Page 7 of Because I Liked A Boy (Because I Liked A Boy Trilogy #1)

A Night Out

Ember hums like it always does on a Saturday night—low bass thumping underfoot, citrus and vodka thick in the air, perfume and sweat tangled in the crowd.

I’ve been here before with Ruby. Quiet nights.

Midweek. We’d sit in the corner booth, sip cocktails, and pretend the rest of Maplewood didn’t exist. I kept my head down, safe in the shadows.

Tonight isn’t that.

Tonight Ruby pushes through the door like she owns the place, heels sharp against the floor, lipstick flashing under neon.

Heads turn the second we walk in, and she drinks it in.

I keep my chin high, even as heat pricks across my skin.

The white dress clings to me like a dare, every step louder than I want it to be.

Ember swallows us whole the second we step inside.

Neon coils across the ceiling, shadows spilling in the corners where couples press close.

The air hums with perfume, spilled beer, and something sweet burning in shot glasses at the bar.

Ruby soaks it in, chin high, like she owns the room.

I keep mine steady too, even though every glance feels like a hand dragging heat across my skin.

Dean is behind the bar, sleeves rolled, dark hair tied low at his neck. He spots Ruby instantly, grins like she’s trouble he’s happy to see. “Starting chaos tonight?”

“Always,” Ruby fires back, sliding onto a stool. “Two cocktails. Strong and pretty.”

Dean smirks, moving with easy confidence. He slides her a crimson drink first—sugared rim, twist of orange peel. “Scarlet Sin. Vodka, blood orange, prosecco. Sweet but lethal.”

Ruby cackles, delighted, already sipping.

Then he builds mine with more care. Pale gold, charred lemon slice, smoke curling up like a secret.

“The Golden Hour,” Dean says when he sets it down. “Whiskey, honey, ginger, smoke. Smooth at first, burns slow.”

I hold the glass, watching smoke curl lazy ribbons into the neon light. For a second, I almost look like the girl I used to be—head tipped back, drink in hand, daring the night to test me. Not invisible. Not fragile. Just here.

Ruby wiggles her brows. “That is so you.”

I sip. Fire and silk roll down my throat, warm enough to make my pulse jump. “Not bad.”

Dean’s grin turns smug.

Ruby lifts her glass, eyes flashing. “To new beginnings—and to reminding every bitch in this town who really runs it.”

Our glasses clink. Scarlet Sin sparkles. Golden Hour smolders.

We weave through the crowd and slide into a booth near the back, drinks in hand. Ruby thrives on the attention, hips still swaying like she’s performing. I pretend not to notice the stares, focus on the smoke curling from my drink instead.

Ruby leans back, smirk curling. “See? We haven’t even been here ten minutes and you’re already the centre of gravity.”

I snort softly. “Feels more like target practice.”

“Same thing,” she says, raising her glass again.

“Okay,” she says, pointing her straw at me. “Moment of truth. Scale of one to ten—how powerful do you feel in that dress?”

I glance down at the white fabric hugging every curve, the gold of my drink glowing against it. The old me would’ve said uncomfortable, too much, too loud. But tonight… it’s different. “Seven,” I admit. “Maybe eight.”

Ruby grins. “Wrong. You’re a twelve. Minimum. Look at you, Belle. You look like the kind of girl people regret underestimating.”

Heat creeps into my cheeks, but I don’t look away. “You’re insane.”

“Insanely right,” she counters, toasting me with her glass.

If you’d told me seven months ago I’d be sitting in a booth with Ruby Meadows, trading toasts and secrets like we’ve been doing it forever, I’d have laughed in your face.

She was supposed to be temporary. Maplewood was supposed to be temporary.

And yet here she is, tugging me back to life piece by piece, refusing to let me disappear.

The music shifts, bass rolling deeper. Bodies press together on the dance floor, all flashing lights and smoke. For a moment, it feels like London again—too loud, too fast—but Ruby’s laugh pulls me back.

“You know what I like best about this?” she says. “It’s not about them. Not Millie, not Hunter, not anyone. Just us. Drinks, dresses, and the fact that you’re finally letting yourself live again.”

I take a slow sip of my Golden Hour, the burn spreading warm through my chest. “Feels like it’s been a while.”

“Too long.” Ruby’s gaze softens. “I know you don’t like the spotlight, Belle. But sometimes… sometimes it’s not about being seen by everyone. It’s about you seeing yourself.”

Something twists inside me. Because she’s right. For months, I’ve hidden in the quiet, folded myself smaller, convinced it was safer. But sitting here with Ruby—dressed up, laughing, sipping cocktails—it feels like slipping into a life I thought I’d lost.

I laugh, shaky but real. “When did you get so wise?”

Ruby smirks. “Always have been. You just don’t listen enough.”

We clink glasses again, the sound sharp over the hum of music. For the first time in a long time, I let myself lean into the moment.

Just two girls, two drinks, and the buzz of a night waiting to unfold.

Ruby leans across the table, her nails tapping a beat against her glass. “You feel it yet?” she asks. I frown. “Feel what?”

She smirks. “The shift. The part where you stop hiding and remember you’re allowed to take up space.”

I open my mouth to argue, but the truth is, I do feel it—like something loosening inside me, something I thought I’d buried in London.

Ruby drains the last of her Scarlet Sin, eyes sparkling. “Alright, enough sitting. We’re dancing.”

I start to protest, but she’s already tugging me up by the wrist, her grin daring me to argue. The bass thrums through the floor, pulling at my pulse, and before I know it we’re swallowed by the crowd.

The bar is already alive, bass rattling the floorboards, lights flashing pink and gold across a crowd that’s buzzing harder than the cocktails.

Ruby tugs me toward the middle of the dance floor just as Espresso explodes through the speakers, her scream-singing the chorus while I laugh so hard my ribs ache.

We spin, hair sticking to our necks, arms in the air, letting the beat drag us loose. For once, I don’t think. I just move.

Ruby spins me under her arm like we’re at prom, laughing so hard she nearly loses her footing in her heels.

My hair sticks to the back of my neck, my thighs ache from the bass rattling the floor, but I don’t stop.

I can’t. Not when Ruby’s grinning at me like this—like she’s seeing a version of me she’s been waiting months to drag out.

The crowd pulses around us, neon pinks and golds flashing across sweat-slick faces, perfume clashing with beer and citrus.

It should feel suffocating. It should feel like London again, too loud, too fast. But Ruby’s voice cuts through it all, scream-singing the chorus, her arm hooking around my shoulders to drag me back into the moment.

For once, I let go. No ghosts. No whispers. Just me. Just her. Just the music thrumming so hard through my chest it drowns out every thought but one—I feel alive.

Ruby leans close, shouting over the music, “This is the Belle I’ve been waiting to see!

” Her lipstick is smudged from her drink, her laugh wicked and loud, and I can’t help it—I throw my head back and laugh with her.

The Golden Hour still buzzes hot in my blood, loosening everything I usually keep locked tight.

For the first time in months, I don’t feel like I’m hiding inside my own skin. I’m wearing it. Bold. Bare. Mine.

My pulse is still climbing when the door swings open, neon spilling a hard glow into the room.

And that’s exactly when the air shifts. It’s subtle at first—like static before a storm. Bodies falter, laughter dips, the room holding its breath. Ruby’s still screaming lyrics into my ear, but even she notices when heads begin to turn toward the door.

Theo comes first—blue shirt stretched across broad shoulders, grin cocky, soaking up the room like he owns it. Heads turn, voices rise.

And then Hunter steps in. Green shirt stretched across his shoulders, sleeves rolled to his forearms, denim low on his hips like sin carved in fabric.

He doesn’t just walk into Ember—he bends it.

The crowd tilts unconsciously, space opening where there wasn’t any.

Even the bass seems to falter for a beat, like the speakers forgot their cue.

His hair is damp, his jaw shadowed, and he moves with the kind of ease that makes people follow without thinking. Eyes track him, bodies shift to catch his attention, but he doesn’t notice. He isn’t looking at them.

He’s already looking at me.