I take a deep breath. “I wanted to ask if you’d ever heard of a girl named Jacqueline Cates?”
Dave Reynolds lives on a huge piece of property on the outskirts of town. The main structure is an old farmhouse, owned by his family for generations, but we’re all gathered in the barn centered in a pasture a hundred yards away. It’s the perfect place for a post-game party; no neighbors to call the cops, plenty of room, and the fact his parents are out of town makes it even easier.
The barn isn’t just a barn but a refurbished guest house. Once his dad shuttered the working farm, other than renting out the pastures to other farmers, his mom remodeled, turning it into a rental that is currently unoccupied.
Ozzy, Finn, Ezra, and I get there once it’s in full swing. We waited for the guys to shower off and change after the game. I’m trapped in the car with three deliciously clean-smelling boys and halfway there I crack the window, needing to clear my head. My body has been on vibrate all evening—ever since Ozzy and I shared ourselves with one another. It’s like a switch flipped. My skin tingles every time we touch, like a current of electricity is wired between us. We can’t stop smiling at one another, like two stupid idiots. I hope it doesn’t cause an issue with the guys.
“All I know,” Ezra says, stretching his arms over his head, “is that I need a drink. Anyone?”
“Yeah, count me in,” Finn says. He’s been on edge since the game. Halftime fucked with his head. He’s more than ready to shake the label of grieving boyfriend. The problem is that half the girls in the school are also ready for him announce he’s back in the game.
That’s when things are going to get even more complicated.
Ozzy follows, but I hold back. “Coming?”
“Give me a minute,” I say, looking up at the loft. A pair of long legs hang through the railing slats. Alone. The flash of red hair gives away the owner.
I cross the room and climb the steep stairs. The loft has one big open room with comfortable-looking leather couches and a big-screened TV. Four doors exit off the room—two on each side. Bedrooms, I presume. Juliette sits away from everyone else, a bottle next to her, looking down over the party.
“This seat taken?” I ask, standing next to her.
She looks up, eyebrow arched in surprise. “Nope, it’s all yours.”
I drop to the ground and mimic her by sliding my legs through the railings. She hands me the bottle. I read the l
abel. Moonshine Farm Sour Apple Wine.
I unscrew the top, take a sip, and my tongue curls up from the sickly sweet. “Oh my God.”
“Right? It’s nasty.”
“Why are you drinking this.”
She shrugs, takes the bottle from me, and takes a swallow. “Seemed fitting on a night all about Rose. She’d sneak it over to my house in her bag, and we’d drink it at sleepovers.”
“With your parents there?”
“Well, not out in the open, but in my room. We’d get drunk, text Finn, post photos on ChattySnap. You know, typical girl stuff.”
Alice and I usually had a Harry Potter-Twilight marathon and decide which Robert Pattison we found hotter. Wizard or vampire. Sometimes it was a thorough comparison of the Dr. Who doctors. Embarrassingly, no alcohol was ever involved.
I grab the bottle and take another swig, this time more prepared for the assault of sour on my taste buds.
“Is that when she’d post on SugarBabies, too?"
She gives me a look. “I told you I don’t want to talk about that, but no, that was kind of her own thing.”
“Okay, okay.” I glance down below and see all three of the boys watching with curiosity.
“You’ve got quite the fan club down there.”
“You and I hanging out isn’t something people see every day.”
“True.” She takes another sip, this one longer and a little sloppier. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Finn likes you, you know. Always has.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I know.”
“He was too much of a boy for Rose. Too sweet. Too—high school.” She leans in, her breath sweet. “She always had a thing for older men.”