark brown eyes lighting like crackling firewood.

“Fine,” I say, giving him my glass instead of my hand. Pure delight crosses his features, and he quickly deposits the glass on one of the trays of the meandering servers. His hand slides into mine, large and warm, and he pulls me toward the dance floor.

He keeps to the outskirts of the crowd, as though he doesn’t want the attention of being in the middle, and when he spins me around, his hand hovers over my waist.

Eyebrows arched, he asks, “This okay?”

At my nod, his fingers curl around the swell of my hip, gently pulling me closer, and his other hand finds mine. Slowly, we sway to the beat of the jazz music coming from the live band in the corner.

“Your parents don’t look old enough to be married for forty years,” I say, glancing at the couple seated at a table on the other side of the venue.

Alex’s shoulder lifts in a shrug under my hand. “They have great plastic surgeons.” Dimples pop in his cheeks before he continues. “But they got married pretty young. Right out of college. And they waited awhile to have us. They spent the beginning of their marriage building the family business.”

I know from Cam and Ellie that her parents own a large property management company. They own high-end apartments and expensive rentals all over middle Tennessee. From the looks of this lavish party, they seem to have done a pretty good job of building their business.

“Seems to have worked out for them.” I don’t miss the way Alex’s face pinches, a look of displeasure crossing his features before disappearing.

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