Near Touch

Chapter 17: Heavenfell

Everything was going well till Natasha Boynton pushed Cecile Presley down the grand staircase and Gemma spectacularly sprayed her bellini over Henry's corduroys.

In her defense, Natasha was done with the disrespect being paraded in her own house, and on her own birthday. In her stunning printed mini dress and matching opera-style elbow-length gloves, the curvy bombshell was not messing around; and Cece should've known better than to flood the place with copper and silver-colored abusive balloons - 'Happy fucking whatever', 'Another year to closer to the sweet release of death', and the crowd favorite, 'Begone, Satan!'.

Though the fall did little to break Cecile's proud little neck, it did wipe the smirk off her apricot lips. She threw a vase at Natasha's feet and it rained porcelain in the foyer. "Don't be such a bore, darlin'. We still have to cut your damn goat cake!"

Natasha burst the nearest offenders with her nails. POP!

No longer a jewel of this world of high school bitters, smokes, and mirrors, Amy had known what she was getting into. But tonight, the old persona had come out for the ultimate encore. She hardly recognized the hazel-eyed temptress in the baroque mirror of the formal living room.

Just for a short while. For Caleb.

Flipping her hair back so it fell in rivulets of auburn, Amy grinned at Gemma. "New drinking game, every time someone bursts one of those inflatables, we take a shot."

Gemma, who had arrived with Henry an hour ago, stared at her, slack-jawed. "Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?"

"Bitch, you know who I am."

"Motherfucking Slaymy."

Amy clinked her shot with her. "I'm motherfucking Slaymy."

It would take way more than a few ounces of Harridan to fetter her senses.

"I'm not sure I'm loving this color on you, Lamey," a droll voice fell in her ears over the beats of unfamiliar trap music. Amy leaned over the tight-backed sofa and a harsh, inverted face came into view.

Only a miraculous revelation could explain how Caleb's nose still looked so damn fine from her less-than-ideal vantage point.

Kristine smacked Amy's elbow and whined, "You owe me a nerd, Amy." She mooned at the space between Robin's legs.

He swiftly crossed them.

The triumphant football team had occupied Heavenfell's living space. Dulcet fuchsia mood lights melted into fiery yellow tones throwing a sundown aesthetic across the rustic double-storied windows. Stefan Calder, Jason Darko, Ashton Malarkey, and the rest of the gorillas, were in attendance. And because Ashton was kind and sweet, Robin had latched onto the group.

Ashton had cold-shouldered Amy when she had first caught sight of the sandy-haired boy. But if she wanted everybody to have their guard down, Amy needed him to be okay with her. She knew the chinks in his armor by heart, and tonight he wouldn't survive without touching her.

"C'mon let's dance," she said to Kristine.

Gemma had rallied after a soaked Henry but he had vanished into thin air. Or so she claimed. Forever the lightweight, it was more likely that Gemma had gotten lost in the closet, fighting coats.

She continued to shake her head and marvel at her misfortune. "It's like he noticed Amy, paled like he saw a ghost, then I accidentally sprayed him, and poof! Gone."