Best Served Fake

forty-one // be my alibi

Tommy Aster was in the doorway.

Why was Tommy Aster in the doorway?

Tommy was popular, sure, but if I hadn't been invited to Jameson's shindigs for years because of my connection to him, there was no chance in hell that he'd copped an invite for tonight. If he had, I was going to kill Jameson. Slowly. Tommy shifted his weight from foot to foot as he scanned the ground, awkwardness like a shroud on his shoulders.

He looked the same as always, all rumpled brown curls, striking eyes, tanned skin. But he was also unfamiliar in a collection of small ways, gradual changes that I wouldn't have noticed when we were together, but that time had made obvious. His hair was longer, his jaw unshaven, a woven bracelet he hadn't owned two months ago tied around his wrist. When someone was your everyday, you didn't see those little things; couldn't pinpoint the moment that his hair curled around his ear, venturing from stylish to just-too-long. I relished in every single thing that made this Tommy Aster unknowable to me, every tiny change that separated us, that said I do not know you like I once did.

Recognition lit his eyes when he spotted me, even as his mouth twisted with distaste when he saw just whose arms I was wrapped in. Yeah, how do you like it, Tommy? Not very fun, is it? I didn't know why Tommy and Kai loathed each other so passionately—the one thing they had in common, other than an impeccable taste in women, was some unspoken agreement not to tell me—but I enjoyed the reaction the feud elicited in my ex-boyfriend. That was the point of this whole ruse, right? That look in Tommy's eye.

Jameson peeled himself away from where he'd been making out with Madeleine in the corner when he caught sight of Tommy over Madi's shoulder. Indignant horror widened his eyes. I saw his lips shape the words, "Yo, what the fuck?" and although that protest was lost in the crowd, when he cupped his hands around his mouth and booed loudly, it triggered a chorus of dissent from the partygoers, most of whom almost certainly had no idea what they were objecting to. And probably wouldn't love the answer, because Tommy was generally well-liked. It was essentially just Jamie and Kai who had a particular vendetta against him. And Sydney, who had never liked him. At least I didn't have to plot Jamie's death; clearly, Tommy Aster was not on the invite list.

Tommy didn't react to the chorus of protest. Instead, he wrangled his frown into a wry smile that he directed at me—smiling? At me? Fuck you, bro—and picked his way through the crowd to find us.

Jameson found us faster, standing almost protectively in front of our couch with his arms crossed. Tommy halted his approach when he saw the uncharacteristically authoritative glare on Jamie's face. "Your invite didn't get lost in the mail, by the way. You were pointedly excluded from the guest list."

"Yeah, I got that, Miller," Tommy snapped. This was the Tommy that Jamie and Kai were familiar with. Cold and angry. An asshole, through and through. If only I met this version of my ex-boyfriend two years earlier. Tommy's snippy side had only ever made an appearance for Sydney, but that wasn't the same as this. I mean, he most likely didn't want to fuck Jameson.

"Did you?" Jameson feigned surprise. "That's odd, because you still decided to show up. I think there's a phrase for showing up on private property without an invite. What do they call that, Seb?"

"I think they call it trespassing," Seb supplied.

Jamie's smile was saccharine. "Ah, yes. Trespassing."

Tommy held his hands up, palms toward Jameson. "Look, I'm not trying to start trouble—"

"Awesome, so you can leave now. I would love to go back to making out with my very hot French friend and forget the sight of your face."