Chapter 2

CHAPTER2

SCARLETT

“Scarlett, hey.” A hand suddenly grabs at mine as I walk past, and I turn with a gasp to find Ian standing there, smiling down at me. He gives my hand a squeeze before releasing it, taking a step back, his gaze roaming over me from head to toe. “Look at you.”

I duck my head for a moment, my cheeks growing warm. Pleased that he’s actually checking me out for once. “Hi, Ian.”

“That dress . . .” His voice drifts, and I wait breathlessly for him to tell me I look beautiful. Gorgeous even. “It’s so big.”

Disappointment hits. That wasn’t necessarily the reaction I was hoping for.

I glance down at myself, grabbing the tulle and giving the skirt a little shake. “I wanted to make a statement on my birthday.”

“You certainly did.”

And that’s all he says about that.

Huh.

That’s my problem with Ian sometimes. It’s not that he gives off mixed signals. More like he gives off . . . no signals, and that worries me. Does he like me? I don’t know. I mean, I’m positive he likes me as a friend. We’ve known each other a long time, since we were awkward teenagers. I’ve nursed a crush on him for what feels like forever. I moved on from Tate Ramsey to Ian, and I’ve never really liked anyone else since.

My best friend, Rachel, tells me I’m wasting my time with Ian, but I can’t help it. I feel a connection with him, and I just wish he saw it.

Saw me.

“Are you having fun?” I glance around the ballroom, waving at a woman I vaguely recognize when we make eye contact. She returns the gesture before turning away.

“Yeah, it’s great.” Ian shoves his hands into his pants pockets, leaning back on his heels as he’s wont to do. “This is quite the production.”

“You know my parents. They never do anything small.”

“Like this dress?” He reaches out, rubbing the tulle fabric directly in front of my chest. My breasts. “Oops.” He realizes exactly where he’s touching me and yanks his hand away, his cheeks turning ruddy. “Sorry.”

I keep back what I really want to say, which is, I don’t mind.

Because I don’t mind. At all. At least it would be a small clue that he likes me as more than a friend if he were trying to cop a feel. Normally when Ian and I are together, he barely touches me.

Maybe this is a bad sign. Maybe I’m wasting my time with Ian. This isn’t the first instance when I’ve had this same exact thought.

That’s why I plan on confessing my feelings to him tonight. I’m tired of being confused. The not knowing is killing me.

I’m desperate to know where he stands.

“Pretty impressive entertainment tonight,” Ian muses, his gaze focused above us, where one of the aerialists my parents hired is currently swinging from a chandelier. She’s scantily clad, her pale, lithe body on full display as she contorts her arms and legs into what seem like impossible poses. She flips over, hanging upside down as she reaches out to me, a smile on her face.

“For the birthday girl,” she says, a perfect white rose clutched in her fingers.

“Thank you.” Smiling, I take it from her, bringing the flower to my nose and breathing in the delicate scent. When I glance over at Ian, I find him frowning at me, his usually bright-blue eyes dark and cloudy.

“I should’ve given you flowers. For your birthday,” he says.

“But I didn’t want any gifts.” My heart starts to race at what he just said. The sincere way he’s watching me. “The invitation said so.”

“It’s still your birthday, and a woman always likes flowers. That’s what my mom says, anyway.” He plucks the rose from my fingers, twirling it between his, the petals flaring out. “Are white roses your favorite now?”

“Are you tucking that information away for later?” I tease, trying to flirt.

He frowns, handing the flower back to me. “No. I thought you preferred pink.”

I take the rose from him, fighting disappointment. He didn’t respond to my flirting attempt, of course. He’s always so literal. It’s hard to tease him. He takes everything so seriously.

“I do prefer pink,” I say with a faint smile, trying to forge on. I can’t let anything deter me tonight. “But I like white too. I like all flowers.”

“Clearly.” He glances around the room, his expression serious. “They’re everywhere.”

“Thousands of them,” I admit, my voice soft. And they look gorgeous. My mother went all out—she’s the one behind the floral arrangements. My favorites are the giant hearts made of a variety of flowers and greenery.

“Scarlett, hey.” My cousin Crew’s fiancée suddenly appears in front of us, a big smile on her pretty face. “Happy birthday!”

We embrace and I squeeze her tight. Wren and Crew are a couple of years older than me, and I’ve loved getting to know her when she accompanies him to family functions. She’s sweet and smart and heavily into art, so she’s always got something interesting to say.

“Thank you,” I tell her before we withdraw, glancing over at Ian, who’s watching the both of us with a stoic expression. “Wren, this is Ian.”

“Hi.” She offers her hand and he shakes it. “Is he your boyfriend?” Her gaze shoots to mine questioningly.

My face grows hot, and I’m sure it’s bright red. “We’re⁠—”

“Just friends,” Ian supplies for me, offering Wren a grim smile before he lets go of her hand.

Everything inside of me deflates, and my shoulders slump. Even my smile falls, and I know Wren can see it. She smiles brightly, waving her hand at the stage, where one of those giant floral hearts is hanging as a backdrop.

“You two should go take a photo together onstage, in front of the heart,” she suggests. “As friends.”

Ah, I could hug Wren for that suggestion.

I glance over at Ian. “Do you want to?”

“I can take the photo for you,” Wren says before he can answer. “Unless you want to take a selfie together.”

An unspoken message passes between me and Wren. If I take a selfie with Ian, we’ll have to tuck in together real close.

“Oh, I can take it,” I say airily. “But thank you.”

Her smile is knowing. “Have fun! We’ll chat later.”

She waves and takes off, probably in search of Crew.

“You sure it’s okay to go on the stage?” Ian asks, his brows furrowed.

“It’s my party,” I remind him, my voice firm. Ian isn’t much of a rule breaker. He makes my father look like a maniac. “I can go anywhere I want tonight. Come on.”

Wow, I said that with a lot of confidence I don’t necessarily feel, but he doesn’t protest when I take his hand and practically drag him toward the stage. People part as we walk past, making room for my wide pink skirt and train trailing behind me, and once we’re at the stairs, Ian is standing next to me, our hands still linked as we walk up onto the stage.

“You can see everything from here,” he says as he glances over his shoulder to check out the party.

I barely look at the crowd. I’m too entranced by the man beside me. I’ve adored him for far too long, and I can’t help but stare at his lips. Wonder what they might feel like crushed to mine. “Ian, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

He meets my gaze with the slightest frown. “Everything all right?”

I angle myself so we’re facing each other, grabbing his other hand and clutching them both in mine. We’re standing in front of the giant flower heart on the stage, hand in hand, and I have a fleeting thought that we look like we’re about to get married.

Wouldn’t that be amazing? Our wedding at the Plaza. Our families so proud, so incredibly happy as they watch. Our ceremony and reception would look just like this. Hundreds of people in attendance. Flowers everywhere. Delicious food and the alcohol endlessly flowing. A massive cake that Ian would never smash in my face. Me wearing delicate antique lace and looking like a fairy princess. Ian dashing in a black tuxedo.

“Everything is great.” I clear my throat, nerves making my stomach pitch and roll. “I wanted to talk to you⁠—”

“Scarlett! Happy birthday!”

I glance out at the crowd to see my other best friend, Rachel, standing directly in front of the stage, a giant smile on her pretty face. She cups her hands around her mouth and shouts, “Get it, girl! He’s cute!”

If my entire body could blush, it would be doing so right now. I let go of Ian’s hand, giving her a quick wave while shaking my head, hoping she knows I’m trying to tell her to stop talking.

She doesn’t get the hint.

“Is that your boyfriend, Scarlett?”

She knows exactly who Ian is.

“Ignore her,” I tell Ian as I stare up at him.

“Isn’t that your friend?”

“Well . . . yes.” Rachel is just giving me grief, something she’s tremendously good at. She’s been encouraging me for months to tell Ian how I feel about him, and I’m always making excuses about why I can’t say anything to him.

“Does she think we’re together? Your other friend thought the same thing.” He sounds amused. And this is the perfect segue . . .

“Speaking of boyfriends, like I said, I wanted to talk to you.” I take a deep breath. “About me. And you.”

“What about us?” Ian’s frown is deep, causing his forehead to wrinkle.

The boy is clueless, I swear. “Maybe there could be an⁠—”

“Everyone, get excited!” The MC magically appears on the stage, striding toward us. “Our special guest performer is about to take the stage, and you do not want to miss this!”

I glance over at the MC, scowling at him for interrupting my moment. The moment I’ve been anticipating since we started planning this party.

“We’ll talk later.” Ian lets go of my hands and heads for the stairs. “It can wait, Scarlett.”

No, it can’t, I want to tell him, but I say nothing. I just watch him go, my chest aching as I stare at his retreating back. I realize quickly that many of the guests are watching me, curiosity in their gazes, and I wonder if my feelings are written all over my face. If I’m that obvious.

Probably, yet the very man I want to notice my feelings is completely oblivious.

Rachel, though? She’s giving me two thumbs up and an enthusiastic grin. I can only smile helplessly at her, my heart threatening to beat itself out of my chest at having so many people watching me.

“You want to stay onstage and meet your first crush face-to-face?” the MC asks me, waggling his brows in an exaggerated manner.

I quickly shake my head, and without answering him, I dart toward the stairs, earning some good-natured laughter. I pick up my skirts and take the steps carefully, stopping short when Rachel rushes toward me, pulling me into a hug and delivering a smacking kiss to my cheek before she pulls away.

“You look absolutely gorgeous. That dress is to die for,” she gushes, her smile wide. “Oh my God, it’s been too long since we’ve gotten together! What, since the weekend we graduated? I’ve missed you!”

“I’ve missed you too,” I tell her, meaning every word. She’s good for my ego. For hyping me up, which I totally need tonight.

“Who’s the guest performer, huh? Please tell me your dad reunited One Direction.” Rachel laughs. “Your dad always makes grand plans. That man can make anything happen.”

“It’s not 1D.” I lean in close, my mouth at her ear. “It’s Tate Ramsey.”

“What? Get out,” she breathes, pulling away to stare at me with wide eyes. “We loved him back in the day.”

“I know, but isn’t that kind of cringey now? He’s some old, washed-up has-been,” I remind her.

“Old? What is he, twenty-one, twenty-two? I haven’t looked him up in ages, but I’m pretty sure he’s still clean and sober. Which means he’s in his absolute prime.” Her smile turns faintly naughty. “I wouldn’t mind a go at him.”

“Rachel.” I give her a gentle shove, making her laugh. “Stop.”

“I’m serious! Tate was gorgeous. The tousled hair. The soulful gaze. The mischievous smile . . .”

“All right, Scarlett, are you ready for your special birthday gift?” the MC suddenly asks.

I glance up to find his gaze is just for me.

Rachel elbows me in the ribs, making me jolt. “Answer him,” she whisper-hisses.

“Yes,” I yell at him dutifully.

“Fantastic! All right, here tonight for a special performance is . . . Mr. Tate Ramsey, the former lead singer of Five Car Pileup!”

The crowd goes absolutely wild, their screams filling the air, which is shocking. Women young and old start hopping up and down, their enthusiastic response genuine when Tate Ramsey himself strides out onto the stage accompanied by one of the band’s most popular songs playing over the speakers. I watch as party guests—mostly women—swarm closer to the stage, their bodies starting to move in tandem when the music starts.

It’s a familiar refrain. A song I immediately recognize and absolutely loved when I was thirteen and in the eighth grade. When I had braces on my crooked teeth and my arms and legs felt too long for my body. I was so awkward it was painful.

My gaze snags on Tate as he walks to the edge of the stage and stops directly in the middle. Rachel wasn’t wrong when she said he was in his prime. He looks even better than he did when he was younger.

And he was so cute back then. The handsome face and bright eyes. Lean body and a sexy smirk always on his face.

The smirk has turned into a genuine smile as he greets the crowd, his deep voice filling the room when he says hello. The women around me seem to swoon all at once, their bodies swaying toward the stage. Toward him.

That smile is still plastered on Tate Ramsey’s face, showcasing the straight white teeth, the dimple denting his left cheek. His hazel eyes sparkle as they sweep over the audience, and I watch as he takes a deep breath, his gaze finding mine, lingering on me as he starts to sing.

The first thing I notice is that his voice is deeper than it used to be. He definitely sounds more mature. And I can’t help but think, as he sings the song that launched Five Car Pileup’s career, that it feels like he’s singing it only to me.

Which should make me uncomfortable, right? Women are shrieking all around me, singing along with the lyrics, with him. Yet he still doesn’t look away from me. He croons into the microphone, his long fingers curled around the handle, flicking his head so the dark-brown hair flopping over his forehead shifts out of his eyes.

His face is like a piece of art. Sharp cheekbones and sexy jawline. Square chin offset by full, lush lips. He’s not as pretty as he used to be, but that’s not a bad thing.

He’s gorgeous. It’s almost intimidating, how handsome he is.

“I was right. He’s even better looking now,” Rachel whispers in my ear. “And he can’t stop staring at you.”

“Please. He’s paid to stare at me,” I remind her out of the side of my mouth, never tearing my gaze from his. Despite knowing this is all a facade thanks to the million-dollar payment my father made, I’m swaying to the beat, unable to help myself.

A new song starts, and it’s my absolute favorite. Their biggest hit of all.

“Lonely for You.”

A small smile forms on my lips when he sings a particular couple of lines from the chorus.

She’s a beautiful girl, with a beautiful smile

One I haven’t seen in a while

I finally tear my gaze from his, grinning at Rachel, who offers a little shoulder shimmy as her response. Being with her helps me forget my worry over Ian, and I let the music take over, cheering when Tate doesn’t miss a beat while slipping into the next song.

And the next one.

Yet another one after that.

The crowd feels like it’s grown. I glance around, confused by all the unfamiliar faces surrounding me. Are there people here who weren’t invited? Maybe they heard him singing from the corridor and decided to peek inside, and now they’re caught up in Tate’s voice, dancing to the songs that are familiar Five Car Pileup hits.

I genuinely forgot they had so many.

When the music stops and Tate is chatting up the crowd, I hear a familiar voice from behind.

“Hey.”

I whirl around to find Ian standing so close I can feel his body heat radiating toward me, an unfamiliar expression on his face. I break out into a huge smile and throw my arms out, wrapping him up in a hug, but he disentangles himself from me quickly.

“I should go,” he says tersely.

I’m frowning, confusion swirling. “What? You’re already leaving? The party has barely started!”

He leans his head toward mine, and I hold my breath, anticipation curling through me at all the possible things he might say. “You know I don’t do well in crowds.”

The anticipation fizzles away, replaced by crushing disappointment. He doesn’t do well in crowds? I’ve never heard him say that before in his life. He sounds like an old man.

“But they haven’t sung ‘Happy Birthday’ to me yet,” I practically shout in his ear. I’m sure he can’t really hear me thanks to how loud Tate Ramsey is now singing. The chanting crowd doesn’t help matters either.

“I’ll take you to lunch later this week. Just the two of us.” That promise, accompanied by the small smile, is enough to relight the hope that flickers deep within me.

We didn’t talk tonight, but lunch alone? Just the two of us? That’s filled with infinite promise.

“Okay.” I try not to sound too eager, desperate to play it cool.

“Happy birthday, Scarlett.” Ian glances over to where Rachel is lurking just behind me. “Goodbye, Rachel.”

“See ya, Ian,” she tosses out at him, rolling her eyes the minute he turns his back on us and walks away.

“We’re having lunch later this week,” I announce triumphantly.

“Big deal.” She waves a hand, being dismissive, and while I hate it, I also understand why. “He’s just going to lead you on like usual.”

I pull her away from the crowd so I can hear her better. “You really think so?”

“Yes, of course I think so! He enjoys having his fan club of one and doesn’t want it to end. The guy is constantly leading you on, Scarlett. Can’t you see it?”

“He doesn’t lead me on.” I defend him all the time to Rachel. She doesn’t like him. I don’t think she ever will.

“He so does. He’ll probably cancel on the lunch plans. Watch. And then they’ll just never happen, yet he knows he’s got you in his back pocket, so whenever he needs an ego boost, he’ll come around and act like he’s interested in you.” She points at the stage, where Tate is currently doing a happy dance along to the music, his lips curled into a huge smile. “Right now I’m thinking you have a better chance with that guy than you do with Ian.”

“Oh, come on, Rach.” I glance over my shoulder, my gaze somehow snagging on Tate’s, and he flashes one of those megawatt smiles at me right before he winks.

My cheeks hot, I turn away, frowning. Maybe my best friend has a point.

I have been chasing after Ian for what feels like years, and he’s never given me a real chance. Oh, there’s always the possibility of us. He’s implied that more than once. I remember him telling me when I was sixteen, “If only you were two years older.”

That sentence alone is what started my eternal crush on Ian. If only what? What would he have done if I were two years older?

That moment is finally here. I turn eighteen years old, and he leaves my party early. I don’t get it.

I don’t get him.

“I saw the way he just looked at you.” Rachel sidles up so she’s standing directly to my right, her mouth at my ear, murmuring encouraging words. “The way he can’t stop looking at you.”

“You already said that.”

“And I mean it. I know you think he’s paid to do this, but I don’t know. I think homeboy is interested.” When I glance over at her, she’s grinning. “Wouldn’t that be the best revenge? Getting with Tate Ramsey just to piss Ian off?”

“I would never.” I could never. First of all, I’m sure Tate wouldn’t be interested in someone like me. And second, I don’t want to send Ian the wrong message. I’m not into Tate. Not like that.

I’m into Ian. And I wish he were actually into me.

Our conversation fades as we both refocus on the performance, though my mind is in other places. Like how Ian isn’t here. How he just bailed on my party and Rachel basically told me I should stop wasting my time on him.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe I should focus on something else.

Like myself.

My stomach growls, and I rest a hand over it, realizing that I haven’t eaten a single thing since I arrived. I could do with some food. Even a piece of birthday cake.

“Do you think he’s going to stop soon?” I ask Rachel, my hips still moving to the beat of the drum.

“Why would you want him to stop? He’s the hit of the party!” Rachel throws her arms up in the air and shakes her head from side to side, mouthing along with the words as Tate sings.

I glance up at him as he moves to the other side of the stage, singing directly to a cluster of older women watching him with adoring eyes. Someone steps on my skirt, and I hastily yank the tulle out of the way so it doesn’t get ripped. The woman is oblivious as she continuously shouts his name. “Tate! Tate! Tate, over here!”

He ignores her, which only makes her shout louder.

Everything starts to feel noisier and even more crowded, and I’m filled with the sudden urge to abandon my own party to chase after Ian. Would he like it if I just showed up at his place and declared my undying love for him? Or would he freak out?

Maybe Rachel’s wrong. Maybe Ian is frustrated just like I am. Maybe he wanted to have that conversation too before we were interrupted. I need to go to him.

I need to see him.

For my eighteenth-birthday party I secretly expected Ian to announce his undying love for me. He would remain by my side the entire night, smiling proudly as I greeted my guests, as I hugged everyone and thanked them for coming to my party. He should be with me right now, standing behind me, his arms around my waist as we both dance slowly to the music, feeling each other’s bodies. Tate could sing his little heart out, and I wouldn’t care if he was faux flirting with me, because I would have the man that I actually care for more than anyone else wrapped all around me. Showing everyone that we’re a couple.

That we’re together.

Instead, I’m alone, frustrated that Ian has left me here.

This is definitely not what I envisioned.