Page 34 of The Girlfriend Goal
"Fine. But we're at least doing something with your hair." He brandished a curling iron like a weapon. "Zombie waves. Trust me."
An hour later, I surveyed myself in the mirror. Jared had worked his magic—I looked like an athletically built zombie who'd somehow maintained perfect beach waves post-death. The costume walked the line between scary and weirdly attractive.
"Perfect," Jared declared. "Lance won't know what hit him."
"We're not going to see Lance. The hockey team has their own party."
"Oh, sweet naive Rachel." He patted my head. "Have you learned nothing from three years of college? Everyone ends up at Sigma on Halloween. It's like gravity, but with cheap beer and bad decisions."
My stomach flipped at the thought of seeing Lance at a party. We'd been doing so well maintaining distance sinceThe Kiss That Didn't Happen. Days of carefully avoided eye contact and strategic route planning around campus.
"I don't want to see him," I said.
"Liar."
"I don't want to want to see him."
"Still a lie, but better." He checked his own costume—undead basketball player, complete with jersey that showed off his carefully maintained abs. "Come on. Let's go make poor choices and blame them on alcohol."
The Sigma house was already packed when we arrived, bass thumping hard enough to feel in your chest. The front lawn looked like a costume shop had exploded, with drunk college students in various states of undress and creativity.
"I need a drink," I announced.
"I need ten drinks," Jared countered. "But let's start with one and see how it goes."
We pushed through the crowd, dodging grinding couples and what appeared to be a pirate sword fight happening in the living room. The kitchen was marginally less chaotic, though someone had turned the island into a beer pong table.
"Ladies." A clearly drunk Brad appeared out of nowhere, catching me off guard. "Looking good, Rachel. Really good."
"Brad? Didn’t you transfer to a different university?"
"I’m just here visiting old friends. Although, I’ve been considering transferring back to Greenfield."
"Go away, Brad."
"Hey, don't be like that." He moved closer, beer breath overwhelming. "I miss you. We were good together. Come on, one dance. For old times."
"She said no." Jared stepped between us. "Multiple times, and in small words. Would you like me to draw you a picture?"
"Back off, theater freak. This is between me and my girl."
"Call me a freak again and see what happens." Jared's voice had gone dangerously low. "Actually, please do. I've been practicing my right hook."
"Jared, it's fine—" I started.
"No, it's not fine." A new voice joined the conversation. Matt appeared at Jared's shoulder, looking uncharacteristically serious. "Brad, right? Think it's time for you to find another party."
"Who the fuck are you?"
"Someone suggesting you leave before this gets ugly." Matt's usual golden retriever energy had transformed into something more protective. "The lady said no. Story ends there."
Brad looked between them, clearly calculating his odds. "Whatever. She's not worth it anyway."
He stumbled off, probably to harass some other poor girl who'd made the mistake of dating him.
"You okay?" Matt asked me, then turned to Jared. "You good?"
"I'm fantastic," Jared said, and I recognized his smitten voice. "Very heroic of you."
