Chapter 1: The Boyfriend Gambit
The chandelier in the duplex living room flickered a dull, sickly amber, catching on decades of nicotine stained into the popcorn ceiling. The air was a soup of spilled beer, stale popcorn, and something else, something older and deeply wrong that Emily couldn’t place. It felt like it was seeping out of the ugly brown shag carpet. She’d only come because her roommate had begged her, and now she was cornered by the keg, wishing she’d stayed home with her thesis on Tudor tax reforms.
Blake had a neck tattoo of a snarling wolf and teeth the color of old piano keys. He’d been orbiting her for twenty minutes, his monologue shifting from the merits of his truck’s lift kit to what he perceived as her “vibe”—a fragile, scholarly thing he clearly intended to shatter.
“You think too much,” he slurred, leaning in. His breath was warm and sour. “I can tell. You gotta live a little.”
Emily forced a tight smile, her eyes scanning the crowded room for an exit. “I live plenty. Just not, you know, here.” She tried to sidestep, but his hand shot out, not touching her, just resting on the wall beside her head, caging her in.
“Come on.One dance. You’re too pretty to be standing here all by yourself.”
She wasn’t by herself. That was the problem. Her gaze darted over his shoulder, past the gyrating bodies and the red plastic cups held aloft like torches. And then she saw him. Slouched on a battered corduroy sofa in the far corner, a half-empty bottle of beer dangling from his long fingers.Isaac Lahey.
Her mind clicked through the file.High school. Advanced Placement History, two rows behind her. He’d been quiet, almost brooding, with wild blond curls he was constantly pushing back from his face. He’d worn a lot of hoodies. She’d found him intriguing in a distant, abstract way, the kind of mild crush you never admit to and eventually forget. He’d vanished after graduation. And now he was back, looking less like a boy and more like… something else. He was broader, his shoulders filling out a simple grey henley, but it was the stillness that got her. In the chaotic sea of the party, he was an island of calm, his pale blue eyes watching everything without seeming to watch anything at all.
Quiet.Observant. Probably wouldn’t cause a scene.
It was a terrible plan. It was also her only plan.
She looked back at Blake, his confidence now curdling into annoyance at her lack of attention. “Actually,” Emily said, her voice sharper than she intended, “I’m not by myself. My boyfriend’s here.”
Blake barked a laugh. “Bullshit. You’ve been solo all night.”
“He’s right over there.” She nodded toward the sofa. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
She didn’t wait for his answer, just ducked under his arm and carved a path through the crowd. The bass from the speakers throbbed in her ribs. With each step, the lie solidified, becoming more real and more ridiculous. What was she doing? Isaac Lahey probably didn’t even remember her.
He looked up as she approached. His eyes, she noticed with a clinical detachment that felt insane given the circumstances, were a very pale, clear blue, like winter sky. They took her in, then flicked to Blake lumbering behind her.Something shifted in their expression. A slight narrowing, a subtle tensing of his jaw.
Emily didn’t allow herself to hesitate. She sat down on the couch beside him, too close for strangers, the old springs groaning in protest. She could feel the heat radiating off him, like sitting next to a banked furnace.
“Hey, babe,” she said, the endearment foreign on her tongue. She grabbed his arm, her fingers sinking into the solid muscle of his forearm. It was rock-hard. She gave his arm what she hoped was a meaningful squeeze, her eyes pleading. Help me.
For a suspended second, nothing happened. Isaac looked from her gripping hand to her face, his gaze unreadable. Then, something clicked. His expression softened, melting from detached observation into a warm, possessive ease so seamless it stole her breath.
“There you are,” he said, his voice a low rumble that cut through the surrounding noise. His free arm snaked around her shoulders, his hand coming to rest on the curve of her waist, his thumb pressing a firm, deliberate point through the fabric of her dress. The heat of his palm was almost shocking. “I was wondering where you’d gotten to.”
He looked past her at Blake, who had stopped a few feet away, his smirk faltering. Isaac didn’t glare. He just looked, his head tilted slightly, his arm tightening around Emily in a gesture that was both casual and unequivocal. The message was silent and absolute: Mine.
“This is Blake,” Emily managed, her voice surprisingly steady. “Blake, this is Isaac. My boyfriend.”