The Kinsmen Country Club in Westchester County is only about an hour’s drive from Manhattan, but it feels a world away from my tiny two-bedroom walk-up apartment with the laminate counter tops and the shower that seems to perpetually drip. From the moment we cross through the huge iron gates, I’m plastered to the window of the car, watching the huge grounds sprawl out before us.

“So this is how the other half lives,” I joke. I had put aside my conversation with Celia yesterday, and was making an effort to try to enjoy myself. After all, how often does someone like me get to go to an actual country club?

“Not half. This is the one percent,” Wes answers wryly.

I stare in awe at the lush manicured grounds, the tall rosebushes in full bloom, the smartly dressed valets in their white uniforms and matching caps. The building — or should I say buildings — are equally spectacular. The main building, where we’re coasting to a stop, is as big as a hotel, with a grand front entrance flanked by ornate white pillars. I can see other buildings behind it, and in the distance, the perfect green pitch of a state-of-the-art golf course.

I smooth down the dress I’m wearing and suddenly wonder if I haven’t made a huge mistake. These are Wes’s people, not mine. My family never hurt for money but my parents worked hard. They owned their own business and because the entire success of the endeavor was on their own shoulders, they worked long hours, weekends, holidays. If our delivery driver called in sick, it was Dad out there in the red van, dropping off orders and making deliveries. We had a small house, we didn’t take fancy vacations, and my sisters and I did chores around the house or the store to earn our modest allowances.

I don’t know what the people here are like — really, with the exception of Wes, I don’t even know anyone that rich — but I can’t imagine I’m going to have much in common with them.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Wes says, sensing my discomfort.

“I’m sure,” I say, even though that’s far from the truth.

“Good. Because I’m not.” He smiles again, and for a second it’s that same boyish grin he had in high school, charming and sweet and with a hint of self-deprecation.

To my surprise, I reach over and squeeze his hand.

“How bad could it be, right?” I say, trying to sound reassuring.

Wes doesn’t answer, but he does stare down at my hand clasped around his.

“Why, Rori Holloway,” he teases. “Who was it that made the rule about no touching of any kind?”

My cheeks flush. “Yeah, well, I’m just comforting a friend.” Comforting a friend and getting distracted by how nice my hand feels in his, how perfectly nestled it is inside his much larger one.

For a moment we regard each other. Something in Wes’s eyes blaze, and then he nods once.

“Right. Well, let’s get this over with, shall we?”

His driver has brought the car to a stop now, and a white-jacketed valet hovers outside, waiting for some kind of invisible signal. As if he receives it, he suddenly opens the back door on my side, offering me his hand so that I can slip out of the car.

While I wait for Wes, I look around again, trying to keep the stunned expression off my face. This place is practically palatial. Wes comes around from the other side of the car, and I’m grateful when he links his arm through mine. I’m not a country club kind of girl. What am I even going to say to these people?

But Wes grins at me, and all my worries melt away. Being with him makes it seem manageable. It might even be ... fun.

God. Why am I thinking those things? I shake my head lightly and tuck a few imaginary strands of hair back into place before looking up at Wes.

“Ready?”

He nods. “Ready.”

The inside of the club is as majestic as the outside. It feels almost like a glamorous hotel, with a grand lobby, a formal restaurant off to one side, and a bar off the other side. There’s a huge staircase in front of us, too. I wonder where it leads.

Wes looks back and forth. “I think we’re meeting in the restaurant,” he says, leading me over in that direction.

“Tell me about your friend, again?” I’m walking stiffly in my high heels, trying not to trip and look like an idiot. I’d opted for stilettos over wedges, and even though I’m glad I did — for the ass factor alone — it’s been ages since I’ve worn them and I’m feeling a bit like a baby gazelle on new legs.

“His name’s Tyler Grant. His father is Malcolm Grant, of —“

“Good Grant Media,” I interrupt. “Wow, okay. So we’re talking about the richest of the rich.” Good Grant Media is a media conglomerate that owns half the newspapers, a third of the television networks, and one of the biggest media streaming sites in the country. Add in a few magazines, publishing companies, and radio stations, and there pretty much isn’t a medium out there that they don’t have their fingers in.

He nods grimly. “Yeah. Tyler’s a great guy though. You wouldn’t know from meeting him that he’s a Grant. I think he likes it that way too — he’s always tried to distance himself from the family business. Although, of course, when you’ve got a family like that, it’s hard to get too far away.”

“I bet.” I actually can’t imagine what it would be like to grow up under a business like that. Even with Mom and Dad owning the flower shop, there’d always been a little pressure on us to get involved in the business, maybe even take over one day. I help out with marketing all the time, but I have to admit that running a flower shop has never really piqued my interest. I’m lucky that Blake works there now, so that helps take some of the pressure off Emma and me.

“I think that’s him over there, actually,” Wes says, pointing to a couple sitting at a small table over in the corner. “Shall we?”

I nod and he leads me through the restaurant, towards his friend. I try to get a read on him as we walk. He’s handsome, in a cocky sort of way, with dark hair that’s just a little bit too long and untamed. His grey eyes are sparkle with cheer when he sees Wes. He stands and clasps his hand warmly and they do that bro-shake that involves a half-hug and clap on the back. When they’ve exchanged greetings, Wes steps back and puts his hand gently on my lower back.

The touch makes me shiver. His fingers graze the area just below my waistline, and all I can think about is how much I want him to move them lower, even though we’re in the middle of this extremely fancy restaurant and everyone would be able to see. I’m so distracted by the thought that I barely hear him introduce me to Tyler. I have to wrench myself back into the moment when I see Tyler extend his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Rori,” he says smoothly. “Wes has told me a lot about you.”

“Not that much,” Wes protests, but Tyler grins.

“Likewise,” I say, shaking his hand. “Thank you so much for extending the invitation.”

“Not at all,” he says. “I’m determined to get Wes a membership here, and bringing a gorgeous date is only going to help make his case.”

I sneak a glance at Wes and wonder if he’s going to point out to Tyler that this isn’t a date, but he doesn’t say anything, just smiles.

I glance down at the woman still sitting at the table. She’s turned to her phone now and is ignoring us completely. Her blonde hair hangs in her face, and I realize she’s much younger than I initially thought she was. Her purple eyeshadow shimmers in a way that only someone in their very early twenties can pull off.

“Hi,” I say, hoping I’m not interrupting anything. “I’m Rori.”

She glances up, appraises me, then looks back down at her phone without answering.

I shoot a side glance at Wes and he shrugs. Tyler looks slightly embarrassed.

“This is Amber,” he says. “Amber, this is Wes Lake and his date, Rori Holloway.”

At Wes’s name, she perks up. “Wes Lake. GoldLake, right? I’ve heard about you.”

“None of it’s true,” Wes says with an easy grin.

She smiles like she can’t tell if he’s joking or not, and then decides to go for broke and tosses her long blonde hair casually over her shoulder. “I’m sure some of it’s true,” she says. Her bottom lip sticks out just enough to make the flirtation in her voice unmistakable.

Tyler looks embarrassed, but Wes, to his credit, completely ignores the innuendo. He pulls out one of the empty chairs and gestures for me to sit, before tucking me neatly in to the table.

“Wine, Rori?” Tyler asks, waving a bottle of red.

“Sure. Thanks.” I suddenly feel incredibly nervous about being here with Wes’s friends. Apparently I didn’t really think this through when I agreed to be his date for the evening. A glass of wine should take the edge off.

“So Wes tells me you run a marketing firm?”

“Yes, just a small one. Marigold Marketing. We mostly work for charities and non-profits.”

“So it has to be a real switch to work for GoldLake,” he teases. “You must have given Wes quite the pitch.”

“Actually, it’s the opposite — Wes was the one pitching me.”

“Is that so?” Tyler raises his eyebrows, and glances at Wes. I look over too, but Wes is suddenly very focused on the cocktail menu. “Well, there must have been something about you that he liked.”

“I guess so.” Wes still won’t look up at me, but I swear I see his cheeks flush. Tyler flashes me a grin, and I get the strangest feeling that he’s taking the piss. I just can’t tell if he’s teasing me because he knows something I don’t, or if he’s teasing Wes. I sip my wine nervously and wish I could gulp the whole glass back without looking like a lush.

“So how long have you and Wes known each other?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Since college,” he says. He elbows Wes. “This guy was the damn coolest back then.”

Wes groans. “Oh, God, Tyler. Not this again.”

Tyler chuckles. “Stop being modest. I think any woman you’re dating needs to understand just what she’s getting here.”

I laugh. “Well, now you have to tell me.” The wine must be loosening me up already because I don’t even feel compelled to point out that Wes and I aren’t exactly dating.

Tyler settles in, as if he’s preparing for a long tale. Wes is still shaking his head, but he’s fighting back a smile.

“Amber, I think you’ll enjoy this story too,” Tyler says, but Amber glances up from her phone only long enough to roll her eyes. Tyler shrugs off her disinterest easily and turns back to me. “Okay, picture this. It’s the first day of college. Harvard. Everyone’s moving in to their dorms and it’s just this picture-perfect scene, with everyone’s rich parents dropping them off in their Explorers, right, kids in artfully ripped jeans that cost five hundred bucks a pair. Everyone kind of nervous but trying to look cool. I’m standing there outside the dormitory arguing with my mother about the fact that I don’t need this “bed in a bag” thing she bought for me because of course I’m seventeen and anything called bed in a bag seems like the epitome of uncool.”

“Yes, because sleeping in comfort is for total losers,” Wes adds.

“I said I was seventeen.”

“You were an idiot.”

“My point exactly. Anyway, we’re standing there and suddenly there’s this loud rumble. I mean, a roar. A car engine, but I’m talking about the dirtiest clunkiest engine you can imagine. This red Sunfire comes tearing around the corner and literally everyone in the area turned to watch it roll in. I’m sure half of us were just watching to see if the muffler was going to drop off before it came to a stop, but I digress.”

Wes rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Dude, I couldn’t even hear my mom telling me all the reasons why I needed a bed in a bag. And you know how loud she is.”

“Okay, I guess the care was kinda loud.” Wes cracks a smile. I can’t help but enjoy watching the interplay between them. It’s different seeing Wes with his friends, and I’ve never heard anything about his college life, so this is like a secret glimpse into where he went after ... well, after.

“I remember that car,” I say, sipping my wine. “And yeah, it was loud.”

Tyler grins triumphantly. “See? Thank you, Rori. Anyway, the closer he got, the more we realized it wasn’t just the muffler. This car was a literal piece of shit. Covered in mud, huge dent in the fender, and the passenger side door had been repainted in a color that only half-matched the original color.”

“I liked that car,” Wes says wistfully.

“I liked that car, too,” Tyler says. “We definitely had some good times in that bad boy. But it was the parents’ expressions that was just killing me. Everyone was staring, wondering who this bad ass in the beat-up Sunfire was. A good percentage of the girls were watching too, I’ll tell you that.”

“He’s exaggerating,” Wes insists, but Tyler laughs.

“No way, man.” He turns to me. “He’s just being modest. I’m sure even some of the moms were fanning themselves a little.”

I snicker and look at Wes, whose face is bright red now. Somehow I can’t quite picture him in the bad boy role.

“Anyway, as soon as he pulled up in front of the dorm and unfolded himself from that little car, I knew this guy was cool.”

“You just thought I looked like I might be someone you could buy weed from.”

Tyler laughs. “That too. Anyway, we all start rolling into the dorm. Me and Mom and my dad are carrying a shit ton of stuff — Mom’s still got that bed-in-a-bag bullshit, that I think she decided to buy at Target so she could feel like a regular suburban mother for once in her life — and this guy here just slings a backpack over his shoulder and takes the stairs two at a time. I swear my mom was panting a little, watching him go.”

Wes’s cheeks flame even redder. “Shut-up Tyler. I can’t think about your mom that way.”

“I don’t blame you. But that’s not the point. Anyway, we all get upstairs and Mom finds my room number, and who’s already lying there on one of the little twin beds, with his headphones in and staring up at the ceiling?”

“You were roommates?” I glance back and forth between the two of them.

“Yup. That year it was assigned, but the other years it was by choice. We lived together for our whole undergrad, before we went our separate ways.”

“Wow, so you guys go back a long way.”

“Yup. And get this ... my mom took pity on him because he had no parents there with him and no stuff, so what did she give him?”

I snort, and glance over at Wes. This time he’s genuinely smiling.

“Let me guess — the bed in a bag.”

“Yeah. This fucker stole my own bedding right out from under me.”

“I didn’t steal it. Your mom gave it to me willingly. And you didn’t want it.”

“I was seventeen. What the fuck did I know? I was freezing that night.”

“I gave you a blanket.”

“You gave me a fucking pillow sham.”

“It covered the essential areas.”

Tyler shakes his head. “Essential areas, my ass.”

“Exactly.”

The mood around the table seems light now, and all my awkwardness is melting away. Seeing Wes with Tyler reminds me so much of how he was in high school — funny, sweet, a bit of a smart-ass, but still one of the good guys.

“Anyway, that was just the beginning of Mom’s doting on Wes. After she found out about his home situation, I think he got more care packages than I did.”

“Are we going to order soon, or what? Where’s that waitress?” Wes cuts him off abruptly. I look back and forth between him and Tyler. Tyler doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss, but I know Wes and I know that something just made him deeply uncomfortable. Was it the mention of Wes’s home situation? He’s let it slip a few times that he didn’t have much money growing up, but is that all Tyler meant? Or is there more to the story?

As if on cue, the waitress appears at our table. She’s wearing a low-cut black silk top, and black wide-legged pants. She looks better dressed than I do. On Tyler’s recommendation, we order the Wagyu beef, with grilled asparagus and hasselback potatoes. Amber orders a green salad and a Bloody Mary. She still hasn’t turned away from her phone, and I wonder what kind of relationship she and Tyler have. He seems like a pretty great guy, but she’s hardly interested.

By the time our food arrives, we’ve fallen into easy conversation. Tyler and Wes tell more stories about their college days, and I find myself laughing along with them.

Through the stories, I see a lot of who Wes was in high school, but I also see the glimpses of the man he would go on to be. The ruthless dedication to his studies, the networking he did with Tyler. I think that maybe meeting Tyler opened his eyes to the kind of life that he wanted, and it was very different than the life he had in Highfield, Connecticut. I don’t know whether to be sad about that, that his dreams were so much bigger than mine, or happy for him because he’s achieved what he set out to do and be.

Between those thoughts and the wine, I settle into a kind of melancholy haze, watching Wes and Tyler joke around. It takes me by surprise when Tyler looks at his watch and then elbows Amber, who’s barely participated in this conversation beyond the odd blank stare.

“We should get going,” he announces. Amber bolts to her feet, as if she’s been waiting for this moment since she got here. Wes and I exchange a glance, and I stifle a giggle.

We say our goodbyes, and I look around the restaurant, realizing how much it’s emptied out since we arrived. I’m a bit tipsy from the wine, and tired enough that I could easily crawl into bed right now, but the way Wes is looking at me jolts me awake and alert.

“Can I interest you in another drink?” he asks. His hand is on my lower back again and my heart begins to race, already hammering in anticipation.