Under the Lights by Dahlia Adler Page B

my house, not your second job at the strip club.”
    â€œYou’re leaving now.”
    He rolls his eyes but lets himself out, calling out “One minute!” behind him.

Chapter Nine
Josh
    You can’t wear that,” K-drama declares the second I step out of my walk-in closet. “Oh, come on.”
    â€œJosh, you
asked
me here to help you pick an outfit. I’m telling you it’s not gonna be that one.”
    â€œIt’s just dinner with my parents,” I remind her, even though she’s right that this is exactly the reason I asked her over. Which was obviously a huge mistake, much like I can already tell this entire night is gonna be. “Who gives a shit what I wear?”
    â€œYour mother does, from what you’ve told me, and if you wear a T-shirt and jeans to dinner—again—you’re not gonna get what you want.”
    â€œWhat I
want
is for her to get off my back.”
    â€œWell, your passive-aggressive clothing decisions aren’t going to make that happen.” She crosses her arms and nods toward my closet. “Pick something that actually requires a hanger. And make it designer. In a calming shade of blue. It’ll go a long way.”
    I know she’s right, but I don’t need her knowing she’s right. “What I’m wearing is fine. I look good, don’t I?”
    I do, but she just rolls her eyes and does her best “Vanessa Park is not impressed.” It’s pretty much her default reaction pose to anything I do. Ally would beproud. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she says, and then she turns and walks out.
    Goddammit.
I wait until she’s gone and then I change into decent pants and a blue button-down. If I could avoid her seeing I’ve taken her advice, I’d do it in a second. She’s such a pain in my ass. But I know wearing this crap will make my mom feel like I’m actually listening to her and is my best shot at getting her to listen to me in return.
    I take a shot of Patrón from the minibar in my bedroom, then brush my teeth until the smell of tequila is gone. There’s no way I’m making it through this night on no alcohol, and the fact that I don’t do my own driving means I never have to think twice about it. If I still did any of the harder stuff, now would be the perfect time to whip it out. But my dad can tell that shit from a mile away—it’s one of his only interpersonal skills—so alas, all I can do tonight is get good and liquored up.
    â€œRonen’s here!” Vanessa calls up, and I debate taking another shot, but I don’t have time to mask the smell a second time. I head out into the car with her on my heels—I’d avoid her completely if I hadn’t promised her a ride home in time for her to get ready for some bullshit date with her bullshit boyfriend—and make the mistake of glancing at her just long enough to catch her annoying smirk.
    My nerves are jacked up the whole ride. Sending dirty texts to a bunch of different standbys doesn’t help, even though I’ve got plenty of offers I know will help alleviate the awfulness for a few hours after dinner. Everything else is more of the same—Paz trying to get me on a double-date in the hopes he’ll get some ass; Royce lauding some club we gotta go to; Jeremysending me pervy pics of some chick he got with last night; no word from Liam.
    By the time I reach the mansion, I’m in an even shittier mood, and I head straight for the bar as soon as I let myself in. I’m about to help myself to the Snow Queen—my dad’s favorite vodka—when I hear steps behind me and remember that I’m being fucking
filmed.
    â€œHey, Josh!” By now, Chuck and I are apparently old friends. “We actually missed your entrance, but were hoping you could do it again and ring the doorbell this time, let your mom answer. Get a whole ‘prodigal son