“We’re off to meet more people,” Mav tells them, pulling me away. He stops every couple of steps to make introductions and share the bottle of Mad Dog he’s carrying. He’s funny and kind of ridiculous, saying whatever pops into his head. Or maybe not, but if he’s holding back at all—I don’t want to think about the thoughts left unsaid.
“Total douche,” he says after we’re done talking to one guy that I think he said was a neighbor.
I laugh. “Then why did you introduce me to him?”
“Gotta know which ones to stay away from.”
The next time he stops, it’s in front of a girl standing by herself, her face hidden behind her phone. “Dakota, baby, I missed you all summer.”
“You missed having someone to bum laundry detergent and junk food from.” She looks up and over the device at Maverick. She’s pretty. Big, ice-blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair that hangs in loose waves around her shoulders. She looks sweet, but the playful glare she gives Maverick makes me believe she could cut a bitch with words alone. That gaze slides to me and softens. “Hey.”
“Dakota lives in the apartment next door. I’m her favorite neighbor.” He tips his head to me. “This is Scott’s little sister, Ginny.”
“Hey there.” I wave three fingers around my drink.
“Where’s Reagan?” Maverick asks. Then to me, “Her roommate. The nicer of the two.”
Dakota flips him off. “She’ll be here. She was still getting ready. Ginny, you’re a freshman?”
“Did the seltzer give it away?”
She lifts her cup. “We’ve got a better variety at our place if you want something else. These guys only know cheap beer and hard liquor.”
“Thank you. That’s really nice.”
“Of course.”
Dakota’s phone pings, and she smiles at the screen. “Wardrobe emergency. I should go make sure Reagan’s not buried under a pile of dresses. Do you want to come with me and scan our booze?”
Maverick nods his approval and smiles like a proud parent who’s set up their kid on a successful playdate. “You two have fun. Don’t tell her any lies about us, Dakota.”
“Lies would be less incriminating.”
Dakota lets us into her apartment across the breezeway from the guys.
“Help!” a muffled voice calls from one of the bedrooms. A girl with hair the color of honey pulled up in curlers rushes out wearing a silky robe. “I don’t know what to wear.”
Dakota laughs. “This is Ginny. Ginny, that’s my neurotic but lovable roommate, Reagan.”
“Hey,” she says, breathless, cheeks pink.
“Green’s a good color on you,” I tell her and motion to the emerald color of her robe.
“She’s right. Put on that green dress with the crisscross back.”
Reagan smiles, deep dimples popping out. “Oh, right. I forgot about that one.” She disappears back into the room.
Dakota moves to the kitchen and I hang in the living room looking around.
“I like your apartment.” It’s decorated with lots of black and white with pops of dark pink. Old Hollywood movie posters and cute furniture. It’s a smaller version of my brother’s, but same basic setup with bedrooms on either side of the living area.
“Thanks,” she says, and I join her in the kitchen area. “Pick your poison.” A wide selection of alcohol is spread out on their kitchen counter. Wine—red and white, hard lemonade, vodka, Captain Morgan, and a bunch of mixers. I settle on half a cup of white wine. After all the mixing, I’m a little nervous to drink too much.
“So, you’re Adam Scott’s little sister?” she asks with a smirk once we both have a fresh drink.
“I am. Yeah. You know him?”
“Everyone knows him. He’s Adam Scott.”
Reagan reappears in green with her hair down, looking like she walked out of a salon. If I could make that sort of transformation in five minutes, I’d probably get dolled up more often.
“Do we have a winner?” Dakota asks.
Reagan holds her arms out to her sides. “I think so.”
“You look great.” I glance down at my jeans and tank top. I’m underdressed by comparison. Dakota’s in a skirt and T-shirt with tennis shoes, but her makeup and jewelry give it all a much more put-together look than my casual outfit. “Do you guys always dress up like this for parties?”
Dakota responds first. “This is my basic uniform, but that one” —she nods toward her roommate— “has her eye on a boy.”
Reagan makes a face at her but smiles.
“Oooooh. Someone at the party?” I ask. “One of the hockey guys?”
“Yeah.” She takes a seat next to me.
“She won’t say which one. I’ve got money on Liam. He’s got that nice guy vibe, but something about him screams that he’s probably not afraid to get down and dirty in the sheets.” Dakota pours white wine into a cup and hands it to Reagan.
“Liam? Really?” Reagan asks with a shake of her head. “He’s not my type. And I’m not saying who because I don’t want to jinx it.”
“Well, he’d be a fool to turn you down,” I tell her honestly. Reagan is the kind of pretty that you wish only existed on the pages of a magazine or on TV.
She takes the drink and sighs. “I’m nervous, which is ridiculous, right? Who gets nervous about going to a party where their crush is? It’s like junior high all over except without the zits and braces. Thank god. I’ve been trying to talk to this guy for… a long time. I get all weird and shy around him. Well, shier than normal.”
“You’re going to knock his socks off. Trust me.” Dakota says. “And if not, you get to come home to me.”
“Have you guys been roommates for a long time?” I ask. It’s easy to see how close they are. They tease, but it’s with a smile and none of the catty, fake compliments that some girls do to one another.
“Since our freshmen year in the dorms,” Reagan answers. “Dakota was all fast-talking and no-nonsense, and I
