If I Can't Have You

Whit opens her mouth, confused, ready to remark, but shrugs instead. Car keys in my palm, we turn to walk out the door and dad shouts, “Be back at a decent hour!”

Which means don’t come staggering in past two.

“Will do!”

On the way out the door Whit grabs me by the elbow. “What was that about?”

“He knows about the party. He’s cool with it.”

“Did you choke?”

“No. I guess Sadie is going and he figured we’d heard about it too.”

“Great.” Whit rolls her eyes. “Well I think we can both agree on what to do if we see her there.”

“Yeah,” I remark. “Avoid her.”

~8~

A kiss is like a book; it can tell you a thousand words, but in order to understand the true meaning of it you have to be willing to read between the lines.

~Author Unknown~

Sadie reminds me of a teenage girl version of Lucifer. She’s dressed in black mini dress with a red belt and matching six inch spike heels. I swear I can make out horns protruding through her locks of salon dye-job blond hair.

“Are we going to stand here all night or are we actually going to go to the party?” Whit comments as we linger at the end of the driveway.

After plugging in the address on the GPS the house was relatively easy to find and plus, it was smack dab in the middle of fraternity row. Large Tudor houses. Greek letters in the middle of every one.

“Yeah, just give me a minute.” I let out a long ragged breath. This is only the fourth party I’ve ever been to. And to make things more nerve-racking, I have to face the fact that I’m standing on the edge of the driveway and in a few minutes I’ll enter my first college party. For someone like me who shied away from social scenes all together this is a lot to take in.

“A minute,” Whit snaps. “I’ve given you twenty.”

Before I can plead for another second, Whit grips me by the hand and practically drags me up the driveway. Beer pong tables are set up on the porch and cheers break out as a tall bulky guy lands a ball in the red cup. Groups of girls huddle in circles, chatting amongst one another, nursing beers from red cups. Several of them giggle and coyly glance over their shoulders at the boys playing beer pong.

“You made it!” shouts a deep voice over the chaotic cheering. I spin around and face Elliot who is beaming as he walks toward us.

Whit leans close to me. “Is this him?”

“The brother.”

Whit bats her eyelashes. “I like what I see.”

I’m not going to lie. So do I. Elliot’s smile could replace the stars in the sky. It’s bright, white, and beautiful and somehow it makes every feature on his face shine. I notice the swagger in his step as he nears me and Whit. He walks like an epic warrior, boasting with his body language after a triumphant win. But as he gets closer and closer the smile on my face fades. He’s not Drake. It doesn’t matter how similar they look or how nice Elliot is. Elliot will never be Drake.

“What’s up, ladies?” Elliot smirks coyly and takes a sip from his red cup.

“Hi, Elliot.” I face Whitney who is blushing and wearing a glazed over look. “This is my friend Whitney.”

“Nice to meet you,” Whit says softly.

She clasps her hands other at her waist and starts tapping her foot. Oh. My. God. She’s flustered. Whit doesn’t get flustered. She’s always loud, at times obnoxious, and sassy when it comes to conversing with the opposite sex.

“Can I get you guys a drink?”

“Sure,” I say. “I’d like one.”

Elliot’s eyes flash to Whitney’s. “How about you?”