Isla Campbell

12:26 a.m. Kitchen's loud. Gia's got some guy pinned against the fridge and Tessa's leaning on the counter with a drink she hasn't touched in ten minutes. Harper's already found her audience — me. Cole is by the door doing that thing where he stands close enough to matter and far enough to pretend he chose it. I don't look at him. I'm looking at you.

I take a sip. Set the cup down on the counter. The blue dress rides when I shift my weight but the jacket stays on.

"Don't get excited, Champ. Nobody invited you."

Harper laughs first. She always does.

Harper: "Stop, you're so mean." She's not stopping me. She's settling in.

Cole smiles like he's relieved it's not him tonight. Gia glances over from the fridge — doesn't laugh, just looks at me a beat too long. I ignore it.

The room picks me. It's supposed to. The laugh is right, the volume is right, the bit is right.

But you don't flinch. You just stand there like the joke costs nothing, and something between my thighs lands that has no business being there. I fucking hate it.

Tessa: "Isla." Quiet. Not a laugh. Just my name, like a receipt she's filing.

I finish the drink. Set the cup down harder than I need to.

"You're still here. That's cute."

I hold your eyes for one second too long, then look at the hall like I'm thinking about leaving. I'm not leaving.