“Casual vibes party” from Amber Mays translates to: coordinated Instagram content, professional–grade contouring, and enough fake enthusiasm to power a small city. I wasn’t invited. Obviously. But I was crashing anyway–black nails, no bra, and Chase Donovan as my human weapon of mass destruction.
Mirror check before departure: War paint eyeliner? Check. Lips that looked professionally fucked up? Check. The girl staring back had buried Good Zoey somewhere shallow and unmarked.
“Second thoughts?” I asked my reflection.
She smirked back. “Not one.”
Chase’s car smelled like cigarettes and rebellion. He drove like physics were optional–windows down, bass rattling my ribs, tattooed arm cutting through summer air like he owned it.
“You ready for this shitshow?” he asked, not looking over.
“I was born ready for this shitshow.”
“Liar.”
“Fine. I’m terrified and possibly having a psychotic break.” –
He grinned. “Much better.”
The lake house was already in full swing–screaming from the dock, laughter from the deck, enough coordinated swimwear to supply a small resort. I gripped the door handle like it might teleport me home.
“You don’t have to prove anything,” Chase said, engine ticking as it cooled.
I’m not here to prove. I’m here to detonate.”
“Jesus. Remind me never to piss you off.”
We walked in like we owned the place. Conversations died mid–sentence. Heads swiveled. Amber stood frozen by the fire pit, red solo cup halfway to her lips, Miles attached to her side like a designer accessory.
When her eyes landed on us, her face did this micro–flinch thing. Barely visible, but I caught it. So did Chase.
“Smile, killer,” he whispered against my ear. “You’re the main event.”
I didn’t smile. I unleashed something sharper.
The crowd parted like we were radioactive. Chase’s hand branded my waist, thumb tracing lazy circles on bare skin that made my nervous system short–cireuit. This wasn’t acting anymore. This was chemical warfare.
Amber approached with weapons–grade fake sweetness. “Zoey! What a surprise.”
“You did say the whole class was invited.” I tilted my head. “Right?”
“I honestly didn’t think you’d-”
Chase cut her off by pressing his lips to my neck. Not gentle. Not sweet. Territorial.
Amber’s mouth clicked shut. The eavesdroppers pretended to look elsewhere while obviously not looking elsewhere.
I turned to make some sarcastic comment about subtlety, but Chase wasn’t done.
He looked at me–quick, loaded, daring. I didn’t say yes. I didn’t move. But I didn’t stop him either.
Then he kissed me. Hard.
His hand gripped the back of my neck, the other landing low on my waist, fingers brushing under my shirt like he didn’t care who saw. His mouth moved on mine with zero hesitation–tongue, teeth, heat. I felt the scratch of his jaw, the press of his hips, the tight pull of his fingers digging into my skin.
People were watching. I knew that. I didn’t care. My brain was foggy, my body buzzing. His thigh brushed between mine and my breath hitched. I was soaked. Just from a kiss.
He pulled back and stared at me like he wanted to drag me behind the boathouse and fuck me until I forgot my name.
I was red–faced, dazed, barely standing. His hand stayed on my lower back, fingers dipping just inside the waistband of my shorts.
I should’ve stepped away.
Instead, my body leaned into his, on instinct.
“Jesus,” I muttered under my breath, more to myself than him.
He smirked, lips brushing my temple like we were
12:30 AM
3
Instead, my body leaned into his, on instinct.
“Jesus,” I muttered under my breath, more to myself than him.
He smirked, lips brushing my temple like we were sharing some private joke. But it wasn’t a joke. My thighs were clenched, and all I could think about was what it would feel like if he pushed me down, got his hands under my clothes, got his mouth between my legs.
I’d never done anything in public before–not even close–but right then, with his fingers skimming lower and his breath hot at my ear, I seriously considered it. Just dragging him into the trees and letting him ruin me against a tree trunk while the party roared on twenty feet away.
Amber looked like she might pass out. Miles kept staring at the fire like it would save him.
“What the hell was that?” I asked, voice shaking in a way that had nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with how close his hand was to slipping lower.
“Performance art,” Chase said, eyes never leaving mine.
“You didn’t have to go full method actor.”
