The bass from Fiona Martinez's house vibrates through my entire body before I even reach the porch.
Red solo cups litter the perfect suburban lawn like casualties of war, and I'm tugging at this black dress that Mia basically forced onto my body before abandoning me for some family emergency. It barely covers my thighs—I can feel the October air on skin that hasn't seen daylight since middle school.
String lights twist around the porch columns, casting everything in a golden glow that makes the shadows darker.
Through the windows, bodies move in silhouette, packed so tight the house looks like it might burst. Someone's already thrown up in the hedges—I can smell it mixing with weed smoke and spilled beer.
My phone screen glares at me: thirty-three minutes late. No texts. No calls. Nothing.
Of course he's not coming. Of course I fell for it.
I'm the world's biggest idiot, standing here in this ridiculous dress that screams "trying too hard," actually believing Caleb Voss—the Caleb Voss who could have any girl in school begging for his attention—would show up to help me.
He's probably at his real girlfriend's house right now, laughing about the pathetic virgin who thought she could blackmail him into fake dating her.
God, I'm so stupid. So monumentally, catastrophically stupid.
He got what he wanted—messed with my head, made me beg for his help, probably told his whole crew about the desperate V4L who watched him on the roof. The bad boy playing with the good girl for entertainment, and I walked right into it.
I should leave. Run home, crawl under my covers, and convince Dad that homeschooling is the only option. He'd probably throw a celebration.
"Oh my God, V4L actually came to a party?"
Noah's voice slices through the music spilling from the open door. He's leaning against the porch railing with his arm around Madison, who's wearing what can barely be classified as clothing.
The entire rugby team flanks them like a pack of wolves, their broad shoulders blocking the doorway.
"Did you get lost on your way to Bible study?" His smile is razor-sharp, designed to cut.
The porch erupts in laughter so loud it drowns out the music. Connor Walsh actually holds up his phone, the flash blinding me. "This is going on my story right now. 'Virgin for Life attempts to party.'"
"Maybe she's here to hand out purity rings," Madison says, her voice carrying across the lawn on purpose. "Or to remind us about the dangers of premarital sex."
"Bet she's never even had a drink," someone adds. "Probably thinks wine at communion counts."
My eyes burn with tears I'd rather die than shed. This was a mistake. A colossal, life-ending mistake. I turn to leave, defeat crushing my chest, when a heavy hand lands on my shoulder.
I'm yanked backward into a chest that feels like it's made of concrete and bad decisions. The scent hits me instantly—leather, cigarettes, and something dark that makes my knees weak.
"She was in bed praying, actually."
Caleb Voss's voice cuts through everything, low and dangerous and amused. The entire porch goes dead silent, like someone hit pause on the world.
"Praying for me to stop fucking her."
The silence stretches so long I can hear my own heartbeat thundering in my ears. Madison's mouth falls open, her perfect lipstick framing her shock. Connor's phone drops to his side.
"She's... not a virgin anymore?"
The disbelief in Madison's voice would be satisfying if I wasn't about to pass out from shock myself.
Caleb doesn't answer. He just smirks—that legendary smirk that's made half the girls in school forget their own names. His hand slides possessively to my hip, pulling me against him so hard I gasp.
Everyone can see how perfectly I fit against his body, how small I look next to him. The wallet chain hanging from his jeans presses cold against my bare thigh, and I can feel every ridge of muscle through his black t-shirt.
This is Caleb Voss. The guy who got suspended for fighting three seniors at once and won. The guy whose tattoos peek out from under his sleeves like promises of danger. The guy every girl wants and every parent fears.
And he's claiming me. In front of everyone.
Noah's face goes from red to white so fast I think he might faint. "Bullshit. Evie would never—"
"Wouldn't she?" Caleb's fingers dig into my hip, a silent command that sends electricity shooting through my body. "Maybe you just weren't good enough to make her want it."
The words land like a punch. Noah actually staggers back a step, and someone in his rugby crew whistles low.
Caleb's voice drops lower, more intimate, ignoring the destruction he just caused. "Right, baby?"
The endearment rolls off his tongue like honey mixed with gasoline, and I nearly combust on the spot. This is happening. This is actually happening. Caleb Voss just called me baby in front of the entire social hierarchy of Westbridge High.
I force myself to lean into him, trying desperately to look like a girl who knows what those tattooed hands feel like everywhere. My voice comes out smaller than intended but I manage: "Can we just go inside?"
"Of course." He kicks the door wider with his combat boot—because of course he wears combat boots—and basically drags me through the entrance like I'm his property.
The heat inside hits me like a wall. Bodies everywhere, the air thick with sweat and cheap perfume and something sweet that definitely isn't just vape smoke.
The living room has been transformed into a makeshift dance floor, furniture pushed against walls, lights dimmed to almost nothing. Someone's hung glow sticks from the ceiling fan, and they spin lazy circles, painting neon streaks across grinding bodies.
The crowd parts like the Red Sea. Everyone is staring. Everyone. The music pounds through speakers someone definitely stole from the theater department, but all I can hear are the whispers exploding in our wake.
"Holy shit, V4L is dating Caleb Voss?"
"He actually fucked her?"
"There's no fucking way that's real."
"Did you see Noah's face? He looked like he was going to cry."
"I heard she paid him—"
"Dude, Caleb Voss doesn't need money. He wants her."
"But she's so... virgin-y."
"Not anymore apparently."
The kitchen is worse—beer pong in full swing, shots lined up on the granite counter, someone doing a keg stand in the corner while the crowd chants numbers. The music swallows us once we're deeper in the house, but I can feel every single stare burning holes in my skin.
Caleb's hand stays on my hip, his fingers spread wide, broadcasting to everyone that I belong to him now. The untouchable bad boy has claimed the school's designated virgin.
My heart pounds so violently I'm sure he can feel it. He showed up. He actually showed up.
He lied for me, destroyed my virgin reputation with five words, and now the entire school believes Caleb Voss—the Caleb Voss—took my virginity. That he turned Westbridge High's most untouchable good girl into just another notch on his bedpost.
Except I'm not just another notch. I'm on his arm at Fiona Martinez's party, wearing his invisible brand for everyone to see. The bad boy doesn't usually bring his conquests to parties.
This changes everything. This changes my entire life.
And the most terrifying part? Some dark, hidden part of me wishes it was true.