89.
The night of the party.
Hair in a low updo. Smokey lids, neutral lip. My dress the color of Edward's eyes, clinging to curves.
"Thanks for doing this," I tell Emmett, pulling behind other cars.
"No problem. I'm always down for free food, booze, and a show."
"Show?"
"You clawing out Dior's date's eyes."
I scoff. "I'm a lady."
Telling Edward to bring a date was one of my stupider ideas. I just thought it'd throw off the scent that there's anything between us.
I rest my head on the steering wheel, anxious. "I'm an idiot, Em."
"Yep. Let's drink."
90.
Emmett whistles as we walk up to the house. I knock on the door I've walked through nearly every night for the past week.
Edward opens it.
Disheveled hair. Midnight suit. His smile dissolves when he sees Emmett behind me.
"You're late," Edward declares darkly.
I introduce them; they size each other up. Or rather Edward gives him a murderous glare and Emmett's just a little cranky because he's hungry.
It'd be decent of me to explain who Em is.
But then a leggy blonde walks up and tugs on Edward's arm, and it's my turn for a murderous glare.