I run my fingers through a small strand of hair that lays along my arm and listen in on the conversations around me.

Dax has an interview with People magazine on Monday, they want to know about his decision to turn down his full-ride to Notre Dame in favor of Michigan. He has to lie and claim it was his dream, when really his parents made the decision for him.

Cali wants to party on her parents’ yacht next weekend and thinks she can blackmail her brother into agreeing to take it out of the peninsula and into open waters.

Amy can’t stand the girl in the white crop top who is ‘all over Teddy from chemistry,’ and is looking mighty fine in her booty shorts and go-go boots. Not that Amy would dare acknowledge such an observation out loud. It’s clear in her snotty tone she doesn’t like that the girl is rocking the outfit better than she is, but her friends simply nod and agree and get her a refill when she downs the green drink in her hand.

I look around the place, a large, wide open vacation home rented solely for tonight’s entertainment, likely put together by a team of prominent party planners who spent weeks preparing and days setting up.

Another day, another hundred thousand dollars.

I don’t know how long I sit here, but the girls have gotten louder and lighter on their feet. The guys have busted out the second bottle of Scotland’s finest, imported with ease and a hefty price tag.

I’m ready to call it a night, already planning my escape for the moment they lean in for refills.

But then my eyes are called toward the door as it’s pushed open, and not to its fullest. Not by the guards or greeters on either side as every other person who set foot in this place tonight required.

With simple nods of acknowledgment and subtle shakes of their heads when the men at the door reach for the large iron handles, the boys slip inside without the need of feeling grand or important, all in favor of a quiet entrance.

My stomach swirls.

They don’t pause in the doorway to look around to see who might have noticed their presence or decide what group to hit first.

They simply curve toward their right, headed for the far-left corner of the giant living room turned dance floor.

I play with my thumbnail, rubbing the pad of my fingers over the sharp tip.

I want to walk over, to talk to Ransom, to look into his eyes and see what I find staring back this time.

A frown builds along my brow at the thought, and I could almost roll my eyes at myself.

I sound ridiculous.