We had French roots. For us, partying without wine or champagne was like dancing without limbs.

Glaring at her from the corner of a loud, crowded nightclub with neon lights and sweaty, half-naked bodies, I sucked on my straw, inhaling another cocktail.

“Your sister is sooo knocked up.” Elle popped her big, pink gum while checking herself in the reflection of a shimmering piece of hale-shaped mirrors draping from the ceiling. We were all wearing the same type of dress—pink, Emilia’s favorite color—with sweetheart neckline and ruffled layers of thin, soft-fabric. I found one at a thrift shop. It screamed Millie to the sky and back, so I purchased it, contacted the brand, and ordered four more for all of us.

“She’s not,” I insisted, but it was futile. Even I didn’t believe myself. “I’m the closest person to her. She’d never hide it from me.”

“She’s not drinking, looks like crap, and she ate a cupcake with fried pickles on top for lunch. I rest my case, but if you need me to make her pee on a stick, I know a guy who makes things happen.” Elle leaned on the wall beside me.

I glared at my sister. Millie shook her ass with Gladys and Sydney on the dance floor, flipping her sweaty hair back and forth and mouthing the words to “The Thong Song” by Sisqó. Maybe the DJ had lost a bet that night. No one knows. But I was in no mood to be a music snob.

Elle patted my shoulder. “There, there. You have a good buzz going on, and you don’t want to venture into plastered territory. Put down the drink. Let’s dance a little.”

She pulled my hand, and I didn’t protest, because what was the point?

Elle and I joined Millie, Gladys, and Sydney, and we danced for an hour or so. Millie said we needed to take a taco break, and since no one had ever said ‘no’ to taco, we all grabbed a table at the restaurant section of the club and stuffed our faces.

I excused myself to the bathroom, and when I came back, saw Gladys leaning down in the booth we were seated in, running her hand over Millie’s stomach. Sydney threw her head back, laughed, and motioned with her hands, making the illusion of huge tits.

My sister was pregnant.

Her friends knew it.

My parents knew it.

Everyone knew it.

Everyone…but me.

Dean

What’s your fascination with music, anyway?

My fingers shook with anger, but that wasn’t the only reason why I didn’t answer him. My gaze wandered to Millie’s face, and I pursed my lips. The rest of the girls had gone back to the dance floor, and it was just my sister and me. I asked her if there was anything she wanted to share, once more. She said another taco and laughed. The pit of my stomach twisted, then sizzled with rage. She was a liar, like all of them. There was really no difference between her and Daddy. Well, there was. Daddy, at least, stopped the charade and told me exactly what he thought about me. Millie was still a coward who wanted to protect my precious feelings by lying to me.

Fuck it.

I needed Dean.

Dean made things go away. He was weed. He was alcohol. He was music. Only a thousand times more addictive than all of the above.

Rosie

Listening to good music is like a drug. It releases hormones that make you feel happy. What’s your fascination with astronomy?

Dean

There were times in my life, dark times when I had to spend my summers in a place I didn’t want to be. The nights were long and boring, so I went out and laid down on the hay. The stars were the only things to keep me company, and I guess I got a little attached to them. They reminded me that under the sky, there were better things waiting for me. The people I loved, the places I wanted to visit, all the girls I was going to fuck…

Rosie

A hopeless romantic. I’m getting chills. Stop it.

Dean

You’ll be getting more chills in a second. Turn around.

Rosie

?

Dean

Simple English, Baby LB. Turn around.

He was there.

My heart jumped to my throat, but at the same time, hot lava melted in my lower belly, washing over the hurt and pain, creating an urgent need I was desperate to take care of. It was completely possible that this man was becoming more and more attractive with every passing second. I watched him in a navy blue crisp shirt and gray dress pants, ambling toward me like a force that was about to rip roofs and panties in its wake.

I was so focused on Dean, I hadn’t even noticed the girls were back at the table and the guys were there, too. Sans Trent, obviously.

Vicious took his place by Emilia. Jaime sat sandwiched between Sydney and Gladys, offering them a curt nod, and Dean remained standing, staring at me without even hiding what was in his eyes. Shameless.