The moment he opens the door, Dylan and Sawyer bounce inside, carrying a shit-ton of stuff in their hands.

“I know you said you didn’t want to go to the bar,” Dylan begins. “But we still wanted to celebrate with you.”

Smiling from ear to ear, Sawyer adds, “So instead of having a girls’ night out…we’re having a girls’ night in.” Her smile widens when she sees me. “Hey, Bianca. I didn’t know you were here, but it’s perfect timing.”

I raise a brow. “Perfect timing for what?”

Sawyer and Dylan quickly proceed to empty their bags.

From the looks of things, it’s safe to say they raided every beauty product aisle at the local dollar store.

I have to stifle a laugh when I catch the horrified look on Oakley’s face.

Visibly distressed, he holds up what appears to be a face mask. “What the fuck is this shit?”

“It helps clear your pores,” Sawyer answers cheerfully. “We also brought stuff to do your nails.”

He backs away like a wild animal caught in a trap. “Nuh-uh. Not fucking happening.” He slaps his chest. “In case you two are blind, I’m a dude. Get this girly shit out of my house.”

“Relax,” Dylan says with a roll of her eyes. “One spa night with us won’t revoke your man card.” She grins. “Plus, we also made a big jug of margaritas, so you’ll be nice and relaxed soon.”

My chest coils.

It’s been almost a week since Oakley promised me he’d try and he’s been doing really well.

Sure, he still works for Loki and at No Name, but I haven’t seen him so much as pick up a beer lately.

The first few days of his newfound sobriety he was downright miserable and stayed in bed, but he was strong enough to get through it.

However, I’m worried he’s going to give in to temptation soon—especially now that he and his closest friends are twenty-one so having a few drinks while hanging out is pretty much second nature now.

I can tell he’s fighting an internal war with himself as he mulls this over.

Come on, Oakley. Stay strong.

Blowing out a breath, he squeezes the back of his neck. “Fine. Nix the margaritas and I’m in.”

And just like that, the tension in my chest dissipates and swells with pride.

Dylan shrugs. “Okay. We can make daiquiris instead if you—”

“Jesus Christ, Dylan,” I snap, trying my hardest not to throttle her. “Quit forcing him to drink.”

Dylan’s eyes widen in surprise. “I’m not. I just…” Visibly uncomfortable now, she shuffles her feet. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know you didn’t,” Oakley interjects. “But I…uh. I’ve been trying to cut down.”

Her face perks up. “Really?” She wraps her arms around him. “That’s awesome.” Expression serious, she peers up at him. “I’m proud of you, Oak.”

Sawyer picks up a jug and pours the liquid down the sink. “Me too.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Oakley grunts. “Don’t you two go all after school special on me.” He pats his stomach. “I’m just trying to work on my abs.”

Dylan and Sawyer roll their eyes before all three of them share a laugh.

I hate that he felt the need to turn something serious—something he should be giving himself credit for—into a joke, but it doesn’t surprise me.

Sawyer holds up two packages. “What kind of face mask does everyone want? I have charcoal and cucumber aloe.”

“And that’s my cue to leave,” I say, heading for the door.

Oakley frowns. “You’re leaving?”

“Come on, Bianca,” Sawyer whines. “Stay.”

Dylan goes silent.

Feeling’s mutual, bitch.

Which is exactly why I need to leave. I refuse to spend another second with her.

Smiling tersely, I point to my face. “Sorry, I’m not undoing all the work my professional esthetician Stella does with your cheap little face masks.”

With that, I start to leave, but Oakley’s intense gaze holds mine.

‘See you later,’ he mouths as Sawyer and Dylan venture into the living room.

Pretending to think about it, I give him a small shrug.

Blue orbs darkening, he leisurely brings his finger to his mouth.

The same finger that was inside me moments ago.

My cheeks heat and I want to smack the shit-eating grin I catch on his face as I close the door behind me.

He knows damn well I’ll be back.

I’m walking up the staircase when I hear it.

“Hey.”

I turn around at the sound of Jace’s voice. “Hey. I didn’t know you were here.”

“I dropped Dylan and Sawyer off for their girls’ night with Oak.” He shrugs. “I figured since my trip to New York is coming up soon we could hang out and catch up.”

Am I mad that Jace, Dylan, Sawyer, and Cole are all going on some kind of couples vacation to New York in two weeks? No.

Am I hurt that no one asked me if I wanted to tag along to the big apple? A little.

However, I’m not one to be a bitter Betty. Well, not anymore.

Especially since my dad has another work trip scheduled around that time, which means I’ll have tons of alone time with Oakley and we won’t have to sneak around.

“Yeah, sure. I think there’s a new zombie horror movie out if you want to go.”

I loathe horror films—particularly ones featuring zombies because they make me jumpy—but Jace happens to love them.

And truth be told, I miss hanging out with my brother. We grew even closer after Liam’s death, but lately it feels like we’re light-years apart.

I’m not sure what to make of the look on his face, but whatever it is… it’s not good.

“Bianca.”

“Yes?”

I really wish I knew why he was acting so weird. Almost like he’s mad at me.

A small wrinkle forms between his brows. “We need to talk.”

Sensing what he’s probably angry about, I quickly utter, “Look, if this is about Dylan—”

“It’s not about Dylan.” He’s quiet for a beat. “It’s about Oakley.”

“Oakley?” I all but screech as nerves bunch in my stomach. “What’s up with Oakley?”

“You tell me,” he snaps. “You’re the one who’s been off gallivanting with him all summer.”

“Gallivanting?” I repeat with a sardonic laugh. “What are you, eighty?”

Jace’s cheeks hollow in frustration. “You know what I mean.”

“No,” I deadpan. “I don’t.”

If this is his way of trying to ask if Oakley and I are a thing, he needs to put his big boy pants on and come right out with it instead of giving me the third degree.

He digs inside his pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. “Then explain this.”

I snatch the paper from him. Both my heart and stomach flip in succession when I realize it’s the letter I wrote Oakley for his birthday.

“Where did you get this?”

He crosses his arms. “I found it on Oakley’s kitchen table the other night.”