Luckily I’d been to many of Oliver’s parties before and I knew where the solution would be. I skittered around two people, who were basically dry humping against the kitchen island, to reach the freezer, and sure enough, several bottles of vodka were nestled among the luxury ice cream and ice cube trays. If you’re wondering what kind of kid has free booze at their party, it’s the really rich kind. I pulled a blue bottle from under a bag of frozen peas and used my sleeve to wipe off the frost on the neck. I took an empty bottle of Coke from my bag and started to fill it, clumsily spilling a little over the sides.

“Is that yours?” A girl had taken a stool at the kitchen island, and I hadn’t noticed her watching me. She’d been obscured by the humpers before. She had messy brown hair to her shoulders and most of it was flipped onto one side, where it curved in a quiff over her head like she had the habit of running her hands through it. She was round and soft in her face and her body. I liked it. A gold lip ring drew my attention to her lips.

“Oliver owes me.” I spoke far too quietly for the noise of the kitchen and gave her my crooked half smile that always worked. She leaned in over the counter to hear me better, and I could see a hint of bubblegum-pink lace peeking out of her top, which appeared to be an elaborate colorful scarf knotted like a halter top around her neck. I leaned forward too.

“Oh, does he?” The girl seemed unconvinced, but maybe a little amused. She was cute, even if she was an officer of the Vodka Crimes Unit.

“What’s it to you?”

I watched her lips move as she replied. “This is my uncle’s house. I’m staying for the summer.”

I registered an English accent then. I couldn’t place it, but I knew it wasn’t super posh and it wasn’t Northern. That was all my English accent knowledge depleted.

“You’re related to Oliver? How sad for you.” I rubbed her shoulder sympathetically, casually, as if I wasn’t noticing how soft her skin was. She locked eyes with me as I did.

“You’ll need one of these,” I said, and I poured us each a shot into (hopefully) clean plastic cups. I pressed one into her hand, letting my fingers linger for a second. I downed mine, the heat sliding down my throat and into my belly, but she set hers down and sipped from a can of Sprite.

“Living life on the wild side?” I remarked with a smirk.