{ Veneer }

The life of the young, rich, and beautiful, who dance under the moon and fly too close to the sun.
/Everyone plays the game; the only difference is, we own shinier pieces, and it's our board you're playing on./

[ hands on my hips, kiss on my lips, didn't even notice when your heart left and took your mind with it. ]

Warnings: Mild language, mature themes, underage substance consumption.

3:07 AM.

"Bitch," Vaughn says coldly, her iridescent hazel eyes blazing with fire. Despite her anger, she is intimidating in her perfection. The first strains of dawn from the ceiling-to-floor window of the Carmichael-owned hotel penthouse bring out the warm golden strands in her loose chestnut waves; the shadows play across her elegant cheekbones; and on her, even vengeful rage looks beautiful.

She can't look at the white oak door of one of the bedrooms any longer, so she focuses on smoothing out a wrinkle in the skirt of her silver jacquard Lela Rose dress. With a couple deep breaths, the brunette deems herself capable of looking her friend in the face without seeming anything but composed.

"What are you thinking?" Celine asks. Her tone might be consoling and gentle, but Vaughn knows it's been a while since the angelic blonde has been allowed to show her horns, and she's dying for an opportunity.

A small smirk plays on the corners of the brunette alpha's full, Chanel Glossimer-stained lips. "I'm thinking it's been getting a little quiet around here."

Earlier, 1:56 AM.

It's impossible not to notice Kenna as she strides across the room in an indecently short metallic white Herve Leger number that clings to every movement of her lithe body. She doesn't notice any of the stares, however, and simply enjoys being within the crowd of people, swinging her slim hips to the beat of the music.

Callum would be lying if he said that he wasn't paying attention to the way her dress hikes up her thighs when she sits down on the white leather couch and balances one long leg on top of the other. He would also be lying if he said that he didn't first sweep his gaze across the room first to check for his girlfriend before making his way over to her best friend.

"Cal!" the golden-brown-haired beauty calls cheerfully when she spots him. "How was Switzerland?"

He grins, carding his fingers through his dirty blond locks. "The views from hotel rooms were lovely. How was California?"

In response, she crosses her wrists above her head to stretch slowly, considering his question. The action just thrusts her breasts up at him, her low neckline leaving very little to the imagination. His grin grows into a smirk; his favorite thing about her is that she loves to play, to push the rules, as much as he does.

From the corner of his eye, he can see Vaughn with her back towards them, head tossed back at something the ice hockey team captain is saying. His eyes trace the curve of her spine, exposed from the open back of her outfit, and flirtatious tilt of her head as she listens to him talk.

He and Vaughn have always known what their relationship is: they found each other hot as hell, they looked good together, and they'd been friends for a long time. He's pretty sure that Vaughn knows that he strays-one girl he hooked up with found herself the star of more than a few dirty pictures. And while he's pretty sure that Vaughn's never cheated on him, he knows that she's never resisted when other boys put their hands a little too high up on her thighs.

"California was hot," Kenna says, drawing his attention back to her cupid's bow lips. "Plenty of things to do."

"People to do," Cal amends, and she lowers her mascara'd lashes lasciviously over her dark blue eyes.

Bringing up her arm to rest on his shoulder, she leans in a little closer, away from any particularly curious ears. "Jealous? You're welcome to fuck me, too."

It's something that she's said so many times before, and this is just another variation of the same game they've played so many times before. There's a thrill in it—Holden can describe it better, Cal thinks, they've talked about it before—and while Holden thinks he's sick and unhealthy, he nevertheless admits that there's something thrilling about pushing the boundaries of morality. He pushes, and she pushes back, except something is different this time, because before he can process what he's doing, he's literally dragging her into an empty hallway and literally pushing her up against the wall.

He drinks in her gasps with his mouth, forceful, and without hesitation. She can feel his fingers digging into her ass cheeks as he holds her up and lights her veins on fire.

Their clothes are scattered across the floor before they reach the bed.

Earlier, 12:30 AM.

Scotch is Holden's drink of choice when he needs a pick me up, to feel better about himself. Actually, he drinks scotch even when he doesn't need a pick me up, because he loves scotch, and if he only drank it in those circumstances, he wouldn't be able to enjoy it nearly as often as he'd like. His father is a hotel tycoon and his mother is a model; he could sleep with a different girl every day of the year and still find his dance card full; and he and his friends party on rooftops and run red lights without any regard for the consequences, so he doesn't often find a reason to feel bad about himself. It's just, when he needs a pick me up, he drinks more scotch than he should.

And tonight, he's swirling his fifth glass of amber liquid, along with a separate glass of water. Americans be damned, his grandfather taught him how to drink scotch the proper way, with a class of water to open up the flavor.

He wonders if Shea can feel the heat of his stare as she perches on her boyfriend's lap. Probably not.

He sees her break her attention away from him to greet Kenna, and the dark-haired boy cringes. Was it too much to hope that she and Cal wouldn't cross paths? He could do without the extra drama tonight. It might be hypocritical of him to be annoyed by their love triangle, but he knows he can keep his hands to himself, away from Zach's girl, whereas Cal has always been a connoisseur of forbidden fruit.

Downing the last of his drink, Holden stands up. The alcohol is telling him to find a girl for something quick and hard. "Easy" isn't on the list of characteristics he usually prefers, but he needs to clear his mind.

"Hi?" a timid voice calls from his left.

He turns around, vaguely irritated at the delay and ready to tell them to get lost, but it's a girl, and one he's never seen before, which is unusual, because he knows every girl at Eastwood-Sinclair Preparatory, maybe not by name, but at least by legs and face, in that order.

This girl is at least half-Asian, like Shea, but probably fully Asian, although her wide brown eyes are unusual. Her glossy black hair gleams under the flashing, multi-colored lights of the party; a cream dress with a gold lace overlay hangs off her dainty shoulders elegantly; and her white heels make her legs look miles long. The dress isn't designer though (with Celine as a step-sister, he inevitably picks up a few things about labels), which makes him raise an eyebrow. No girl in ESP would be caught dead in anything but designer labels.

He realizes that, the entire time his alcohol-impaired brain was trying to process everything, he's been shamelessly eyeing her up and down. The light blush across her cheeks makes him smirk. "Hi. Do I know you?"

Her blush deepens at the leer that accompanies his words.

"No, um, I came with Lila." She points towards a red-haired girl in a fitted, white two-piece dress with Tyler Crewe's hands up underneath the top.

Holden figures she had no idea who he was when she called out to him, and was just looking for someone to talk to while her friend was busy being felt up. Either that, or she was looking to score some from him.

But looking at her wary expression, he can't imagine her snorting a line of coke, and so he thinks it's probably the former.

"You can come with me instead," he says suggestively.

When her shoulders stiffen, Holden can't help but be a little intrigued. Not by the girl, no; she's nothing special, pretty girls are a dime a dozen at ESP. It's her reaction that makes his ears perk up, because it's been a while since he's allowed himself to indulge in the long game. Usually, the girls that approach him are forward, or just acting coy. This girl is all innocent sincerity, with just a hint of suppressed lust that he can't wait to draw out of her.

The thrill of this, whatever you'd like to call it, game, chase, or hunt, is the perfect distraction from Shea and Zach, he thinks, surprised that he hadn't thought of it before.

Holden offers her a wolfish grin. "I'm kidding. So, where are you from?"

Earlier, 9:57 PM.

"You're going to be late for your own party," Celine laughs, lounging on the rim of the bath tub in a slinky silver bandage wrap dress as she watches Vaughn apply the final coats of her mascara.

The auburn-haired alpha gives her a fake scowl. "They can wait."

Celine smothers another laugh at the image of fifty or so of their classmates all waiting outside the door.

"I can't," Shea chimes in, poking her head around the door frame to check on their progress.

"Go back to sucking face with Zach," Vaughn tells her, wriggling her eyebrows, and in cue, the blond steps up behind Shea and wraps his arms around her waist, kissing her over her shoulder. "That's real cute guys. Anyone else kind of want to vomit?"

"Can we not repeat sophomore year? How much did Jason's dry cleaning cost again?"

The room fills with laughter as Nolan winks at Vaughn unapologetically. She groans at the memory, twists the cap back onto her Lancome mascara, and drops it back into her make-up bag.

Dispersed around the rest of the penthouse, there are bowls of white-chocolate-covered pomegranates and chips set out in imported Italian blown-glass bowls. The comprehensive selection of scotch, whiskey, single malt scotch whiskey, vodka, and tequila stocked in the bar has been paid for, and the bartender's been paid off. The penthouse furniture is all white—white leather couch, white plush cushions, white walls, white marble counter, white lamps, white rain-styled Swarovski crystal chandeliers—making it the perfect location for Vaughn's annual White-out Party, the last party of the summer.

From the lit, one-eighty degree mirror, Vaughn can see seven of her eight best friends waiting expectantly in the bathroom. They're all dressed in various shades of white. For the boys, it's white or cream collared shirts and colorful variations of jeans or pastel khakis. For the girls, it's white dresses. Discreetly, she scrutinizes each outfit.

Kenna's California tan pops against her tight metallic body-con, her golden-brown hair perfectly straightened. Celine looks like a literal angel in her white twisted silk Helmut Lang, complete with the flaxen, white-blonde curls and dramatic green eyes. And Vaughn kind of wants to steal the white embellished 3.1 Phillip Lim t-shirt dress that shows off Shea's slender legs and looks blindingly white against her dark brown hair, which has been swept up into an artfully messy bun.

She wishes Alexander could have made it, but Greece's bars and beaches are understandably magnetic.

Still, everything else is absolutely perfect.

A slow, mischievous smirk forms on her lips. "Ready for a great last year?"

well, this was fun, hope you enjoyed! i'll update this sporadically, it's kind of my way of brushing up on my writing skills, so let me know what you think.

xoxo.