Page 81 of The Love Interest

“She’s pretty certain,” chimes Juliet.

“I’m certain because I know Trevor, and as much as he doesn’t think so right now, I know how he thinks. I know exactly why he’s doing what he’s doing.”

“But aren’t you mad? That he did what he did?”

“Honestly, I don’t care that he cheated. I know I’m supposed to, because it’s been bombarded into me by every single TV show ever, but I don’t want to listen to them. Like, I’m not going to dump him because a bunch of TV writers told me it’s the right thing to do. All that matters is that I still love him.”

The GPS barks a command, and I pull into Dyl’s street. “I get where you’re coming from. If I loved someone I’d forgive them anything. That’s where the unconditional thing comes from, right? It’s not, like, unconditional unless they do something bad. It’s just unconditional.”

“Right.”

Juliet smiles. “Right. Plus, Nat, if he rejects you we can still get super drunk.”

“Jules, I’m right with you. If my talk with Trev doesn’t go my way, I’m going to become a hot mess of supernova proportions.”

I park the car, and take a deep breath in through my nostrils.

Juliet rubs my arm. “Ready?”

No freaking way, I want to say.

I nod. “Yep.”

Dyl’s house is a massive one-story building with white walls and lots of glass. Dark-green shrubs line the stone pathway that leads to the front door. Rows of cars are parked around the block, filling the street. Up ahead, a bunch of guys in suits are leaning against a silver convertible. They stare at us as we pass. Or, more accurately, they stare at Juliet and Natalie. One of them wolf-whistles, and both Natalie and Juliet shoot him scathing looks.

Natalie’s arms are crossed. “Who knew Dyl had this many friends? He doesn’t seem to talk to anyone aside from you, Juliet.”

She shrugs her shoulders. “There’s a lot about that boy I don’t get.”

We walk up the steps to the front door. A black man in a suit is standing there, his huge frame blocking the entire doorway.

“Names,” he says. His eyes are focused on a clipboard.

Juliet steps forward. “Juliet Stringer.”

His eyes move down the list, then he moves his hand up and scrapes his pen across the paper. Of course she’s on the list. He turns his body and Juliet slides past him.

“Caden Walker,” I say.

He scans the list. I’m not going to be on it. Why would I be? Why would Dyl make this easy for me?

The guard raises his hand and swipes the pen across the paper again. “Move,” he growls.

I rush past him and Juliet grabs my hand. She’s beaming. The hallway is long and white, illuminated by circular lights embedded in the ceiling. The floors are rich, varnished timber. An overloaded coat rack stands beside the door. So I’m in. But why would Dyl do that? Maybe he truly has given up on the contest.

Or maybe he just wants to spend time with me.

Juliet lets go of my hand. “Caden, we’re in! And this party… I thought it was going to be a kegger or something, but oh my God, this is ridiculous. I mean, he has a freaking bouncer. How can he afford this?”

“Who knows? Let’s just have a good time!”

“Good call.”

Natalie joins us, and we walk through the hall toward the thumping music. We pass through a glass sliding door into a large lounge room. A dining table that’s full to the brim with trays of small, immaculately presented pieces of food sits in the middle of the room. There are tiny quiches, slices of smoked salmon, and bite-sized berry pies. People in formal clothes, neat black suits for the men, evening gowns for the women, are standing in small circles around the table, either chatting or nibbling at the hors d’oeuvres. My mouth waters.

A middle-aged woman with hair the color of gold, like the metal, approaches us. She’s wearing a tight black dress that dips low, revealing her collarbone and her clearly surgically improved cleavage. A silver necklace hangs around her neck. Her posture is rigidly, almost uncomfortably upright, and her smile is wide but seems genuine.

“Hello,” she says. “I’m Dylan’s aunt. He’s been living with me ever since, well, you know. And who are you?”