The house was already packed by the time Ace got there. The bass from the speakers vibrated through the floor, mixing with the sound of too-loud laughter and the clinking of bottles. Leon had this way of making everything look effortless—the drinks, the music, the people. Like the entire night just made to his will.
He leaned against the kitchen counter, a lazy smirk curling at the corner of his lips. "You finally decided to crawl out of your cave," he teased.
"Yeah, yeah," Ace muttered, pushing past a couple making out near the fridge. "Where's the alcohol?"
Leon chuckled, tilting his head in the fridge's direction. But before she could grab anything, she saw her.
Max.
Ace's fingers curled into her hoodie sleeves. Max was standing in the living room, laughing at something some guy said, her long coper hair spilling over her shoulder like something out of a damn movie. She had that effortless coolness that made Ace feel like a train wreck in comparison—frayed edges, ink-stained fingers, and too much weight in her chest.
Kyle slid up beside her, sipping from a red cup, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. "You're staring."
Ace scoffed. "No, I'm not."
"You so are," he said, tilting his drink toward Max. "It's painful to watch."
Before she could tell him to screw off, a heavy hand hit her on the back. Jayson.
"Yo, Ace," he said, his voice buzzing with excitement. "Some dude in the back wants a tattoo. Said he'd pay cash."
Ace raised an eyebrow. "Right now?"
Jayson shrugged. "You brought your kit, didn't you?"
She had. And there was nothing like the hum of a tattoo gun to drown out the mess in her head