Page 58 of Stardusted

But dancing alone apparently broadcasted an invitation. And some guys were pushier than others. As he stepped further into my personal space, I got the distinct feeling this Prince Charming would be one of them.

I searched until I found Amelia. She was leaning against a tall, thin, dark-haired man about our age, her head tilted back at a flirty angle. I vaguely recognized him. Had he happened to be here, or did she invite him?

Guilt prickled. Had she mentioned meeting somebody? I didn’tthinkso, but then again, I’d been so distracted lately. Preoccupied. It was taking a toll on my friendships, too.

I swallowed hard and darted a glance at my current problem: the blond-haired man still eyeing me like a carnivore eyes a filet. My lip curled.

Seeing me looking, he opened his mouth, but I gave him my shoulder. I hated to interrupt Amelia, but he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

Luckily, she happened to turn her head my way then glanced past me, at the Prince Charming encroaching on my personalspace. She gave an exasperated eye roll and nodded, mouthing,One second.

My shoulders sagged with relief. Backup was coming.

I waited while she rose to her tiptoes, her leather minidress riding up dangerously high as she whispered something to her dancing partner. He grimaced, his eyes flicking toward me and my admirer, who was currently doing a hip-thrust dance in my direction.Gag.

Amelia disengaged and crossed the floor, dodging a group of dancing girls. I let out a relieved whoosh of air when she looped her arm through mine and tugged.

“Sorry,” she said to Mr. Pushy, who stopped dancing (if it could be called that) to give Amelia his best slimy grin. Her return look could’ve frozen lava. “We have to go to the bathroom in pairs.”

Before he could respond, she was towing me through the dancers. The DJ booth pulsed in the center like a glowing altar, and the bass vibrated the floor. Around us, lights slashed across bodies, blurring motion and shadowing faces. The effect was eerie enough, I nearly shivered. The thud of music mingled with voices, shrieks, and laughter.

I was getting jumpy again. I fanned myself as we escaped the press of bodies. Amelia steered us toward the hallway leading to the bathrooms.

“Thanks for the rescue,” I told her, raising my voice over the bass drop and accompanying cheers.

“No problem.” She tossed her dark curls and smirked. “I don’t know how he couldn’t tell how disgusted you were by the look on your face.”

Another reminder of how bad a liar I was. I bit my lip, giving her a sidelong look. “And who’syourdance partner?”

“Oh.” She smile dimmed. “That’s Emerick Kensington. His dad works with my dad.”

I raised my brows and nearly stopped walking. Somebody from her father’s social circle? That wasn’t her normal type. She avoided that crowd like the plague.

Interesting.

I studied her as we cut through the line waiting on drinks. Her olive skin was flushed from the dance floor’s muggy heat, but somehow her sultry makeup had stayed perfect. She glided in her gold strappy heels like she’d been born in them, while I clomped behind her in my far more sensible boots.

We were night and day. Total opposites in a lot of ways. But she grounded me.

I’d needed this night out with her more than I’d realized.

We pushed into the women’s bathroom. A few girls mingled at the sinks, checking their lipstick, fixing flyaways, and chatting in too-loud voices. We wove around them, and Amelia stopped at the floor-length mirror.

“Yeah, Emerick’s…just fun,” she said, her dismissive tone brushing aside any more questions before I could even ask them. She adjusted her skintight tube dress. It did spectacular things for her long legs. Half-turning, she raised an eyebrow at me. “That guy who came up to you wasn’t too bad to look at, though. You could’ve let him buy you a drink, at least. You look like you could use one.”

She wasn’t wrong. I sighed, turning to my reflection.

I’d been ready to wear jeans, a tank, and a jacket to hide the nasty discoloration on my arm. It’d only gotten worse in the past day. Amelia had taken one look at me and tossed me a slinky silver dress she’d found in her closet. I hadn’t put up a fight because…well, itwasa cute dress, and after spending the last few days pale, bruised, and sweaty, maybe a cute dress was exactly what I needed, too.

Amelia also wasn’t stupid. She’d noticed the finger marks while I changed. I didn’t think she’d completely bought my claimthat they’d come from the explosion at Finke, either. But she hadn’t pressed.

Ittechnicallywasn’t a lie. Something had exploded. Just…not what the media was saying.

I’d been stretching the truth an awful lot lately. More so than I ever had with the best friend I thought of as a sister.

My insides twisted. I pushed aside the thought and smoothed the borrowed dress. It clung to my frame in all the right places, and despite how straight-as-a-board I looked next to Amelia’s goddess-tier curves, it somehow gave me a hint of cleavage.

Plus, it had pockets. Cleavage and pockets—what more could a girl ask for?