Hard Facts by Penny Clarke

18

Summer

This was a mistake. I don’t know what I’m doing. I shouldn’t be here. I should be in a fancy reception hall, decked with twinkling fairy lights and balloons. Eating from a catered buffet and watching all my sisters, dressed to the nines, cram into a photobooth to take their best hand-on-hip poses.

Not standing in front of a yellow house.

Freezing my tits off, I hug my arms for warmth as a brisk wind snakes through the porch. With a fluttery feeling in my stomach, I stare, not for the first or second or even third time, at the sign above the blue door.

Main Desire.

I’ve stood waiting outside this house before. The morning I decided to let Grayson Rowe know me. And countless times after that. Picking Gray up for class or tutoring or a sorority thing.

But I’ve never gone over the threshold.

Now, pounding music and loud voices come from inside. Walking up from where I parked on the street, I’d peeked into the lit windows at visions of pumpkins and paper-mache spiders and dozens of other college kids in costume.

Another breeze kicks up. Okay, I need to make a decision quick. Before I actually do freeze my tits off.

I stare at the door, unable to move my legs one way or the other. Just as I turn to walk back down the porch steps—

The door opens.

“No,” Natalie Mason sharply exhales when she sees me standing on the top step. “No way.”

I hide my embarrassment with hands on my hips. Then think better of the cold and cross my arms again.

“Nat—”

“No. Fucking. Way.”

“Come on—”

Natalie spins to Morris. Though her pink hair and bracelets are as typical as any other day, tonight her outfit’s bedazzled with… oatmeal packets?

“We can’t leave now. Just look, Theo.” She gestures both hands at me, since one of them, I notice with a curious look, is swathed in a kitchen towel. “Holy shit. Get your phone ready. We have to film this. Gray is going to freak—”

“No,” Morris puts his foot down. His shirt, also, has items sewn to it. Tiny toy cars, all yellow dump trucks, I note.

“But—”

“We have to go.” He takes her elbow, leading her down the steps. “You’re getting blood everywhere.”

“You’re hurt?” I send another look to that wrapped hand.

She waves it in the air. “This? Pfft. Barely a scratch. Don’t even feel it. We’re just gonna pop over to the emergency room real quick, though, because Theo’s being a worry wart—”

“You need stitches.”

“Is that your professional medical opinion, doctor?” To me, Natalie says, “By the way, the beer bottles with the green caps? Yeah. Not twist-offs.”

Morris gently, but firmly, guides her to his car in the driveway. Only she ducks back at the last second, rushing back to me on the porch. In a low voice, she says, “I invited Hunt. He’s inside. Can you just, like, stall him until we get back? This shouldn’t take long.”

I’m not too sure about that. Since I have a better angle of that towel now, and there’s more than a little red soaking through. Still, I shrug and say I’ll try. As she turns to go, however, I ask, “What are you guys supposed to be anyway?”

With a wide grin, Natalie wiggles in a short dance, shaking oatmeal packets. “Haulin’ oats. Making all your breakfast dreams come true.”

“Natalie,” Morris barks from the driver’s side door.

“Shit, he means business,” she backs down the front steps. “Okay. Stall Hunt. Stick with beer cans. Have fun. Please don’t explode Gray’s brains.” With another look up and down at me, she hisses. “Damn, can’t believe we’re gonna miss this.” A car horn honks. “I’m coming, hold your horses, Haulin’.”

She skips to the car, and I’m pretty sure that she hums a warning for a boy to watch out before being chewed up.

Then they’re gone, and it’s just me standing on the cold porch again. Since they’ve seen me, now I can’t not go in.

So I go in.

And immediately bump into a familiar face. “Summer Prescott.”

“Hunt Hammond,” I give a tense smile while he raises an eyebrow over my costume.

“Almost didn’t recognize you. You look—”

“Were you headed out?” I point at the door behind me. I don’t really want to hear how I look. Not from him, at least.

He shrugs. “Natalie left, and there’s this other party happening tonight, so…”

Uh huh. How close had they gotten, in the weeks since she convinced me to pass on his number? I just want to get that brownie recipe. Sure, Natalie. I totally didn’t see right through that. But I went along with it anyway, because at least she’d stopped poking into my business with Grayson.

“But hey, you wanna come with?” he grips my bare shoulder. “It’s supposed to be pretty wild…”

Slipping his hand off me, I let him talk. But at an excited uproar from the kitchen, I spot Levi Hart (shirtless, already) shake the shoulders of a tall figure in glasses, as he launches a ping-pong ball into a cup of beer.

“No,” I tell Hunt, interrupting his ramble. He blinks at my sudden refusal, but I push past him, not checking to see if he stays or goes. Breaking my promise to Natalie in less than three minutes.

Just as I’d broken my own promise to stay away tonight. Because as I stood in my bedroom this morning, staring at those violets on my nightstand and that tulle wildflower dress in my closet, I knew in an instant where I’d rather be.

I weave through the crowd in the living room. Football players or cheerleaders or newspaper staff or art students, I can’t tell. In a sea of costumes, they’re all nearly unrecognizable, and my mental catalog stays silent.

Or maybe it’s just so focused on one face in particular, it doesn’t matter whether or not I know details about anyone else.

Levi sees me first, parting through the guests watching what seems to be an intense game of beer pong. The tight end’s eyes bulge, and he jabs Grayson in the side with his elbow, just as the ping-pong falls into one of his cups. With an irritated scowl, Gray takes a drink, and Levi forces him to turn his head in my direction—

Instantly, he spits out a mouthful of cheap beer.

All over me.

“Shit—Summer—Shut the fuck up, Levi, shit—” I have no idea if he curses because of the beer, his friend’s hysterical laughter, or my unexpected arrival.

No, I think as his eyes drop down. It’s the costume.

Wavy dark wig. Red leather bodice. Star-studded blue skirt. Thick gold bracelets with a matching belt, and hanging from it’s side, a silky lasso.

Grayson blinks, snapping out of it when I brush off beer droplets from the fitted waist. His opponent (on first glance, Frankenstein. On second, my catalog kicks in enough to remind me: Jonah Howell, linebacker) declares a win by forfeit when Gray steps away from the match to lead me through the crowd. One hand on my back, steering me, and the other parting the throng of guests. Just until we reach a door off to the side of the kitchen, covered in caution tape warning guests to stay away.

It’s quiet when he shuts the door behind us, and I know straightaway, by the giant periodic table poster on the wall, where we are.

Gray’s room.

His personal space. The first room he’d ever had to himself. In his first ever real home. This room, this space, every nook and cranny, all of it—this is him.

While he goes through another door, turning on the light to a bathroom, I absorb these new surroundings. Strolling first to the bed, since it takes up the most space. I press a hand down on the tousled striped bedspread. Firm, but not uncomfortably. Sturdy frame, no headboard. Quiet, I bet. No squeaking or banging on the wall. Does it give a good night’s sleep? For him? Any guests? How many girls have slept on this bed with him—

I detour. Continue my route to the opposite side of the room. Finding along the way, three small bookcases. Stuffed to bursting with—how did I guess—an array of comics and textbooks. A small handful of sci-fi and fantasy titles, with matching movie posters adorning the walls. At the closet, I slide a door open and brush my fingers over the hanging row of nerdy pun shirts, a vast majority I’ve seen several times before.

Pushed against a nook in the corner, his desk. Littered with more texts and pens and those notebooks with all his observations on people. A white board leans against the wall, crowded with hexagonal molecule structures and advanced formulas. And next to that…

I frown, picking up the small wooden placard. Glitter dusts my hands as I read its inscription. Intellectual badass at work.

“Natalie,” Gray informs me. I jump, caught snooping, but he nods at the board. “She likes signs.”

I hand it back to him, and in exchange, he gives me a towel, pointing me to the bathroom. And as I stand in front of the sink, he leans against the doorjamb. Quietly states, “You made it.”

“Yeah, well,” I pat myself dry, keeping my eyes on my reflection. “I’ve been to enough Greek formals.”

I cringe at the mess my makeup’s made of the towel. Grayson shrugs and tells me to toss it next to the stacked washer and dryer in the bathroom corner. Turning back to the mirror, I lift the soggy strands of my wig. It took the brunt of beer, so I untangle the gold tiara from it and yank the whole thing off. That, too, he tells me to just leave on the floor.

Untying my curls, I fluff them back into something resembling style, muttering, “Guess Wonder Woman’s going blonde tonight.”

“It’s a good look for her.”

And I pause to finally meet his gaze. His teasing smile. Soft and happy, just as it had been the other day when I’d told him he deserved a renown internship position. And I feel mine responding in kind. Just being here. Being near him. In the place that is most true to him.

How did I ever think I could keep myself away from that smile?

That same smile which slowly fades away as his eyes fall past my hair. To the rest of me. Running his eyes over my costume, from the knee-length boots all the way up to the tiara I place back on my head. And it’s that look, that makes me glad I’d donned this costume over the tulle wildflower dress tonight.

Teasing light dances in his honey-brown eyes. “So do you always keep superhero costumes on hand, or is there some obsession I should know about?”

I shove his arm with a happy smile, and he laughs. “Seriously, though, Summer. You look… incredible.”

He steps closer. Places a hand on my waist. I notice now, the glassy tint to his eyes. Just how many games of beer pong had he played before my arrival?

And selfishly, I lift my hands. Lightly settle them on his chest. Rather than push away at my bold touch, he presses into it.

“Well, what about you?” I murmur, smoothing my hands over his crisp white shirt. Tug on the slim black tie circling his neck. “Pretty fancy for a Halloween party.” I gasp at a hint of blue under his collar. “Unless…”

I drag the tie down, loosening the knot. Slip the first button out of its hole. Graze a finger along the middle of his chest as I repeat the gesture down, down, down. Until half his shirt’s undone, and I peel apart each side.

“Why, Clark Kent,” I raise an eyebrow at the familiar logo. “You’ve been keeping a big secret from me.”

Gray grins. Slow and wicked and thrilling. He lifts one finger to his lips in a silent shush. Then I’m the one pressing forward. Tilting my chin. Brushing my mouth over that finger, until, steadily, it falls away…

A beeping trill stops us before our lips meet. Grayson pulls back to turn off an alarm on his phone, his grin turning into an excited smile. “Do you want to see something really super?”

Thought I was looking at him already, but the flirty comment stays on my tongue, since Grayson takes my hand, turns off the bathroom light, and leads me back to the party. In the kitchen, he guides me around the beer pong table, right to the fridge.

“Observe,” he says, carefully extracting a ready-to-drink cocktail container from the freezer as one would a bomb on the verge of detonating. “A regular bottle of frozen margarita.”

“I guess,” I say slowly, confused. “But it’s not frozen.”

“Exactly.” Holding it out to me—again, like it might trigger a lethal blast—he directs, “Now, just give it one good, firm tap. Go on.”

Certain that my boyfriend’s definitely had too much to drink, I send one last skeptical look to his expectant face, then tap one knuckle on the bottle’s side.

“Is this supposed to—holy shit, what!”

Because then it does explode. Freezing over in eruption. From top to bottom, a rapidly expanding burst of ice. Changing an entire container of what was once liquid into solid.

“What—how?” Gray chuckles at my dropped jaw.

Twisting open the cap, he sets the bottle on the kitchen counter and rummages through various bags of chips and plates of snacks before finding a stack of plastic cups. “Molecules, when they freeze, need a starting point. A nucleus to gather around. Without one, crystals can’t form and they’re trapped in a metastable state. Take a relatively pure liquid without nucleation points—” He lifts the cocktail drink, shakes it, then starts pouring slush into two cups. “Stick it in the freezer for a few hours. Cool it to just below freezing. Then take it out, disturb the molecules. They snap into place. And—”

“Boom. Supercooled.” He hands me one cup. “Cheers. To science.”

I shake my head, astounded, setting the cup on the counter.

“Nerd,” I say as he takes a drink. “You are such a fucking nerd.”

Gray laughs, wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand. To my surprise, he pulls me into a hug. Buries his face in my hair. This close, I hear him swallow. Feel his hot breath on my earlobe, in contrast with the ice cold sensation of his lips.

He whispers, low and husky, “I am really happy you’re here, Summer.”

Then he finishes what he started in the bathroom. Pushing me against the counter with his hips, his mouth devouring mine. Like he’s starved for this as much as I have, and it wasn’t until all that alcohol soaked into his brain that he realized how hungry he was.

“Break it up, you two,” Levi laughs. He reaches between us for the frozen margarita bottle. “If I’m not allowed to feel up my girlfriend in the kitchen, then neither can you, Gray. You said this experiment would cool things down, not heat them up.”

Gray, with flushed cheeks and a smug grin, tells his roommate to shut up, just as Rylie appears on my other side. I almost miss her at first, since her usual short bob’s covered in a permed brown wig, and her face is half-hidden under a full moustache and beard.

“You’re here!” She throws her arms around my neck in a hug, nearly whacking me in the face with a painter’s palate in one hand and an empty beer cup in the other. Over her shoulder, I take in Levi’s costume. Which is less a costume and more just some leaves tucked into his dark curls and a brown trunk painted over his abs.

I direct her attention to him. “Your masterpiece, I presume?”

“Nah,” Levi wraps his arms around her. “Rylie’s a masterpiece all on her own. I’m just a happy sexy tree.”

“Bob Ross painted happy little trees,” Gray corrects.

“Yeah, sure, Gray. Like I’m gonna tell people I’m little.” Levi scoffs, pouring margarita slush into Rylie’s cup.

Rylie and I share an eye roll, then she says, “You look amazing, by the way. Now, help yourself. Natalie’s been baking all week, so we’ve got whatever you could ever want…”

She points out the treats on the counter. Pumpkin donuts, eyeball cake pops, witch-y green ladyfingers. Bubbling punch in a cauldron. An array of cookies, in shapes ranging from ghosts to black cats, lined with spiderweb icing and copious amounts of orange and purple sprinkles. Levi requests that Rylie pass him a tombstone brownie, and she chooses one, letting him bite off half before finishing the rest herself. With their glowing endorsement at its yumminess, Gray and I also take one, and tip our cups to a fun night.

A while later, Kennedy and Spencer find us still in the kitchen, margarita bottle entirely empty and moving on to a bottle of vodka. Rylie and I sit on the counter, using each other for support in a fit of giggles, as Levi and Gray debate Superman’s super prowess in the sack.

“Walsh!” I squeal when I see her in a pink dress. Her red hair’s out of its usual ponytail, curled and hairsprayed into a short bob. “Where have you been?”

Rylie leans heavily into my side, slurring, “Probably practicing their lift in Spence’s room.”

“Gotta be,” I slur back. “Having the time of their lives.”

And when Kennedy’s face flames red, Rylie and I drunkenly serenade her all about hungry eyes. She’s not helped by Spencer, in a black shirt and jeans, since he smirks, “Nobody puts Kennedy Fucking Walsh in a corner.”

Then, he leans in to say something for Kennedy’s ears only, but since I’m closest to them, I hear his wicked whisper, “Not unless she begs.”

Which starts off a whole round of hoots from the Rylie Stone and Summer Prescott peanut gallery. Kennedy scolds her boyfriend, as Rylie teases Levi about never taking her dirty dancing, prompting Levi to assure that he does, quite frequently.

And through all this, I giggle into my drink, eyes meeting Gray’s honey-brown ones over the rim of the plastic cup. Slowly, his smile grows wider, and the flush on my cheeks is no longer from the drinks, but the memory of his breath on my ear. The pleasure in his voice. His happiness, that I showed up tonight.

Hysterics settling down, Levi slides the plate of brownies over to the latest arrivals to our group. “You guys should grab some before they’re all gone. Mason outdid herself.”

Kennedy frowns. “Natalie didn’t make brownies.”

“Sure she did,” Rylie says, inspecting the plate thoroughly for some Natalie-identifying signature.

“No,” the redhead says, pushing the plate away. “Because I watched every single thing she made this week, before she made an irreparable mess of our kitchen. And she did not make brownies.” Turning to Spencer, she asks, “Didn’t she say her date would bring some?”

“Oh.” Understanding draws over me. Mouth parting, I turn to Grayson, whose expression matches mine. At the same time, we say, “Hunt.”

Awareness clicks into place for everyone else. It’s Levi, though, who grasps his head in both hands.

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck,” he says. “I’ve had four.”