Amy is a perfect example of this; she had no idea what I’d wear tonight, and the girl spared no expense. Her dress is by far the most captivating ball gown of the night... but mine is far from a gown, so in her vindictive little mind, I wore this as a way to steal the show when really, I wore it because I wanted to feel like I was running my own.

Not the dance committee who decided the theme.

Not my mom, who picked and shipped the pile of lace on my bedroom floor.

And okay, maybe a little out of spite too, but I’m annoyed, and that nasty little fact only annoys me further.

Maybe Amy does know Ransom as well as she claims, because she too wears red. She’s draped in it from neck to toe, and the custom piece is nothing like the one she was having tailored the day I was with them.

I wonder if hers was a gift, too?

Something sour coats my mouth and I reach for the flask hanging from Scott’s fingers.

He cuts me a quick, approving grin and goes back to his conversation.

I swirl the too sweet whiskey in my mouth, reveling in the burn, holding on to it as long as I can stand, before forcing it down my throat and passing it back. As I lick my lips, my eyes catch Amy’s for the fiftieth time tonight, and this time, I flip her off for the hell of it.

She purses her lips and goes back to what she’s been doing for the last few hours—glancing from me to the door, from the door to me, to the bathroom and toward every dark corner in this place, knowing if they were here, she’d find them in one of those three spots. But they’re not.

They had said several weeks ago that they wouldn’t be. Maybe it’s not their thing, or maybe they couldn’t meet dress codes—black jeans would never make it through the door. Of course, if they wanted to, they’d find a way. It’s what they do, get their way. They did with me.

Several times now.

Not that I complained.

(I’m just a dumb girl who had to go and accidentally want a little more of the one who occupies her dreams at night.)

Scott turns to me, a fake gold crown hanging half off of his head, a drunken grin written along his lips as he tosses his arm over my shoulder. “Ready?”

I nod, glancing from him to Cali and Jules as they walk up with several others trailing behind.

Scott holds the flask up once more, a sly smile on his face, and I grab it from him, taking another drink as we slip through the open double doors.