Dirty Little Secret

“Yeah, of course I am,” he says, like it’s totally normal for him to invite me anywhere.

Newsflash: it’s not.

“Why?” Suspicion overrides the excitement so desperately trying to bubble up inside of me.

“You’re eighteen now.”

“Riiiight.” I turn back to the flowerbed. He’s obviously messing with me. It’s the only explanation really, because I’m only three months shy of nineteen, so clearly his invitation has nothing to do with my age because he’s been as overbearing as ever.

“I guess I’ll come.” It’s not like I have anything better to do, I think semi-bitterly.

It’s not like I have any real friends. I mean, I didn’t eat lunch alone in the library or anything but I didn’t get invited to sleepovers or the mall either. The few that tried, either crushed on Orion to the point of obsession or got annoyed by his stifling protectiveness.

“Good. Party starts at nine.”

I nod, playing it cool as he turns and heads back up the path toward the house. But the second I round the curve, I tear off my gloves and give a little squeal.

Weeding can wait, I have a party to get ready for.

My goal was to be fashionably late—whatever that means—but by the time I find somewhere to park, it’s half-past nine and Orion has already called me twice.

Make that three times, I think as my phone starts up again.

“Where are you?” he asks, before I can utter a single word.

“Hi, Orion.”

“Where are you, Smalls?” he asks again, his tone strained.

“Chill. I’m walking up your driveway now.”

“I told you to be here at nine.”

“It’s not like I meant to be late.”

He grunts out an unintelligible curse. “Stay, put. I’ll come get you.”

“Pretty sure I can make it to the backyard on my own.”

“And I’m pretty sure you can stay your ass put and wait for me.” He hangs up before I can argue, which I absolutely would have… the overbearing asshole.

How is it that I can be old enough to score an invite but too young to walk down his driveway?

I mean, it is a long, dark, and winding drive, but there are literally people everywhere. Like so many people, I can’t help but wonder who they are and how he knows them—if he knows them. This is seriously like something out of a movie.

Either way, I stay put since my unintentional tardiness seems to have him in a mood; best not to poke the bear after all.

“What are you wearing?” Orion says as he approaches, his face screwing up into a mean-looking scowl.

“A dress.”

“Do you have a jacket?”

“It’s the middle of summer, so that’s gonna be a nope.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, a sure sign that I’m testing his patience. But this time, it’s not intentional, because there’s absolutely nothing wrong with my dress.

I bought it to wear on my eighteenth birthday, but those plans went up in smoke and I spent the day sobbing into a bucket of ice cream instead. So, I decided tonight was the perfect occasion to bust it out of my closet.

With eyelet lace details, a sweetheart neckline, spaghetti straps, and mid-thigh hemline, it’s the perfect mix of sexy and sweet.

“You look like...”

I hold up a hand to silence him. “So help me God, if you say anything other than lovely, I will never speak to you again.”

“Stole the words right out of my mouth,” he replies woodenly.

“Great.”

“Good.” He turns and starts walking toward the backyard, leaving me to follow after him.

“You know, you’ve gotta let me grow up sometime, right?”

Without stopping, he says, “You’re here, aren’t you?”

Touché, mama bear, touché.

He jerks to a stop right before the steps leading up to the back deck. “No drugs, no drinking, no hooking up.”

I roll my eyes. “Didn’t plan to do any of the following.”

Orion gives me a long, hard look before nodding. “Good. If you need anything, find me or Ben.”

This is technically Ben’s house. An old farmhouse fixer-upper passed down to him by his grandpa. He and Orion have been remodeling it for the past two years while living in it. I guess it’s a win-win since they own a construction business and there’s no mortgage on it. That’s what Dad says anyway.

“Okay.” He starts to walk away, but I call after him. “Thanks for inviting me.”

He tips his chin in acknowledgment before letting the crowd of partygoers swallow him whole.

For a split second, panic threatens to consume me. Everyone here is so much older than me and with so much more life experience. I feel like a guppy in shark-infested waters.

Maybe with a drink in my hand—nonalcoholic, of course—I’ll feel a little less out of place.

With a sort-of plan in place, I venture farther into the backyard.

I find the makeshift bar with ease and hop in line. When I finally make it to the front, I snag a bottle of water from the cooler along with a red plastic cup to pour it into. I may not be drinking, but I’m not above looking like I am to blend in.