Promise Me

so easily. It’s not just because I was two seconds from spreading Kendall’s legs and sucking the best birthday present she could possibly give me right out of her clit. We agreed on later, and I can deal with the anticipation. Talking to Kendall about my sister is what’s thrown me a curve. I rarely mention Andie. Most of the time when people hear about a loss like that they murmur “sorry” and try to steer the conversation in a different direction fast, but Kendall didn’t. She didn’t treat it like a wrong turn into a dark tunnel and immediately look for a way out. She stuck around. She shined a light. And some of that light has stayed with me.

Everybody else is sipping drinks and enjoying the lingering traces of sunset. It’s not quite an inner circle, but it’s tight enough that I know at least one person in every three.

I see my agent’s assistant, Molly, and her boyfriend. A few model friends I’ve worked with. A couple of Matt’s classmates from the Academy. Matt sits next to Amber on the sectional, deep in a conversation. This is much smaller than some of our Saturday night blowouts, but I like the quieter vibe. No Becca. No mood swings or illegal party favors. Everybody’s chill.

Everyone except Kendall. I’m not sure why, but she’s a ball of nerves. The fingers entwined with mine practically clench with tension. I’d like to call it sexual tension—a residual effect of Dylan interrupting us—because God knows I have plenty of my own to go with hers. But it feels like more.

Dylan nabs a fresh pitcher from the bar and then walks to the open end of the sectional and sits down. Two girls immediately bookend him, and he fills their drinks. My cell vibrates from the back pocket of my shorts. I’ve already received birthday calls from my mom and dad. I got a gift basket from my agent. Everyone else is here, but I pull my phone out anyway and glance at the screen.

A text reads, Happy birthday, sexy! It’s from Becca.

I haven’t heard from her since she left for New York, but she hasn’t missed my birthday for the past five years, so the wish is appreciated. Maybe we can salvage a friendship from the shipwreck of whatever we were, moving forward. Thx, I text back and start to put my phone away. An immediate vibration stops me. I look at the screen.

I have a surprise for you.

Uh-oh. I don’t want any surprises.

The phone vibrates with an incoming text. Knock-knock!

At the same time, the doorbell rings. Fuck.

Dylan sets the pitcher down and slides past me. “I got it.”

I want to say, “Don’t,” but there’s no point. I didn’t expect Becca, didn’t invite her, but as Kendall stares up at me with trusting eyes I feel exactly like the jerk I didn’t want to be.

I hear the front door open. Dylan’s voice carries. “Can I see your invitation?”

“I have an open invitation,” Becca replies.

And then she swoops onto the patio, wearing a straw cowboy hat, lethally high-heeled sandals, and a sprayed-on gold tank dress. The clingy fabric certifies she’s not wearing a stitch more than what we see. She spots me and ambles over, graceful despite the shoes. Kendall stiffens and tries to tug her hand away. I firm my grip. Becca’s come-and-get-me smile fades as she notices Kendall and our linked hands. Her stride slows.

“Hey, Bec,” My smile feels tight on my face. “Long time no see.”

She tosses her hair, and her laser-white teeth reappear. “It has been a while. Happy birthday, baby.” If she planned to plant a kiss on me, she adjusts on the fly and gives me a hug instead.

“Thanks. How did New York treat you?”

Her smile widens. We’re on her favorite subject—her. “Like a queen.” She gives a careless gesture with her hand. “Parties, parties, parties, meetings, meetings, meetings. I did the spread for Vogue and met with a director about a small but crucial role in a movie he’s filming this fall. I’m headed to Milan next. You should come with.”

“Good luck with that,” I say, deliberately ignoring her request. At some point I know she and I will need to have a conversation, but not tonight. “This”—I put my arm around Kendall—“is my friend Kendall. Kendall, this is Becca.”

“Hi,” Becca breezes as she takes stock and tries to figure out whether she should recognize Kendall. “I feel like I’ve seen you before.”

Shit. They have seen each other. The night I met Kendall for the first time. Shame makes the back of my neck hot. The last thing I want is that night brought up in front of everyone. I make a conscious effort to stop my leg from bouncing.

Kendall cuts me a brief don’t-worry glance then shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”

Relief swarms my chest. She’s got my back.

“Sweatbox Shred at 220 Fitness with that sadist, Antonio?”

“No. Sorry. I don’t sweat with sadists, and I’m just visiting for the summer. House-sitting for my aunt and uncle next door.”

“Oh.” The notion momentarily stuns Becca. “You’re a student?”

“I was. I graduated from NYU this past spring.”

“Nice. So what next?”