WAKING UP IN our hotel room in New York is like waking up an alternate universe. Or maybe like waking up after being transported back in time.

The sun streams in through the massive windows, as does the sound of Saturday morning traffic twenty-three stories below. With a groan, I roll over and bury my head under the fluffy pillows.

My eyes have just started to flutter shut again when the door to our room flies open and three gigantically annoying teenage boys barge right in, music blaring on somebody's phone. I groan louder, bury my head further under my pillow, but the mattress dips as someone else jumps on it— and me.

"Good morning, gorgeous," an irritating voice sing-songs. Cameron.

I let out a string of curses, wrapping a hand in my pillowcase and wrenching my arm up in order to hit Cameron's annoyingly smiling face with it. He ducks, grinning bigger.

I glower. Its too early for this. "Get off of me, you oaf." I shove him, and he topples over laughing.

Another body falls onto the bed on my other side, arm slinging over my waist. I don't shy away from this particular touch, but I still turn an accusing glare on Hunter.

"Thanks for the help," I say dryly.

Hunter only kisses my hair and chuckles. "I know you can handle yourself, babe. Besides, Cam could use to be knocked on his ass."

On the other side of the room, Ethan is perched on the edge of Addison's queen sized bed, the girl in question propped up against the headboard. She has the sheets pulled up almost to her neck, leaving only her blonde bed head and rosy cheeks visible.

I heave a heavy sigh, blowing a lock of hair out of my eyes that had escaped the messy bun on top of my head. "You guys good to feed yourselves this morning?"

"I think we'll manage," Ethan assures me.

Addison adds in a small voice, "What time do you think you'll back?"

"As soon as humanly possible," I grumble. The last thing I want is to spend more time than necessary with my cheating father and his lying, betraying girlfriend.

Café au Lait is just as wonderful as I remembered, but my mocha cappuccino crêpes and vanilla iced latte are utterly ruined by the cheerful conversation spewing from the woman sitting across from me. What I wouldn't do to flick the coconut whipped cream off my breakfast and into her annoyingly bouncy bob.

"Peyton, there's a charity gala I've been planning for weeks coming up at the end of the month. I would love it if you could attend," she coos, waving a perfectly manicured hand around as she talks. "It would be good for you to get back out in society before you come home for the summer."

I hold back a disgusted scoff. "I have work on the weekends," I say plainly, not meeting her eyes.

Andrea pinches the stem of her mimosa and takes a sip. "You could bring your work with you. Besides, aren't finals just around the corner? You'll be done school before you know it."

Now I do meet her gaze, my own hardening into a glare. "Work, as in a part-time job. I'm a waitress."

Andrea looks as if she's struggling not to choke on her champagne and orange juice.

My father clears his throat. "Your brother mentioned that. I'm proud to see you taking on some responsibility, Peyton."

"Yeah, well, I can't expect Mom to pay for everything for me," I say bitterly, pushing a bite of food around my plate with my fork.

"I've heard your mother is also doing quite well for herself." He nods, and clears his throat in the awkward silence that follows the mention of his ex-wife. "I imagine you're looking forward to college this fall."

I just nod, stuffing delicious coffee-infused pastry in my mouth. He knows I've always looked forward to going to college. I'd first toured NYU in my freshman year, and picked out my first year's worth of courses by the first day of sophomore year.

He'd never showed much interest beyond a brief "congratulations" when I got my early acceptance.

My father carefully cut into the eggs Benedict on his plate, yellow yolk spreading everywhere. "Have you ever thought of setting your sights higher? Perhaps an Ivy."

I nearly drop my fork onto my fragile china plate. "An Ivy?" I snort a laugh. "My SAT scores weren't nearly good enough for that. You overestimate me, Dad."

He only waves me off, taking a long sip of his pitch black coffee. "You're a legacy, Peyton. I'm sure I could get you an interview with the history department at Columbia." The way he says it is so easy, like all he has to do is call someone and I would be in at one of the top universities in the country. Just like that.

Its possibly the nicest thing he's ever offered me.

But all I say is, "I'm perfectly fine at NYU."

"Nonsense. I'll make some calls once we get home. You should at least go in for an interview, just to see what the department is like. I'd hate for you to settle for less than you deserve."

Heat flushes my cheeks at the dozens of meanings that can come out of that comment.

Andrea chooses that moment to interrupt the first paternal moment I've had with my father in years. "It's a lovely campus, Peyton. And I could look into an internship for you at the Met. I know how much you love museums."

I grind my teeth, biting back a comment about how I'm more interested in sociological history than art history, and that they're not even the same thing. "That's nice of you," I say instead.

My father continues idly chatting about his time at Columbia and how fondly he remembers it. I nod, make the odd comment, and utterly ignore everything that comes out of Andrea's mouth. I will sit here and smile nicely, but if my father thinks I'm going to forget about the fact he was cheating on my mother for a year with her best friend, he's got another thing coming.

We spend three hours sightseeing in the exact way I always made fun of tourists for doing. I take my friends on a ferry boat through the waterways surrounding the beautiful island that is Manhattan. They see Lady Liberty hoisting her torch in the middle of the harbor, and the magnificent bridges suspending between Brooklyn and Manhattan over the East River. The sun is out and though the breeze is cool, the weather is warm enough that sweaters suffice.

We're stepping off the ferry when Tayler lets out a surprised laugh and looks up at me. "Wow, you weren't kidding," she says, shaking her head.

A gust of wind blows my hair across my face, and I tuck it back behind my ear. "What about?" I ask.

She's scrolling on her phone, Cameron's arm slung over her shoulders. "That you're actually a society princess."

I've never actually said those words, or really had a conversation with this girl,but I shrug it off. With one hand, Tayler turns her screen towards me.

There, on the small screen, is a photograph of me taken on my way out of the restaurant this morning. Above it is a basic TMZ worthy headline: Peyton Church Spotted 3 Months After Vanishing From Manhattan Social Scene.

I roll my eyes and Hunter peers over my shoulder at the photo. Soon enough everyone is stopped off to the side of the sidewalk and pulling out their phones to look up the gossip article. And I do something I haven't done since meeting my friends— I install Twitter back on my phone and login to my account.

My mentions are insane.

There's a gossip account I'm particularly fond of, courtesy of aspiring journalists within the ranks of the local private school elite. It's been passed down over the last few years, but it's always been on top of the latest gossip.

Sure enough, as soon as I bring up their account, there is my face.

Hunter lets out a low whistle beside my ear. "So that's why you insisted on showering this morning," he says slyly. As if he was bothered, he was more than happy to join me.

A bit of scrolling reveals an entire thread of tweets dedicated to your's truly.

I don't notice Addy peering over my other shoulder until her voice startles me. "What's she mean?"

Shaking my head, I sigh. "Just an old haunt. A club we went to every Saturday night."

"Where's that?" Ethan asks.

"Provocateur," I tell them. "A friend of a friend's brother owns it, and the bartenders are encouraged not to look too hard when it comes to IDs."

Tayler deadpans, "If you don't want your life, I'll take it."

I roll my eyes. "It get's old quickly, trust me."

"So you're not going to go?" Addison asks, furrowing a brow.

I fix her with a funny look. "Addy, if I didn't know better I would think you were disappointed. Is there a secret party animal buried somewhere under that cute blonde head of your's?"

A blush creeps up Addison's chest and into her cheeks as she stammers something that sounds like an excuse. Ethan looks absolutely charmed by her adorable floundering.

"Well, I'm disappointed," Tayler pipes in, hooking a thumb at the boy hanging all over her. "This one sold me on this trip by telling me we were coming with some popular socialite. What kind of teen socialite doesn't spend her weekend partying?"

Cameron scoffs. "You were sold the second I told you she was paying."

The dark haired girl at his side makes a noncommittal wave of her hand and otherwise ignores him.

Somebody bumps into my hip and I look to Hunter. He doesn't say anything, just looks at me with those dreamy blue eyes of his and an amused look on his face. He already knows how this conversation is going to end.

With a sigh, I look at the face around us. "Do you guys want to see how we do a night out in New York?"

Cameron and Tayler say yes before I've even finished my sentence. Ethan shrugs a shoulder with a "why not?" expression. Addison nibbles her lower lip, but nods a moment later. Finally, I look back to Hunter with an eyebrow raised expectantly.

An uneven smirk spreads across Hunter's face, cheeky as ever. "As if I'd turn down an opportunity to see you in one of those little dresses of your's."

Deep down, I know this is a bad idea. But as I clasp one hand in Hunter's and adjust my short satin dress with the other, I resign myself with going through with it. After all, we haven't come all the way from Park Avenue, looking too good not to grace the world with our presence, just to turn around and go back to the hotel.

The line outside the club is long. Most of the people waiting won't make it inside, which means there could be something to be said about the whole phenomena of people waiting in line for the hell of it.

I haven't given much thought to exactly how I plan to get us into the popular club without a significant bribe or the power of my name. I only have a single hundred dollar bill I conned out of my father in exchange for another brunch in the morning, and my name is little more than a tidbit of gossip trending on social media. In truth, I'm flying by the seam of my Versace mini dress when I grab Tayler's hand and tell the boys and Addison to hang back for a second.

The dark haired girl looks every bit the part of an Upper East Sider in an Hervé Léger bandage dress and strappy Christian Milano heels. She'd borrowed the outfit from me after a quick trip to the wardrobe storage where the remainders of my closet that were less suited for my life in Arkansas resided. The image is perfect for the vague idea of a plan shaping in my mind.

Giving her a pointed look, I clarify, "You can charm more than that Thomas Doherty knockoff back there, right?"

Her resulting sneer is obviously offended. "You're not the only one with a pretty face and a lengthy list of names."

Okay, point taken. "Good. Because two pretty faces is always better than one," I tell her with a sly grin as I pull her along with me until we're standing right in front of the bouncer.

"Back of the line," he grumbles without a second look our way. He grabs the IDs from a couple of obviously underage girls at the front of the line. They look at us smugly, just as the bouncer hands the cards back to them and points towards the taxi-lined street. "Better luck next time."

I slide into my old persona like its my favorite skirt, and return their smiles with one of my own. They glare, sauntering off to try again at another club, and Tayler and I situate ourselves directly in front of the tall bouncer, much to the chagrin of the group behind us. The man guarding the door towers over even me and had the body of a linebacker. I vaguely recognize his face, and after taking a heartbeat to unlock the foggy memories of long nights on the town, I remember his name.

"Darren, it's been a while," I say with a wide smile and a flutter of eyelashes. "It's nice to see a familiar face around here."

It takes him a minute, but the recognition finally crosses his brooding face, and Darren flashes me a charming smile that surely works wonders on the college girls that frequent the club. "I'll be damned. I almost didn't recognize you, Peyton," he says in a gravelly voice, almost masking his Jersey accent. Giving Tayler a slow once over, he adds, "Can't say I know you're friend here though."

Tayler pops her hip and fixes Darren with an alluring smile as she introduces herself. I launch into a quick story, telling him I'm visiting the city with friends and wanted to show them the best spots. Tayler makes sure to add that she's never been to New York before, and that I've told her all about the club behind him. It takes few more smiles, a little more sweet talk, and a rather tragic looking pout from the girl beside me, but in the end Darren nods us through, and we wave our friends forward to follow us inside.

While we could hear the music pounding from the sidewalk, the bass is even more intense when we descend into the basement club. We're hit with the overwhelming scent of alcohol, perspiration, and expensive perfumes the moment we pass through the doors at the bottom of the stairs. The room is a sea of bodies in glittering dresses and pressed button-ups holding tightly to the glasses in their hands. There's too many to immediately recognize anyone and I feel a wash of relief.

"This is insane," Ethan says over the music. His hand is hovering behind Addison, not quite touching the small of her back.

My best friend looks far less intimidated than I thought she'd be in the crowded room. She'd opted for a skater dress made of white eyelet lace and ballet flats instead of anything from my closet, and she glows slightly under the black lights of the club. She's not quite excited, but she does look around with wide eyes at the foreign sights around her.

"Alright," I announce, pulling my father's bill from the wallet holding my phone. "First round's on my dad. After that, fend for yourselves."

Hunter keeps at least one hand firmly attached to my body as we weave through the crowd towards the bar, while the rest of the group heads the other way to find us a table to stand at. I grab the bartender's attention with the flash of a smile and lean against the counter while I order a round of shots for everyone, and a pomegranate mojito mocktail for Addison. As soon as the bartender turns to prepare our drinks, Hunter spins me around by his grip on my waist. My arms wind around his neck easily.

"I'm gonna have to ask you real nicely to stop smiling like at strange guys like that," he drawls in my ear, sending butterflies fluttering through my stomach. He pulls back to glare at the bartender mixing Addison's drink and I fix him with the exact smile in question, forcing his gaze back to me like its some kind of spell.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

His chest rumbles against mine, and I know he's making a sound somewhere between a growl and a laugh even if I can't hear it over the music. With a laugh of my own I pull him towards me and press my lips to his in a kiss that reassures my boyfriend that there's no other guy in this city I would rather be kissing.

A throat clears loudly behind me, but Hunter only moves to kiss my jaw. I barely notice the bill being tugged out of my hand until Hunter reaches past me to hand it to a rather unamused looking bartender.

"Thanks, man," he says, smirking at the guy behind the counter. I stifle a laugh and we gather the drinks as the annoyed bartender moves to his next customer.

Cameron whoops loudly when we set down a round of shots on the table they found at the edge of the room. I hand Addison her drink and she shoots me a small smile and a silent thank you.

"Alright, what are we cheersing to?" Ethan asks as he doles out the generous shots between the five of us. Each of us pick up our glass and look between one another, Addison joining in with her mocktail.

"Graduation?" she suggests with a shrug.

Cameron pipes in, "Getting to spend the weekend in a big flashy city with three smoking hot ladies?"

"Vodka on the rocks?" Tayler offers. "Oh, and Cameron's massive c—"

Ethan interrupts her before she can finish. "God you two are made for each other." His face twists into a grimace at her unsaid word.

I tip my head back and laugh. Out of the corner of my eye I see Hunter looking at me. He raises his shot glass above the table in front of him, his arm squeezing my waist.

He doesn't look away from me when he says, "How about, cheers to the remarkable people in our lives? I'm really glad I got to meet you two crazy bastards, and you lovely ladies. Here's to good people, good times, and many more to come."

I feel the blood creeping up my chest before he finishes. When everyone raises their glasses, I join in, adding a halfhearted "cheers" to the chorus of my friends. I don't break eye contact with Hunter until he knocks his head back and downs his shot. The liquor burns its way down my throat and my eyes screw shut.

I'd forgotten how much stronger the expensive stuff is.

Our group breaks apart quickly afterward. An enraptured Cameron follows Tayler onto the dance floor until there is absolutely no room left for Jesus between the two. Ethan, ever the gentleman, asks Addy to dance and leads her to a spot on the edge of the crowd, and promptly shoots daggers at the first guy who sidles up behind her. I look away when Ethan puts his arms around her waist.

"Hey," Hunter says in my ear, pressing in close to me. The smell of his cologne is enough to overpower the cloying stench of the club and I sigh contently, tangling my fingers in his hair. "You look beautiful tonight," he tells me, nuzzling his nose against my throat.

"You always say that," I tease.

"Because you always look beautiful," Hunter says with a shrug. "But there's something different tonight. You're in your element. It's like you're glowing."

"It's the lighting. It agrees with me," I explain, giving him a wry smile and tugging at the locks of his hair in my hand.

He grumbles at my comment, but his chest rumbles in a different way at my playful tug of his hair. "Don't be difficult." He says it like an order, emphasizing it with a slow kiss that turns into him tugging my lip between his teeth.

It's my turn to let out a breathless sound that makes him chuckle.

Hunter rests his forehead against mine— because we're that couple making out in the middle crowded room and we don't care if our PDA makes you uncomfortable. "I'm really glad you ran into me that first day, Skirt," he says.

I look up at him through my lashes, his blue eyes fixed wholly on mine. He looks so damn good tonight; his hair tousled from my fingers, the snug fit of his dress shirt, and the black lights making his devil-may-care smile glow like his eyes. I could melt, right here with this boy smiling at me like I'm the only girl he sees, and I think I'd be okay with it.

It takes every drop of manners in me, and etiquette lesson I'd ever suffered through, not to haul him into the nearest bathroom. Instead, I breathe out a "me too" that he most likely doesn't hear over the music.

Our embrace turns into dancing, even though we don't step away from the table. My hips swing and move with the pounding music, and Hunter's hands roam over my sides and my back. We're in our own little world, where there's only Hunter, and me, and his fingers tracing the curve of my spine, and my back arching at his touch.

There isn't an inch of my body that isn't pressed against him, and I feel him when he leans in. A delightful shiver runs through me as his lips brush against my ear, his breath warm and cool against my skin.

He holds one hand over my other ear, the other one on the small of my back, just beneath the scooped satin fabric. "You are everything I didn't know I was missin'," he drawls quietly, close enough that the music around us just seems like white noise. "And I love you for it."

Those words are like ice water in my veins and I feel myself freeze for the space of one, slow, agonizing heartbeat. But then my heart comes back to life, beating against my ribs so hard I'm afraid it'll pound right out of my chest. A wash of heat, and adrenaline, and that little four letter word chases the ice away.

I don't trust myself to say words. They're complicated and messy, and frankly take so much time to sort through. So instead of telling him, I wrap my fingers around the collar of his shirt bring his mouth down to mine.

That heat explodes like fireworks behind my eyelids as our lips part and I kiss him with every feeling I can't put into words. One hand in my hair, the other hiding under the fabric of my dress, Hunter presses me against him and I bite back the sounds that threaten to tear free from my throat.

We've barely managed to separate our faces long enough to breathe oxygen into our deprived lungs when a WASPy voice chimes in over the blaring music, just loud enough to kill my mood entirely.

"Look who we have here."

I think we all know who's crashed this fabulous NYC getaway.

[cue shameless self promotion below]

Can't wait another eon for an update? The next chapter is up now on Inkitt! You can find the link in my bio.

Until the next time I crawl out of my hole and piece together an update, let's take a moment to remember how amazing this man is. Because there's a Teen Wolf reunion coming soon and I'm dying.

Lots of love,