“I can’t hear any music,” Zach says. “Maybe it’s actually only a few friends.”
“Yeah, totally,” I say, walking my fingers across his bare shoulder to his collarbone. He shivers and his eyes go dark as he watches me. “I’m sure he’s having one or two buddies over for a rousing game of Monopoly.”
He swallows and touches my fingers, tilting his head back. The sight of him like this, shirtless and languid, sets something alight within me. The thing is, I’m quite sure he’s the most impossibly beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I’m about to lean forward to kiss him on his lips, or his neck, or anywhere and everywhere he’ll let me, when he closes his grip around my hand and pushes me away to prop himself up. He suddenly looks worried. “Do you think he’s okay?”
I let out a short laugh. “Ah, yes, I’m sure he’s having a great time.”
But Zach doesn’t laugh. Instead, his eyebrows draw closer together, and he presses his lips thin. I haul myself up into a half-sitting position to match him and lean forward. “Hold on, what do you mean?”
“I don’t know. He’s just … he’s been high a couple of times recently, and if he’s having friends around … I’m probably overthinking it.”
The thing is, though, that up until now Zach’s been much less concerned about Angel’s well-being than Jon and I have. If even Zach thinks something’s off enough to want to take charge here, I’m inclined to pay attention.
“Do you think we should check in on him?” I ask.
His eyes flicker to mine. “Would you mind?”
I roll my eyes and launch forward on the bed to grab his discarded shirt and throw it to him. “One day you’re going to do something without permission from everyone in the room, and I’m going to pass out from shock.”
“Am I that bad?” he asks as he pulls it over his head.
I head over to his side of the bed and offer him my hand to pull him up. “The worst. But don’t panic, you’re still the best.”
Jon’s already in Angel’s room when we get there. Like Zach had hoped, there’s only a handful of visitors this time. Nothing like Paris. But unlike Paris, I don’t recognize anyone, and everyone seems to be buzzing. The conversations are all happening in double-time, with most conversation partners both speaking over each other. And whether they’re standing by the window, or kneeling on the bed, limbs are trembling and postures are odd and eyes are a little too wide.
Angel, who was speaking earnestly with Jon by the bathroom door, flings himself at us when we enter. Beads of sweat are glistening on his forehead, and his hair is hanging in damp strands. “You made it,” he cries out, flinging his arms around us both so our heads knock together. “I thought you were gonna ditch us and do your own thing tonight.”
I rub my head while Zach grabs Angel to hold him steady. “Angel, you haven’t told anyone here about … that, right?” he whispers.
Angel narrows his eyes and pouts. “That’s a secret,” he says. “I’m not stupid. Or a piece of shit.”
His voice hardened at that last part, and I wonder for a second if he’s offended Zach suspected him. But there’s no time to ask, because he’s bounded off to talk to an unfamiliar, petite girl with long dark hair styled into twists.
Jon joins us by the door. “I think I’m gonna go to bed soon,” he says in a heavy voice.
I know just how he feels.
Two guys dressed head to toe in gaudy designer clothing head in our direction. They’re covered in logos and insignias, just in case anyone missed that they are, indeed, very rich—ironically, the exact sort of outfit that announces to the very people they want to fit in with that they’ve only been rich for five minutes, tops. The taller of the two reaches out to shake each of our hands and introduce himself as Elias, like we’re heading into a goddamn business meeting. “It’s so good to see you three,” he says warmly.
He talks like we’re old friends, but I’m perfectly sure we’ve never met before. My guess is he’ll probably spend the next year of his life talking to anyone who’ll listen about the time he hung out with the guys from Saturday and changed our lives forever through the sheer power of his charisma and wisdom or some shit. God only knows how he knows Angel. How any of these people know Angel.
Elias holds out a clear baggie of what can only be cocaine, as casually as if he was passing a cigarette. “Want some?” he asks cheerfully.