I smoothed my hands over the soft fabric of the pink halter top I’d bought last weekend. It was cropped just enough to show a sliver of my stomach, the silver butterfly of my belly piercing catching the light. My silver hoops dangled against my neck, and my hair was blow-dried, loose waves falling over my shoulders.

Then Blake’s words hit me like an unexpected gust of wind, leaving me unsettled. You usually go for, like, baggy tees and jeans…

It wasn’t like he was wrong. I did wear a lot of baggy tees and jeans. But I wore other things too. I wore girly things. Hadn’t he ever noticed? I had cute outfits. I had a pink Victoria’s Secret pajama set that I loved, didn’t I? Just because I didn’t always dress up didn’t mean I couldn’t. And just because I didn’t wear much makeup didn’t mean I wasn’t girly.

But the way he’d said it…like my usual style was a fact, some unshakable truth about me—was that a bad thing? Was he just making an observation, or was there something more beneath his words? Blake never talked about girls. Ever. He never made comments about anyone being cute, never checked girls out when we were walking around together. I had no idea what his type even was. And suddenly, that realization felt like a problem.

“You need to loosen up.” Tiffany nudged me with her elbow, sipping her drink. “You look like you’re at a funeral.”

I sighed and took a sip of my drink, wincing at the taste. Too much vodka, not enough whatever was supposed to mask the vodka. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re sulking.”

“I’m not sulking.”

“God, look at them,” she whispered, jerking her thumb toward a group of guys. “They’re practically drooling over you.”

I followed her gaze, though I wasn’t sure why. A couple of them were glancing our way, but none of it seemed to matter. I wasn’t interested. Not when my head was filled with thoughts of Blake and the ridiculous mess I was trying to avoid.

“You look hot,” she added, tilting her head as she studied me. “Blake would lose his mind if he saw you in that.”

I tensed immediately. “Why would I care what Blake thinks?”

Tiffany arched an eyebrow, her gaze sharp. “Because you do.”

“No,” I shot back. “I don’t.”

She gave me a knowing look. “You two have been attached at the hip since middle school. You follow him around like a little puppy, and don’t think I haven’t noticed how you look at him.”

I nearly choked on my drink. “I do not look at him, Tiffany. We’re family.”

“Uh-huh. So that’s why you didn’t want him here?”

I swallowed. “He would’ve been annoying.”

“He would’ve been a distraction.”