Page 33 of All That Glitters

I laugh, but Jameson scowls. He grabs Nash by the collar of his T-shirt and pulls him to the side until his arm drops off me. Nash stays grinning, unbothered by Jameson yanking him away.

I bite the inside of my cheek. What was that about?

“What did you do?” Jameson asks in a disapproving tone.

“Nothing!” Nash holds his hands up. “She came over to me asking about my hat and where I was from. So I told her, then I asked where she was from. She told me to guess.”

I wince. “You guessed somewhere up North, didn’t you?” I ask.

“Of course I did,” he says, like it’s obvious. “She doesn’t have an accent, and her boots look like they’ve never been anywhere other than a shelf in her closet.”

Jameson presses his lips together, holding back a laugh. I shake my head.

“Did you tell her that?” I ask, then groan when he nods.

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way, but come on, she couldn’t seriously think she was fooling anyone?”

“You probably embarrassed her!” I scold him, searching the crowd for my friend.

“I don’t think so. She told me off and then stole my hat. Who does that?” Nash rakes a hand through his hair, and it’s then that I realize he’s not wearing the hat he had on when he came in.

But Paisley is. She’s twirling around the dance floor to another country song with none other than Carson Pierce, our host for the night. The perpetually drunk Alpha Phi president is moving with surprising swagger. He’s got one hand on Paisley’s hip and a red cup in the other. With her new hat, she looks even more like a country music star.

“She can dance?” Nash asks, sounding impressed. I catch him watching her with more admiration than exasperation.

“Paisley loves all things country. Boots, horses, music, and dancing. The only reason she talked to you was because she thought you looked like a cowboy,” I inform him.

Nash smirks. “That’s because I am one.”

I roll my eyes. “No, you’re an idiot who lost his hat and a pretty girl in the same night.”

“Hey!” He gapes in mock outrage. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Either way, you lost tonight,” Jameson chimes in.

“I don’t lose,” Nash says, and then shrugs his shoulders up and down a few times as if he’s preparing for a fight.

“What are you doing?” Jameson asks before I can.

“Getting my hat back.”

He saunters over to Carson and Paisley. In a move way too suave for a frat party, he steals Paisley away from Carson and twirls her into him. When she looks up at him, disoriented, he snags the hat off of her head and places it back on his. But he doesn’t let her go after that; instead, he picks up where Carson left off. Carson himself doesn’t seem put out. He lifts his cup to Nash, then tips it back.

“This feels like a scene in a movie,” I say as I watch our friends twirl around the floor, neither of them looking particularly happy about it.

“Would make a nice chapter in a novel,” Jameson says.

“Good thing someone gave me a pen.”

I glance up at him and catch a flash of his smile in the hazy light.

“Sounds like a good friend.”

Friend. My heart sinks. Reminders of everything that’s happened come flooding back. I take a step away.

“I need some water,” I say quickly, and rush off before he can reply.

I head toward the kitchen, which I also know has a door leading outside. I’ve used it before, the last time I saw Jameson unexpectedly. My mind shuffles through memories like old photographs. The first to come up are ones I thought I burned.