NEARLY AN HOUR later, Brad steps through the front door. His thick hair is slick with product, and the armpits of his shirt are ringed with sweat. It looks as though he’s been jogging, and he gives off the spicy, pungent smell of a teenage boy’s cologne.

While we were waiting for him to arrive, Margot returned to her earlier state of fidgeting and distraction: running her fingers through her hair, re-glossing her lips with apple-red lipstick, and anxiously checking her cell.

I had parked myself on the sectional, hoping that she’d settle in next to me, but she live-wired through the great room and kitchen, uncorking another bottle of red and pacing between the two rooms.

* * *

—

“SORRY, IT TOOK me longer to get away than I thought,” Brad says as he grabs Margot into a hug. She says something harsh to him that I can’t make out and bats him on both shoulders with balled-up fists. He lifts her up and spins her around until she relents and squeals with pleasure.

He glances my way and notices me, half-drunk and smeared into the sofa.

“Jamie should be here shortly. In fact, he should’ve already been here by now,” he says to me as if this were a double date, an arrangement I’d previously agreed to.

My neck burns at the mention of Jamie, and the wine sours in my stomach. I should get up, leave now before he arrives. I check the time. It’s nearly eleven o’clock. I set my glass down on the coffee table, unfold my legs from beneath me, and stand.

“I really do need to get going,” I say to Margot, who’s pressed her back into Brad’s chest. Her fingers are laced behind his neck and she’s the old Margot again, radiating fierceness and sexuality.

“Don’t leave just yet!” she says, her face scrunched up, looking at me as if I’m insane for even considering going. “Seriously. Stay for at least one more drink.”

The wine has made my legs feel syrupy, so I sink back into the sofa. “One more won’t kill me, I guess.” I dig in my bag for my cell, check for texts from Graham. Nothing. I let out a sigh and my shoulders relax. But I type him a quick text.

Leaving soon! Home before midnight so I don’t turn into a pumpkin. xx

I press send and drop the cell back in my bag. I’ve texted him as much for his own sake as for mine—I want to be held accountable. I want to keep my promise to him.

* * *

—

BRAD AND MARGOT join me in the great room. They are all over each other—Margot sits in his lap while Brad twirls a lock of her glossy hair around his finger. Clearly, she’s forgiven him for running behind.

“Miss Sophie,” he drawls, cobalt-blue eyes trained on me, “lookin’ good tonight.”

Margot jabs him in the rib cage but nods in agreement. “She’s a star,” she says.

But she’s not looking at me. She’s tracing a finger over Brad’s lips before leaning in to kiss him.

I look away from their tangled mess, swallow hard, stare at the polished oak floorboards. The room suddenly feels overheated and swampy, and I’m all but squirming in my seat as they make out. I should leave, I’m clearly just the third wheel here, but an irrational, stubborn part of me thinks that I’ll be next with Margot.

I rise and step into the kitchen. “Wine, anyone?” I call out, hoping to break their spell.

“Yes, ma’am,” Brad says, moving Margot off his lap and striding into the kitchen. He grabs Margot’s empty glass and holds it out for me to fill. I refill my own and we toast before draining our glasses.

“It’s making me all swoony, the wine is,” Margot says. “I’m switching back to bourbon.”

“That’s my girl,” Brad says. He shoots me a quick wink. Something about the way he’s paying attention to me makes my stomach twinge. It feels like he’s checking me out, and I’m both flattered and mortified.

I glance at Margot but she’s oblivious, busy filling three tumblers with the rest of the bourbon. The bottle is only about a fourth full, so she evenly distributes it between our glasses. She turns to the fridge and scoops a handful of ice from the freezer, wraps it in a rag, and sets it on the counter.

“Brad likes his whiskey on the rocks. And he likes the ice to be jagged,” she says, taking a mallet from the drawer and hammering away at the folded bundle. She unrolls it and drops the slivers of ice into his glass, which pop against the heat of the bourbon.

“Hear, hear!” Brad says, raising his glass to ours.

I take a small, scorching sip and set the glass down. I need to take it slow or I’ll be too drunk to drive.

Margot pulls up a playlist on her phone, and soon Willie Nelson is crooning in the background. She slugs her tumbler of bourbon, licks her lips, and moves her hips slowly back and forth to the music with half-closed eyes.

Brad and I watch her performance. His mouth hangs open and his full lips are shiny with whiskey. His eyes are following her hips, and soon, he goes over to her and pulls her into a two-step.

I take another slow sip and watch as his hands slither over her faded jeans, around her waist, and down to her ass.

I’m grateful when I hear Jamie’s knock at the door. Margot breaks away from Brad and wrenches it open.

“Howdy, you!” she says, her voice loud and giddy. “Glad you could finally join us.”

I flick my eyes toward the clock on the microwave. Eleven twenty. I will leave soon; I have to.

“Yeah, man, what the hell took so long?” Brad asks. “I thought you would’ve beaten me here.”

Jamie lopes into the kitchen, glances around for a drink.

“We just polished off the bourbon, sorry about that.” Margot says. “But . . . I’ve got vodka in the freezer. Martinis, everyone?”

Jamie nods and looks down at his hands, which seem to be shaking. He’s jumpy and has barely made eye contact with me, but seems to settle once Margot pours him an icy shot of vodka.

“An appetizer,” she says.

He slams back the vodka, then holds his shot glass out for another pour.

“Somebody’s thirsty.” She grins approvingly.

He downs his second shot. “Wooo! Aaah, much better.” His neck flushes red with the alcohol and he turns to me, taking me in with those glittering green eyes.

Brad walks over to him, playfully punches him in the shoulder. “Seriously, where you been, dude?”

Jamie scoffs, his breath hissing out of his mouth. “What is this? An interrogation?” He looks at me with a bemused smile, rolls his eyes at Brad.

Margot strains the shaker of martinis into glasses and drops a pair of olives in each one.

“Enough chatter, boys, let’s drink,” she says, lifting the glass to her lips. “And let’s move to somewhere more comfortable.”

We each grab the stems of our glasses and step into the great room. Margot kicks off her cowgirl boots and pushes the coffee table up against the wall. She struts over to the windows, throws them all open. A rush of warm air blankets the room, and I plant myself on the sofa beneath the picture window overlooking the water. A breeze tickles the back of my neck, and the honeyed globe of light from the table lamp encircles us, making it feel like we’re nestled in a cocoon. I’m walking that razor-thin line between tipsy and drunk, so I take small nips of the giant martini, which is briny with the taste of olives.

Margot slinks from the sofa down to the floor, spreads her legs out in a V.

“I’ve got an idea!” she says, her voice pitched with naughtiness. “Brad, go and grab the bourbon, would ya—”

“But it’s empty—”

“Shush it, I know,” she says, slowly shaking her head. She sounds on the far side of the tipsy spectrum as well. “Just grab it, bring it here, will ya?” Her tone is snappy, her earlier anger at Brad resurfacing.

He stands and rakes a hand through his lush hair, which promptly falls back over his eyes as he skips up the few steps to the kitchen.

Jamie sits on the sofa opposite from me, his eyes glued to mine, the corners of his mouth turned up in a flirty grin.

Heat rises to my face and I smile back. “How’ve you been?” I dumbly ask.

Still grinning, he bites his bottom lip, nods his head. “Very well,” he says, his voice silken and deep, his eyes still locked onto mine. I fight the urge to go over to him, sit on his lap, and kiss his neck, which is still blotchy with scarlet streaks.

Brad returns with the bottle, tosses it to Margot.

“Okay!” Margot says, placing it on its side in front of her. “Everyone, on the floor. We’re playing spin the bottle.”

My pulse races and I move directly across from Margot as the boys take the other spots, forming a circle.

“What—is this going to lead to an orgy or something?” Jamie asks, his eyes smoldering as he looks between Margot and me.

“I’d be down with that,” Brad says, leaning back into the foot of the sectional, clasping his hands behind his head.

Margot gives him a playful kick with her sock-footed toe. “Hush. And just for that, you go first.”

Brad leans forward and gives the bottle a sharp twist. It spins and wobbles before stopping right in front of Jamie.