Page 156 of Collide
The lipstick in my hand shakes slightly as I reapply.
Broderick deserves someone who won’t hesitate.
And I’m not sure if that could ever be me.
I have Alex. I shouldn’t even be thinking about him. But what if…
“Hey, you’re quieter than usual?” Riley asks, placing a warm hand on my shoulder.
“Just tired,” I lie.
Riley narrows her eyes at me. “Okay.”
She waits in silence, the kind that says,I’m here when you’re ready.
The room cracks up again, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I stare at my reflection. Cheeks flushed. Lashes curled. Eyes too tired for someone about to step into a night of champagne and dancing.
But I love dancing.
I straighten my spine, smooth out my ponytail, and take a deep breath. My dress is red.
Alex will like it.
It clings in all the right places—tight, short. My heels are higher than I’m used to, courtesy of Rio’s additions to my wardrobe. Confidence stitched into every seam.
I look the part. I press my lips together and smile. No one would think the wiser.
“All right, ladies, enough boy talk, I’m cutting you all off,” I announce, voice light, laced with that same feigned confidence I wear on stage. The mask.
The version of me I wish I could be all the time.
They giggle and shriek in response, heels clacking, perfume clouding the air as we spill downstairs.
The guys are already waiting in the entrance, dressed in understated designer goods. Some in suits, others in polos, hair styled perfectly, expensive watches catching the light.
Andrew’s eyes widen when he sees Philippa gliding down the stairs—his bride-to-be in a white bodycon dress, tighter than anything she usually wears. The push-up bra was worth the investment, judging by the look on his face. Her hair is dead straight, makeup a little heavier than usual, her skin shimmering with glitter.
Andrew’s cousins, James and Cole Sinclair, the other groomsmen, and a few of his friends let out wolf whistles as we descend the steps.
“There they are.”
“Looking good, ladies.”
“Damn, Sienna.”
“Looking good, Avery.”
Standing next to them and looking completely unfair is Broderick, taller than the rest, in a black shirt, tight and tucked into black pants. He wears a leather jacket and boots.
“Fuck, he’s hot,” Natalie hisses under her breath, stealing the words right out of my mouth.
He looks up just as Natalie and I are the last to join the group. His eyes flick to her—then past her—right at me.
He winks.
I blush.
