Chapter 12

twelve

. . .

Sloane

Saturday evenings at the apartment are usually low-key—pizza, movies, and convincing Jacklyn not to buy whatever ridiculous thing had caught her eye online. But tonight is different. Tonight is the Sigma house’s legendary “Roaring ’20s Bash.”

The theme is over-the-top even by Sigma standards: flapper dresses, feathered headbands, three-piece suits, and rumors of an actual jazz band in the foyer. Jacklyn had been buzzing about it all week, but I’d barely been able to muster any enthusiasm.

Jacklyn twirls in front of the mirror, her sequin-covered dress glittering with every movement. “Am I channeling Daisy Buchanan? Or does this look more like sparkly seaweed?”

“You look amazing,” I say, adjusting the beaded neckline of my black dress. It’s the only thing I could find that remotely fit the theme—simple and understated, like everything else about my plan.

“And you,” Jacklyn says, eyeing me critically, “look like you’re attending a funeral at the Great Gatsby’s house.”

“It’s neutral,” I protest, smoothing the fringe at the hem. “That’s the whole point.”

“Neutral?” Jacklyn groans, dropping onto my bed dramatically. “Sloane, you’re acting insane. You have Asher Knox—quarterback, godlike jawline, clearly into you—at your fingertips, and you’re doing mental gymnastics to avoid him.”

I turn back to the mirror, adjusting my feathered headband. “I’m not avoiding him. I’m being strategic.”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it now?” she teases.

I glare at her. “Look,” I say, grabbing a tube of lipstick from the vanity. “People are already saying Asher should be benched and Joe should come back. After one bad game. Do you know how much worse it would be if they thought he was distracted because of me?”

Jacklyn rolls her eyes. “You really think you’re that important?”

“No, but they do,” I say, my voice sharper than I intended. “And I can’t be the reason he’s under even more pressure.”

She studies me for a moment, her playful grin fading into something softer. “So what’s the plan, Miss Strategic?”

I shrug, trying to sound casual. “I asked Scott from my marketing class to go with me. As friends. He’s…neutral.”

Jacklyn bursts out laughing, clutching her stomach. “Scott? Scott Harper ? The guy who still wears suspenders to class even when it’s not a theme party?”

“He’s nice,” I say defensively.

“He’s boring,” she shoots back. “And about as exciting as a glass of water. Which I guess makes him perfect for your master plan.”

“Exactly.”

Jacklyn shakes her head, grinning. “You’ve got Asher freaking Knox practically begging to be with you, and you’re taking Scott Suspenders to the Sigma party.”

“Because it’s the right move,” I say firmly, though my conviction wavers as my mind drifts back to the night in the truck bed. The stars, the wine, the way Asher looked at me like I was the only person in the world.

Jacklyn watches me carefully. “You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”

“No,” I lie, focusing on my lipstick.

“Yes, you are,” she says, sitting up. “You’re thinking about that night and how it was probably the best night of your life.”

I freeze for a moment, then force myself to shrug. “It doesn’t matter. I have a plan.”

Jacklyn sighs, standing and smoothing out her dress. “You’re a disaster.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, grabbing my clutch.

“Come on,” she says, linking her arm through mine. “Let’s go find your boring date and see how long you can keep up this charade before Asher loses his mind.”

My stomach twists at the thought of seeing him tonight, but I push it down. This is the right move. It has to be.

The Sigma house comes into view as we pull up in Brian’s truck, and I immediately regret agreeing to this. Even from the street, the mansion-like house radiates excess. Strings of gold lights twinkle from every balcony, casting a warm glow over the lawn. The massive Greek columns are wrapped in black and gold ribbons, and a line of partygoers dressed to the nines snakes down the steps, waiting to get inside.

Jacklyn nudges me from the back seat. “Still think this is a good idea, or are you ready to ditch Scott Suspenders and make out with Asher in the coat closet?”

I glare at her, adjusting the strap of my clutch. “We’re sticking to the plan.”

Brian chuckles from the driver’s seat, throwing the truck into park. “I don’t even know why you’re bringing Scott. No offense, man.”

“None taken,” Scott says cheerfully, climbing out of the truck. He’s wearing a too-tight vest over a button-up shirt and a bow tie that looks slightly crooked, paired with slicked-back hair that’s trying way too hard to look casual.

Jacklyn raises an eyebrow at me as we step onto the sidewalk. “Totally neutral.”

The rest of our sorority sisters chatter excitedly as we ascend the grand steps of the Sigma house. The double doors are propped open, revealing an interior that looks straight out of a movie. A giant chandelier sparkles overhead, casting golden light across the wide foyer, where a makeshift speakeasy-style bar has been set up. Waitstaff in suspenders and bow ties pass out drinks on silver trays, and the scent of champagne and expensive cologne fills the air.

The main party room is even more extravagant. The furniture has been cleared out, leaving an enormous dance floor framed by floor-to-ceiling windows, their curtains drawn back to showcase the city lights. A full jazz band is set up in the corner, complete with a crooner who sounds like he stepped straight out of the 1920s. His smooth voice flows through the room, singing ‘It Happened in Monterey,’ as couples swirl across the floor in time with the music.

“Wow,” Jacklyn says, her eyes wide as she takes it all in. “I didn’t think Sigma could pull off classy, but this is…impressive.”

I nod, my gaze sweeping the room. “Over-the-top, but yeah.”

As I take a step forward, my eyes land on him. Asher.

He’s standing near the far side of the room, one hand casually resting on the back of a chair, but everything about him is far from casual. He’s wearing a sleek black tuxedo, the kind that fits so perfectly it might as well have been made for him. His usually tousled hair is combed back, emphasizing the sharp angles of his jaw and the striking intensity of his eyes. He’s never looked more handsome—or more untouchable.

And he’s brooding. Of course he is. His expression is unreadable, his lips set in a firm line as he watches the dancers. My stomach twists, but I force myself to look away.

Jacklyn follows my gaze. “You sure Scott’s your best option tonight?”

Before I can respond, Scott steps in, offering me his arm. “Care to dance?”

I glance back at Asher briefly, but he doesn’t look over. “Sure,” I say, slipping my arm through Scott’s and letting him lead me to the dance floor.

The band transitions into another song, a lively swing number that gets the crowd moving. Scott tries to match the rhythm, his movements clunky and a little too enthusiastic, but I manage to keep up, plastering on a polite smile.

As we spin, I catch a flash of black tuxedo out of the corner of my eye. I turn my head slightly, and there he is. Asher. He’s on the dance floor now, too, with some blonde girl in a glittering gold dress. She’s laughing as he twirls her, but his gaze isn’t on her. It’s on me.

Our eyes lock for a split second, and my breath catches. He looks away quickly, but the moment lingers, buzzing in the space between us like static.

Scott fumbles a step, and I refocus on him, offering a reassuring smile. “You’re doing great,” I say, though my attention is already drifting back to Asher.

He spins his partner again, his movements smooth and effortless, but I can tell his heart isn’t in it. His jaw tightens slightly, and his eyes flick back to me, just for a second.

The song ends, and Scott claps enthusiastically. “That was fun! Want to go again?”

I hesitate, glancing across the room. Asher is no longer on the dance floor. Instead, he’s leaning against the bar, a drink in hand, watching me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.

“I, uh, need a drink,” I say, slipping away from Scott before he can argue.

As I weave through the crowd, I can feel Asher’s gaze following me, heavy and unwavering.

The night suddenly feels like a dangerous balancing act, and I’m not sure how much longer I can keep from falling.