We all climb out of the vehicle and make a beeline for the side of the lodge. There’s a guy sitting on the concrete step, smoking. When he sees us, he gives us a chin lift in greeting. Spencer pulls some cash from his pocket and smacks it into the guy’s hand.

“Room thirty-seven,” the guy says. “The place is already full. Not sure if you want to let any more in.”

“Nah,” Spencer tells him. “We’re good. Anyone else shows up, send them away.”

Spencer opens the door and holds it for us to pass through. His stare is on me again as I enter the lodge. I’m quickly distracted by the scent of oranges and cloves. It’s a warm, cozy smell that has me relaxing.

“This way,” Spencer says, taking hold of my wrist and tugging me toward a stairwell. “Stay quiet.”

My instinct is to jerk my arm from his grip, but I don’t. He’s not hurting me and not being creepy. I’m just jaded from having to deal with stupid Levi all the time.

I allow Spencer to guide me to the third floor. As soon as we push through the door, he lets go of my wrist. He saunters ahead to room thirty-seven and we follow. I can hear the soft thumping of music from beyond the door. It’s not so loud as to get reported, but it’s there if you’re listening for it.

“I booked the rooms on either side and the one below,” Spencer says, flashing me a wolfish grin. “The last thing I need is someone telling my fucking dad.”

The music grows louder once the door is opened. It’s already packed with familiar faces from school. A heady scent of weed hangs in the air. Red plastic cups litter the room and several bottles of hard liquor line the dresser beside the TV. Dempsey makes a beeline over to the liquor.

Gemma leans in and points a discreet finger at one of the beds where two people are making out. The guy has his hand beneath the girl’s dress, clearly fingering her in front of thirty or forty people.

“To think I almost said yes to going out with him,” Gemma hisses. “What a pig.”

I quickly put together that the guy on the bed is the one who asked her out. Gross.

“You can do better,” I assure her. “Guys our age are all immature assholes.”

She flashes me a grateful smile. “Right? We should totally date someone older. You think any college guys are here?”

There are a few unfamiliar faces, so it’s likely. I notice a cute guy wearing a PMU T-shirt that molds to his muscular shoulders and chest.

“Like him?” I ask, nodding his way.