Page 28 of Second Position (Astor Hill #2)
“Bitch, we all saw the aftermath,” Jean says, passing the vape back to Sloane. I catch her eyes widen at him, like he said something he shouldn’t have.
“What? What happened?” I ask, my mind thinking back to that call.
“Ben laid him out . Most satisfying thing I’ve seen in years,” Jean smirks before noticing what is probably flared across my features. “Don’t even think about feeling bad for him. The shit he said to Liv was sucker punch worthy, I promise.”
I lose a shaky sigh, trying to remember that I am done. And that as much as Ben has been a thorn in Will’s side the past few months, he does love him. He’s never been the hot-headed one—that was Will—so if he hit him like Jean is saying, whatever he said must’ve been bad.
“And I only heard about it from Grant. He drove Ben home since his knuckles were… badly bruised,” she adds with a grimace.
Of course Grant would take his best friend home, be there for him, just like he was there for me in that closet. Just like he’s been there to help clean up Will’s messes on Ben’s behalf for as long as I’ve known him .
I realize I’m biting my lip, the bottom one feeling puffier by the moment.
“Oh, Gen…” Jean says, his voice dripping with sympathy.
Sloane stands in front of us, both hands on her hips, looking anything but sympathetic. One of her eyebrows is raised sky high as she looks at Jean and I.
“Girl…get up.” Her voice is demanding as if she’s fed up with my theatrics and I’m immediately embarrassed.
I reluctantly come to a standing position and she grabs my arm, pulling me toward the full length mirror.
She lightly pushes me in front of her, using her hands to take my hair down and rake it behind my shoulders, the movement almost maternal.
“Now look.” Her voice is soft, tender.
We stand there for a few seconds and I can’t help but feel awkward as Sloane inspects every centimeter of our reflections. I feel like a stubby child standing beside her tall curvy frame. She’s basically every man’s fantasy and, while I’m passably pretty, I’m not a bombshell.
“What are you thinking?” It’s like she can sense my discomfort, amusement dancing in her eyes.
“I’m thinking I look like a toe next to you.”
She gasps, shoving me gently. “Don’t you dare say that about my friend,” she says in mock horror.
“You’re delusional, Gen,” Jean declares behind us, humored by the scene playing out in front of him.
Sloane squints back at our reflection, again combing her hands through my hair, which would normally bother me if it were anyone else but, because it’s Sloane, it’s oddly comforting.
She abruptly stops, barging into my room on the right of us without bothering to ask.
I begin to apologize for the mess but before I can even start she’s rifling through my closet.
“Gen, do you exclusively wear leotards and yoga pants or do you have actual clothing?”
I roll my eyes and point toward the far right side of my closet that she hasn’t begun scouring yet.
She skips over beginning to rake through the clothes hanging neatly around her, dropping each item on the floor she deems unworthy until she lands on the lilac mini dress that Will bought me a few weeks ago.
The one that I found beyond offensive not only because the fabric almost had a sheer quality, but also because it barely covered my ass.
“No,” I say, shaking my head as Sloane begins nodding her head yes. “No way!” I repeat, her eyes gleam with mischief.
An hour later I’m sitting at my kitchen island sipping some sort of juice based mocktail Jean concocted for me, giant rollers placed in my freshly blown out hair.
The purple dress hugs every curve of my body as Sloane pads glittery eyeshadow onto my eyes.
Pop music blares through my apartment and Jean and Sloane giggle as they belt out the lyrics.
Sloane playfully swats at me every time I start to laugh.
“Don’t move, it’s almost perfect!”
I pinch my lips together in an attempt to stifle the giggle about to spill out of me. She quickly begins unwinding my curlers and I feel my hair fall around my shoulders in long, blown out waves.
“Okay!” She smiles happily after pulling the last one.
She excitedly grabs my wrist, pulling me back toward the mirror just like before, this time covering my eyes with her hands.
I wobble slightly in the sky high heels Sloane pulled out of her trunk after forcing me into this dress.
Finally, she raises her hands from my eyes and we stand shoulder to shoulder, her heels bringing me to a similar height.
I stare at myself, taking in the short dress I was way too scared to wear, that somehow seems to suit me perfectly when paired with the silver heels. My hair, which did take a few hours, looks like I went to a salon. I can’t help but admit that I look hot.
“A princess!” Jean says jovially behind me and Sloane gives that loud boisterous laugh I still haven’t grown accustomed too. The one that seems to cover anyone she’s around in her aura.
“So now we have to find somewhere to go.” She looks at Jean implying he may have some insight. “If only one of us was dating a boy who always knew where all the best parties were…” She gives Jean her best faux pout.
“We are not dating right now,” he says, crossing his arms.
Sloane and I roll our eyes in unison and I pat Jean's arm, giving him my best sympathetic smile that I’m sure comes out as a grimace. Sloane crosses her arms, appraising the situation.
“Who dumped who?” she asks, brashly.
“I dumped him…obviously,” he says, his smirk incredibly self-aware.
“Great, give me your phone,” Sloane demands.
Jean reluctantly punches in his passcode and hands over his phone, always one for the plot.
Sloane, now giddy with control, stands there for a few minutes, punching in something that's almost instantly followed with a ding . “He must really like you,” Sloane laughs, tossing Jean’s phone back to him and grabbing her coat off my kitchen island.
“I’m driving!” she announces, marching toward my door .
I quickly realize that not only are we going to a party—which I had not planned for—but that Sloane has a car? I take in a deep inhale, deciding to throw caution to the wind for once and follow Sloane outside.
We approach a vintage cherry red convertible, and it screams Sloane—dice hanging from the rearview mirror and all.
“ This is your car?” I ask, and I know my eyes are wide.
“You met my baby last night, Gen, but I guess you did sleep the entire way home,” she pauses, staring lovingly at the antique show worthy vehicle.
“I just shipped it down from Cali. I needed her back in my life.” She mock-hugs the hood and gives it a little pat as she hops into the driver's side and I follow, pulling open my door as Jean hops into the backseat.
“So—some ground rules for this party.” Sloane gives me an accusatory look then grabs her phone, quickly typing in a text to someone. I instantly flush in anticipation knowing these rules are not going to be favorable to me. Sloane turns the key in the ignition.
“Rule one. If Will is there, do not talk to him,” she begins, backing out of the parking spot, allowing me to nervously roll my lips together without her seeing.
“Rule two. You have to leave that coat in the car.”
I roll my eyes exasperatedly. “Are all these rules for me?” I cross my arms and Sloane chuckles to herself.
“Yup. And rule three.” She smiles devilishly. “You are hooking up with someone tonight.”