Halston

Kerouac sits across from me, with Bree on his left. She’s in heaven right now, finding it impossible to remove that shit-eating grin off her face. I’m sure in her warped little mind, she’s pretending he’s there with her. That they’re together.

But whatever.

She won’t look at Thane.

It’s like she couldn’t care less that he’s there, which is truly bizarre. I’d been thinking about this moment all day, practically reveling in how good it was going to feel to shove Thane in her face. Maybe she is over him?

Kerouac and Uncle Vic do most of the talking, Aunt Tab nodding and “mm, hm-ing” every so often between running back and forth to the kitchen to bring out the next course.

By the time we finish dessert, my aunt’s famous crème brulee, the buttons on my jeans are threatening to pop, and I’m wondering if anyone would notice if I disappeared for a little while and changed into something else.

“This was amazing, Mrs. Abbott. Thank you.” Thane pats his washboard abs. “Mr. Abbott, thank you for having me.”

“You’re so welcome, sweetheart,” she says, smiling with every feature on her face. “Ford, was everything okay?”

“Absolutely. Can’t remember the last time I ate like this,” he says, gaze resting on mine. My mind goes to a dark and dirty gutter for a half of a second, picturing his tongue between my thighs as he devours me.

Thane threads his hand through mine, standing and pulling me up. “Our movie starts in a half hour. We should probably head out.”

I follow Thane to the foyer, leaning against the stair rail as he slips his shoes on, and when he’s finished, he rises, strutting toward me and resting his hands on my hips.

“I’m so glad you decided to give me another chance,” he whispers before his mouth grazes mine. He cups my cheek, pressing his lips harder onto mine before slipping me the tongue. I close my eyes, pretending it’s not Thane I’m kissing in this moment.

The clearing of a throat pulls us out of the moment, and thank god for that. Turning, I spot Kerouac standing in the doorway, keys in his hand.

“Don’t mind me.” His tone is displeased, and he directs his attention to me, his stare hard and unforgiving with a hint of something else entirely in his gaze. Jealousy? Resentment?

Passing us, he reaches for the door handle and shows himself out.

“You ready?” Oblivious, Thane checks his phone, firing off a quick text to God knows who. He’s always texting. I don’t tend to care.

“Yeah,” I say. From inside, I see Kerouac trekking across the driveway, heading home.

I’d much rather be with him tonight.

I just hope he knows that.

* * *

Absinthe: Hey, you there?

Kerouac: Aren’t you supposed to be at the movies?

Absinthe: I am. Hiding in the bathroom. He took me to some CGI hot mess that has absolutely no plot and terrible dialogue. I’m dying. SOS.

Kerouac: You made your bed.

Absinthe: So you don’t feel sorry for me?

Kerouac: No.

Absinthe: :(

Kerouac: You should get back to your movie.

Absinthe: I know. But I’d rather chat with you. Side note: I’ve decided my type are really attractive, literature-obsessed intellectuals.

Kerouac: Like me?

Absinthe: No! Like me.

Absinthe: I’m basically looking for a guy version of myself. The one I found doesn’t reciprocate my feelings, so …

Kerouac: I know what you’re doing. Stop.

Absinthe: Saw right through that one, huh?

Kerouac: Just because I’m chatting with you doesn’t mean I’m going to make you an exception to my rule.

Absinthe: I saw the way you looked at us earlier … when you saw him kiss me in the foyer. You were bothered by it.

Kerouac: Your point?

Absinthe: The whole time he was kissing me, I was wishing it was you. Just thought you should know.

Kerouac: Get back to your movie.

Kerouac has signed off.