Possessive Best Friend

1

Lora

I kick my feet up on the couch and stare at my phone. It feels like all I’ve been doing since coming back to Lofthouse Manor is staring at my phone. I wake up, go for a run, do a little workout, shower, then stare at my phone.

It’s a hard life. I know, I know.

But I’m drifting. I can feel it. I saw it happen in my older sister Delia when she moved home last year. And now it’s my turn to feel unmoored, like the ground’s shifting beneath my feet.

This time, though, this time something interesting pops up.

Dean Ashman’s Twenty-Third Birthday Outdoor Extravaganza (with beer and trucks and a fire, of course)

I open up the event invite and feel nearly overwhelmed with nostalgia. I haven’t spoken with or seen a lot of these people in years. I still remember Dean and the way he’d make me laugh, the way he’d lean toward me with those boyish blue eyes, his shaggy hair in his eyes, his handsome, square jaw perfect, and whisper some dirty joke in my ear.

Nothing like making a rich girl laugh at something dirty, he used to say. And I loved it, I loved that he treated me just like anyone else.

Even if my family owns the town we live in.

So I hit yes. I don’t know why. I accept the invitation and throw my phone onto the couch across from mine. I stare at it like it’s a radioactive spider or something, and I’ve just let it bite me.

I have no business going to that party. I should be out looking for a job or at least figuring out what I want to do with my life. All my siblings seem to have it figured out, or at least they’re really good at faking it.

Problem with being filthy rich is I don’t have to do anything at all. And that freedom is almost paralyzing.

But poor me, right? Poor rich girl doesn’t know what she wants out of life. Don’t worry, I don’t feel sorry for me, either.

I think that’s why I decide to go to the party for real. I’ve been wasting all this time lying around the manor, talking to my siblings about their lives, and pretending like my own life is on hold. My mother has tolerated it so far, probably because sitting around the manor means I’m not out getting in trouble, but it’s time to stop. It’s time to move on.

So I’ll start by going to some outdoor birthday party for a guy I used to have a crush on once upon a time and see how that goes.

The first thing I smell when the security agent drops me off is smoke. He frowns as I step toward the people congregating around a large roaring bonfire. Trucks are parked all around it with their beds open and loud music is blasting from a stereo.

“You sure about this?” Johnson asks.

“It’s fine,” I say. “Can you have someone pick me up in a few hours?”

“Text me,” he says, but hesitates. “Really, Lora. You could just come back. I mean, we could watch—”

“No,” I say, but smile at him. Johnson’s been really nice to me lately. We’ve even started watching movies together. It’s nice and he’s a decent man, but I can tell he feels sorry for me. “It’s time to get out of the house.”

He nods once. “Good luck.”

I shut the door and turn resolutely toward the fire. I’m about to turn back and beg him to take me home when he pulls away and drives off.

I sigh and walk down the dirt road through the trees. The music gets louder as I approach and I realize there are way more people than I realized. At least fifty people are wandering around, some of them drunk, all of them drinking. I don’t recognize anyone at first as I wade into the mess. Some cute girl with dark hair shoves a drink into my hand. “Hey,” she says. “Do I know you?”

“I don’t think so,” I say.

“You look familiar.” She frowns at me.

“Uh,” I say. I don’t want to be recognized as a Lofthouse, not right away at least.

My family owns this town. Not literally, but close enough. They own all of the buildings, most of the businesses, and the majority of people that live in Lofthouse owe their livelihoods to my family in some way. A lot of people love us for it and just as many hate us. I got used to dealing with that sort of hate, but it’s been a while since I felt it and I really would rather avoid it if I can.

“Hey! Lora?”

I turn, relieved to be pulled away from this situation. I spot a young man coming toward me, tall and muscular. He’s wearing jeans and a button-down plaid shirt. His boots are stained and old but his clothes are immaculate. He has colorful tattoos on his arms and a smirk on his lips.