Page 1 of The Perfect Wrong

1

Green Envy (Delia)

Orange sunset.

Gold lights.

Red, red lips.

I don’t know her, but I’m already jealous of the girl’s siren-red lipstick as she kisses her date.

Yes, I’m feeling selfish.

Shallow? You bet.

No, I’m definitelynotjealous of the way he’s grinding against her like a sex-starved hyena.

Still...it could make a nice scene for my canvas if I make it a little less X-rated. The lights are just right and if I make them silhouettes under these string lights glittering with reflected sunlight, I might have a win.

I fight the urge to snap a pic and turn around, surveying the other happy party people.

My muse smiles. There’s a lot of material here, honestly.

I like to paint scenes stolen from life, but not so badly it makes me some creeper. I’ll just have to rely on my memory and—

“Holy shit! Do youseethe meat on that boy? Firefly McHottie at nine o’clock. Big. Inked. And totally your type.” Marnie’s high, whiny voice rips me out of my art trance. Her obnoxiously bright-blue nails tighten on my shoulder, pointing me at an older boy by the bar laughing with his friends.

Ugh.

She sounds so desperate for muscle that I half expect the gorilla in the speedo she’s been eye-licking for the last ten minutes to skip fetching our drinks. Maybe he’ll just drag her off to a quiet corner for some alone time right away and dump the whole small-talk part.

I doubt she’ll mind.

Especially when the eye-licking is mutual—and that’s saying it the nice way.

Judging by the wolfish glint in his eye, it won’t take much for this dude to throw her over his shoulder and carry her off Neanderthal style for the rest of the night.

“Delia, hello! Don’t tell me you’re up in your painter head again? Wehada deal, Miss Modesty,” she sings in my ear.

Amazingly, I don’t shudder.

“Oh, damn. For a split second I thought you’d let me forget. Y’know, rather than reminding me for the tenth time today,” I say glumly, draining the last dregs of my water bottle. “He’s like the oldest guy here. I don’t know that I can do—um,that—with a guy over thirty...”

Her smile widens, showing off teeth that suddenly seem too sharp.

“Oh, come on! I’m trying to help, ya know. If you don’t find someone who meets that sky-high standard of yours, you’re not going to be doingthatwith anyone. Especially if you keep calling itthat!” She rolls her eyes. “Can’t you even say sex just once?”

Can I?I stare at her, hating how my cheeks heat.

“See? By the time you make your move, you’ll be down to geeks and dad bods. And not the hot kind,” she warns. “Honestly, I don’t even want to pick a guy for you. I only made this dumb pact so you’d choose. But a deal’s a deal and you pinky swore. That’s sacred.”

Barely an hour into this little shindig, and I’m ready to roll my eyes right out of my head.

I still want to blame that dumb bet on one glass of wine too many. But really, it must’ve been my own stupidity.

Why else would I ever make a pact with my friend, Miss Tinderella Incarnate, knowing she’s been on a mission to make me give up my V-card for years?

But I had all summer when we made the deal.

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