Page 13 of Too Safe

Letting out a laugh at the audacity of the whole thing, I interlace our fingers. “I mean, I guess it’s fine? I’ve never been on a boat, so I don’t know.”

“Seriously?”

“I’m from Ohio,” I counter.

“But don’t they have lakes there? Isn’t there aGreat Lakethere?”

Yes, but her idea of the pothole-speckled roads and the dilapidated manufactured homes where I spent the first twenty-one years of my life is so far off base it’s not worth explaining.

“So what happens now?” I ask, ignoring her original question as a boy in a white polo with a popped collar hops off the boat, grabs a length of rope, and spins it into an intricate knot.

“The only way to and from Crusade’s is by boat,” she rushes out, probably because my eyes are practically bugging out of my damn skull. “But it’s just a fifteen-minute ride across the lake. Promise. And they always have two boats running, taking people back and forth. The boats literally run all night and well into the morning for anyone who stays over.”

We queue up behind two large jocks as a whole crowd of tipsy girls gets in line behind us. The guy who secured the boat to the dock gives a bro nod to the jocks, indicating they can get on. Climb aboard? Hoist the anchor? Drop trou? I have no idea what it’s called when someone steps onto a boat.

He then offers his arm to Hunter, who searches my face before accepting. “Is this okay?”

I love this girl. I’ve never had a friend like her.Despite spending all day getting ready, her concerned expression makes it clear she’d ditch the party in a heartbeat if I wasn’t comfortable with this.

But surprisingly, thisisokay. I have more than my fair share of fears—I’m terrified of storms, and I fear being held down or waking up in a strange place that isn’t a bed—but open water and boats aren’t an issue. At least, I don’t think they are. There’s only one way to find out for sure.

“Let’s go, bitch.”

We grin at each other. Then she steps onto the watercraft, and I deftly follow when Mr. Polo Shirt holds his arm out for me. The boat sways slightly, rocking as more people join us. Five minutes later, we’re seated along a plush, heated bench and zipping across the dark lake toward a row of enormous houses adorned with lights.

Hunter squeezes my hand, and I squeeze back, holding back a squeal. Our hair is whipping around us, uncontrollable and free. It feels like we’re flying, soaring toward something indescribably exciting. The night’s possibilities are limitless.

It’s in the air, and it’s all around me. This is whatlivingfeels like.

Chapter 6

Josephine

Thepartyismorenight club than college get-together. Compared to what I’m used to, at least.

Trap music pours out of the speakers in the expansive living room, bleeding out onto the decks and patios through the wide-open floor-to-ceiling windows. People are everywhere—filling each room, perched on every surface. Red and purple lights strobe in time with the beat. Scantily clad girls with sculpted, fluffy brows and sleek hair grind against each other while boys with bulging muscles straining under their popped collar shirts leer at them like predators and sip from red solo cups.

The whole scene gives me the ick. But I guess it’s to be expected when pretty girls and privileged boys are thrown together in a blender and the switch is flipped.

“This is ridiculous,” I yell to Hunter over the music.

She grins. “They do this every week. Usually on Saturdays after football games. Wait until you see the production that goes into Shore Week.”

I arch a brow in question, but before I can ask her to elaborate, she goes on, “Our biggest rival is South Chapel University, located on the other side of the lake. That’s where my stepbrother goes to school. It’s not the most important game, but the rivalry is decades old, so everyone goes fucking crazy. Parties, pranks, and the annual charter cruise.”

Seriously? I can’t imagine something bigger and wilder than this.

“Like I said—ridiculous.”

In response, all I get is a smirk. Then she’s bopping her head to the music and straining up on her tiptoes to survey the crowd.

“Come on.” She grabs my hand and pulls me toward the kitchen. “I need a drink, then I want to dance!”

I let her pull me toward the massive kitchen island that’s covered with every type of alcohol imaginable. Tito’s. Belvedere. Jameson. Jack Daniel’s. The sheer quantity is astounding.

There are just as many bodies in the kitchen as in the living room-slash-dance floor. I can’t move an inch without rubbing up against someone. I find myself muttering “excuse me,” then eventually “excuseyou,” when a few jerks shoulder past like I’m not an actual person.

When we finally find a free spot along the bar, I snag a sealed water bottle and crack it open, then take a much-needed gulp and survey the scene. Hunter sidles up to the island beside me and reaches for the Tito’s and a fresh cup from the stack. I focus on her cup, unblinking, as she mixes a drink and lifts it to her lips. Satisfied, I prop one hip against the cool quartz countertop and look around, soaking it all in.

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