I don't know what I got myself into. I've seen the inner workings of numerous parties whenever I've been called upon to pick up Brittney or Adam. But I've never been immersed in one before, let alone thrust into the middle while wearing a jersey that I'm pretty certain no one here thinks I actually deserve.

"We don't have to stay long," Cam says behind me, the warmth of his hand reminding me I'm not in a dream.

I glance to the right where a couple is uncomfortably close in a public space. I quickly peel my eyes away before I see something I did not come prepared to see.

"I'm good," I lie, shuffling myself closer. "I want to be here." That part is not completely a lie. I do want to be here. I think it's just the reason I want to be here that's lacking any real substance. I'm not here because I've turned over some proverbial leaf. No, I'm here because I've been infused with this need to prove everyone wrong. I am not someone's pity story.

He pauses, pulling me to a stop and giving me those dang knowing eyes of his. "Since when do you want to be at a party?"

"Since today. So, show me around hotshot." I smile, letting the plated armor fall in front of every faltering insecurity.

"Kenze, what's–"

"Mini Coop!" Apollo shouts from the kitchen, interrupting Cam's next question and I'm suddenly very thankful for the distraction. Thing is, Apollo's voice somehow finds its way around the blasting sound system and voices screaming above the noise. He's kind of got that effect. "Get your ass in here and take a shot!"

I take a step in that direction, ready to prove everyone here wrong. But Cam's hand tightens in mine, pulling me closer. "Kenzie, you don't have to drink."

"I want to," I persist, continuing my mission to the kitchen.

He doesn't stop me, his hand still in mine as he follows close behind.

The scene around the table is straight from a movie, I mean, seeing as that's the only reference point I have to go on. But it's littered in random bottles and plastic red cups. A variety of liquor bottles that I'm sure were bought with fake IDs or swiped from the back of some of their parents' liquor cabinets.

"Pick your poison," Apollo offers, swinging an open arm across the bottles.

I'm scanning my options, completely unsure of which one to go with. I've actually never had a sip of alcohol. I've heard the stories, dealt with the repercussions of over drinking when it comes to Brittney and occasionally my older brothers.

I can feel Cam's chest along my back, the warmth of his breath falls against my ear as he leans in and whispers, "You sure about this?"

"I'll take that one," I say, pointing to the deep blue bottle for the sole fact that it's the prettiest one in the bunch.

"Kenze..."

Apollo is already grabbing a cup and pouring my liquid of choice into it. I'm not an expert, but it looks like a bit more than just a shot.

"I'm fine, Cam," I whisper back, reaching forward to take the cup from Apollo. He offers a smile, lifting his own cup and clicking it against mine before he's throwing back his drink like it's water.

I do the same, except I make the mistake of letting the scent burn my nostrils when I bring the cup to my lips. I nearly cough on the inhale, but I swallow it down, bringing the cup to my lips and throwing back the contents.

If I could, I would have played this whole thing off super cool. I don't seem to possess that ability, though, because the minute the drink hits my throat, the burn fills my chest, ricocheting back through my nostrils as I force it down. I'm a coughing mess, slapping my chest and shaking my head as I feel it's slow and steady burn all the way into my stomach.

"Woah there, Mini Coop!"

"Hey," Cam's gentle voice surrounds me, his hands sliding along my shoulders and calming the acid scorching my insides. "You okay?"

"Here," Apollo says, grabbing my cup and refilling it. "They get easier as you get used to it."

"You're kidding me, right?" Cam steps forward, that protective tone laced around his voice as he pulls me to his side. A move my brother would be doing if he were here, and the thought has my insides spinning faster than the rancid taste of the alcohol sloshing around in there. I don't want another brother.

With that deafening thought, Porcia's presence is suddenly a focal point as a wicked smile pulls at her painted lips.

"I'm ready," I announce, holding out my hand and waiting for the next one.

"Yeah you are," Apollo calls out.

Reaching for the cup, I take a breath before I lift it to my mouth this time. Without overthinking it, I throw it back, pushing it down in one thick swallow.

I'm not a coughing mess this time, but I can still feel the burn from the back of my throat through my nostrils. I clear my throat and before Apollo can give me a refill, Cam is plucking the cup from my hands. He reaches for the juice on the table, pouring my cup up halfway before placing it in front of me.

I don't know why I look, I know it's the last thing I should do, but Porcia's eyes are still trained on me, flickering down briefly to look at the cup in front of me and smiling at it all.

That lingering burn in my stomach is begging me to take the juice, to wash down the disgusting taste plastered along my throat. But the battle inside me, the one aching to prove a point, doesn't let me surrender. So, instead of quitting while I'm ahead, I take the cup from Cam's hand, reaching for the dark blue bottle and pouring it into whatever flavor of juice lies in front of me.

Without so much as the slightest hesitation, I take two large gulps of the drink in my hand before offering a thankful nod to Apollo and turning away from the table.

Cam's watching me, the concern spinning circles around his eyes as his hands stay on my waist.

"You good?"

"Yes. Let's dance."

His brows raise, an unasked question lingering there, but I ignore it, pulling his hand and throwing back another sip of my drink. There's this nice little vibrating buzz working its way across my limbs and it has me wanting to move to the music blasting in the other room. My hips are already swaying to the beat, moving on their own accord.

I pull him into the living room where a group is gathered, dancing in a huddled space. Looking at the drink in my hand, I take two gulps, finishing most of it off before plopping it down on a table and taking both of his hands in mine. His eyes fall to the drink then back to me, hesitation keeping his feet planted in place.

"Come on," I urge him. "You're supposed to be the fun one, remember?"

"Mackenzie..."

"Camden..."

That little white flag flies behind his eyes as he drops his head and joins me on the living room floor. My hands slide their way up his chest, feeling the thick grooves of muscle hidden behind his shirt. His eyes are locked on mine as his fingers trail a slow and steady path up my forearms. He stops when his fingers grip mine and bring my hands to rest gently behind his neck. I let them slide into his hair.

He drops his arms, bringing his forehead to mine as his hands find the small of my back and bring my body tight against his. My hips move in rhythm to the music, his sliding against mine and matching every single beat. The tips of his fingers slip beneath the oversized jersey, grazing my heated skin. His touch sends a ripple along my spine, the splash of sparkle intertwining around each and every vertebrate as it surges its way to my chest and catches my breath.

There's a piece of me reveling in the eyes that are certainly watching, in the fact that I get to prove an added point to everyone who ever doubted this. And there's another part. A part that gives two shits who's watching. A part that wants this moment to last forever...to be real.

His lips fall to my ear, the heat of his breath playing for a soft moment before he whispers, "What's going on, Kenze? Please talk to me."

And we're back to this.

All glimmers of shiny stuff dissipate. I pull back, adding some needed space between the heated waves crashing the shore of my heart. "I'm partying. People drink at parties. I'm not doing anything that anyone else isn't. Besides, didn't you once tell me to try having some fun?"

He holds my gaze. "This isn't you."

I laugh, it's more of a frustrated groan than anything laced in humor but it's a laugh nonetheless. "Maybe it is. Maybe this is who I am now. Maybe I want to be this person."

He's quiet, an understanding falling over him and it has all that fiery stuff burning inside me.

"Don't," I warn, holding out a hand when he tries to bring our bodies back together. "Don't try to read into this, Cam. It's just a party. That's it."

There's a drop in his gaze, the veil of sympathy falling over him and it snaps that fragile piece inside of me. "No," I utter, frantically shaking my head back and forth as I take a step away from him. "Don't look at me like that."

"How am I looking at you?"

"Please, can we just keep dancing?"

"Can we talk for a minute?"

"I'm not doing this," I huff, spinning away from him and pushing myself through the crowd. There's a dizzying spin to the room, and the ground feels a lot like I'm walking on a waterbed. I push through it, tripping on something when I break through the crowd but catching myself from face planting. I keep going, pushing through the front doors and letting the cool night air rush across my cheeks.

I make it all the way to the driveway before a hand is on my arm, gently pulling me back. "Kenze, wait."

I pull my arm back, resting a hand over my forehead to steady the wavering ground. "I told you I'm not doing this right now, Camden."

"Not doing what? What the hell is even going on?"

"I figured it's time I tried out a party. I don't understand why that suddenly puts me in a damn interrogation room."

He takes a step closer, stepping right around my bullshit answer. "Why did you want to come tonight?"

"You won toda–"

"That's not an answer. You hate parties."

"I could like them. I've never actually been to one."

"So, why now? What happened?"

He's not backing down, and those emerald eyes of his are searching for answers. He's so freaking frustrating. Why can't he just let it go? Why can't he pass me another drink and tell me to have fun? Why does he have to see through every wall I've built?

"Why did you give me your jersey?" I blurt out.

"I told you. It's game day and–"

"No." I stop him, shaking my head and taking a step toward him. "Why did you give me your jersey, Cam? You've never given it to anyone. Why?"

"I don't know," he begins, but I level him with that annoyingly knowing look he's always pinning me with and it has him shaking his head, relenting. "Baseball is all I have, Kenze. It's all I am. Fuck, if I'm being honest, it's all anyone in this godforsaken town sees when they look at me. Someone to bring them a W when I'm on the mound. I'm not mad about it. Shit, it's probably the only reason I'm still making it through each and every day. But for once in my life, I want to be more than that fucking number to someone, Kenze. For the girl behind my jersey to care more about the person I am than what that number can do for her social status."

There's that glimpse of the boy I used to know, the one I've begun to see has never truly gone anywhere. "I get that," I acknowledge. "But if this means something to you, truly means something, why are you having me wear it when this isn't real?"

"Kenze–"

"Answer the question, Cam."

His eyes search mine, a calm behind them that's somehow easing the erratic beat in my chest, bringing me a blanket of peace.

"What's my favorite color?" he asks.

"What?"

"What's my favorite color, Kenzie?"

"Blue," I answer. "A deep, ocean blue. It was your mom's favorite color."

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, but he pushes it away before taking a small step closer. "And what was my mom's name?"

I can feel the pull of my brows knitting together when he takes yet another step forward.

"Candace," I answer.

He nods, his eyes holding mine. "In the fifth grade, I missed science camp. Why?"

"You had to have your tonsils removed."

"I wasn't the only one to miss it, though, was I?"

I shake my head. "No. Jare had the idea of spending the whole day watching movies and eating ice cream. I convinced my dad to let me stay so you didn't feel like you were the only one to miss out on something."

He doesn't say anything, the silence speaking volumes. His eyes hold mine, everything slowly clicking into place. "I just want to be more than that number to someone," he repeats his words from a moment ago as he points to my chest. "To be seen as more than that number."

With his eyes locked on mine, I nod. And suddenly, the whispers I've been avoiding in the halls all day and the gossip being spun into a sticky web dissipates.

All I see is him.

"You're not just a number, Cam. You've never been just a number."

He raises his hand, casually brushing the few free strands of hair from my face and sweeps them behind my ear. His eyes are steady with mine as he nods. I don't need to say anything else. He knows I see him in the same way he sees me. Two shattered souls clinging to one another.

"So, why the party, Kenze? What does this have to do with wearing my jersey?"

I hesitate, slightly embarrassed by my bathroom eavesdropping and the way it's worked its way into my self-confidence. "I overheard some girls talking. I just got in my head, worried people aren't believing this whole thing. You know, the innocent good girl and the social jock don't usually mesh."

He nods. "And coming to this party makes you less of that innocent good girl?"

"That was the plan."

"I think you should know that I happen to like the person standing in front of me. Just the way you are, Kenze."

Looking up at him, seeing the truth behind his statement, it makes every doubt and insecurity feel a bit ridiculous. But there's something else spinning around the drunken haze my mind seems to have slipped into. A nagging curiosity that suddenly feels like this bright flashing light.

"Can I ask you something?" When he nods, I keep going. "Why do you call me Kenze?"

His brows pull together, the cutest confusion contorting his face. "Does it bother you?"

"No. Not at all. It's just, you're the only one who doesn't call me Mack. I guess I just can't seem to figure out why."

He pulls a small breath between his lips. "When we first met, you told me your brothers called you that."

"Yeah. So?"

"So," he hesitates, "I never wanted to be placed in the brother category."

"Why not?"

He watches me, those studious eyes of his searching behind the glassy veil taking over my vision. He doesn't say anything to answer my question, and I'm beginning to wonder if I ever even asked it out loud.

"I think you should know you're going to have to wear this jersey to every game," he finally says, completely changing the subject as if the last two minutes of conversation didn't exist. To be honest, I'm not even entirely sure it did.

"I'm sorry?"

That playful smirk dances across his lips. "It seems to be a good luck charm."

"You do know you guys have won plenty of times in the past and I wasn't wearing this jersey?"

"New year," he says with a shrug. "Last year it was something different. This year, I think it's the jersey."

"And how can you be so sure?"

"You look too good not to be a good luck charm"

My heart flutters to life, that rush of heat flooding my cheeks and cascading across my chest. He sees it too, the effect his words have across my body.

"Red's a good color on you," he adds, running a finger along my cheek before offering the most mouthwatering smile. "Come on, let's get you home."

"Wait," I pull him back, feeling the warmth of his chest collide with mine. "Do you really want to go? Your team is here to celebrate."

His fingers fall gently along my temple, slowly working their way down to my collarbone. He doesn't pull away, instead he rests his hand along the back of my neck, tilting my face up to get a better view of his hazel eyes. "Honestly," he whispers. "I'd rather spend the evening with you."