Golden girl’s drunken line
1210 Words
Golden girl’s drunken line”
“Wow,” she slurs, mascara smudged just enough to make her look criminally gorgeous. “Love this little reunion up here. Very… cozy. Super chill. Totally normal.”
Lucien raises an eyebrow, posture lazy, like he wasn’t just about to f**k me into oblivion three seconds ago. “Nice to see you too, sis.”
She points a perfectly manicured finger at him. “You weren’t even invited, Lucien. Why are you even here? Crashing my very sophisticated matchmaking attempt? Like some spoiled, overgrown vampire?”
He shrugs, completely unfazed. “Got bored.”
She narrows her eyes. “You got bored and decided to crawl into a treehouse? What are you, twelve?”
“Figured it was better than listening to Hailey talk about her juice cleanse.”
Lena gags. “Okay, fair.”
I try to hide my nerves behind a cough, but Lena spins toward me too fast.
“And you, Miss Laurent—vanishing in the middle of dinner? Rude. Theo was literally in the middle of asking if you liked animals. I mean, the guy’s a vet student. He was trying, and you ghosted.”
I raise my hands. “I just needed air.”
She squints at me.
Her head tilts.
She looks between us. My flushed cheeks. Lucien’s smirk. The way we’re not quite standing far enough apart.
And then she frowns.
Deep. Suspicious.
“Wait.”
Fuck.
“You two weren’t like… arguing up here or something, were you?”
Lucien doesn’t miss a beat. “Of course we were.”
I nod too quickly. “Big argument.”
“Massive,” he adds. “Tragic. Earth-shattering.”
Lena crosses her arms. “About what?”
“The wine,” I blurt. “It was—awful. Disgusting.”
Lucien’s mouth twitches. “She called it swamp piss.”
Lena gasps like I slapped her. “It was a 2016 rosé, Eve. Imported. You uncultured feral witch.”
And just like that, her suspicion starts to crack under the weight of her own drama.
Then—he does it.
Lucien leans against the wall and deadpans, “I told her it wasn’t as bad as the frog dare of 2012.”
Lena screeches.
“YOU SWORE WE’D NEVER SPEAK OF THAT.”
I bark out a laugh. “Lucien, you swore on your eyebrows.”
“I take my grooming seriously,” he says solemnly. “But I take comedic timing more seriously.”
Lena lunges for him, smacking his shoulder. “I hate you.”
He laughs, dodging her effortlessly, and I just watch—this insane, chaotic dance they’ve done since birth. It’s a war of love. Of sharp wit and sharper affection.
And for a second, I forget how close we were to doing something we can’t take back.
But Lena doesn’t.
She pauses suddenly, lips parting, eyes flicking back to me.
She’s not drunk enough to miss it.
Her voice is quieter now. “You okay, Evie?”
I nod, too fast.
She tilts her head again, and something darker passes through her gaze.
She turns to Lucien. “And you?”
“Peachy.”
“You flirting with Hailey was gross, by the way,” she adds casually, her voice laced with venom. “You hate her. Don’t pretend you don’t.”
He raises an eyebrow. “She flirted with me.”
“You let her.”
“I didn’t sleep with her.”
Lena rolls her eyes. “You don’t have to f**k someone to disrespect boundaries.”
That hits harder than it should. I freeze.
She turns back to me, serious now. “Hailey is annoying, sure—but she’s still my friend. My circle. And you,” she points at Lucien, “don’t get to screw around in it just because you’re bored and messy.”
He doesn’t say anything, but the smirk fades.
Then she glances between us. Eyes narrowed. Voice softer.
“You especially don’t get to mess with Eve.”
Silence.
Lucien straightens, jaw tight.
I feel like I’ve been slapped and protected all at once.
Lena sighs and rubs her temples, then flops dramatically onto the bench. “Ugh. This wine has me emotional. Don’t mind me. I just love you both, okay? In very different, very complicated, very trauma-bonded ways. But seriously…”
She looks at Lucien again. “Don’t hurt her.”
And then she’s done.
Just like that, her energy flicks back on. “Now let’s go back before Hailey starts telling people about her crystals. Someone has to protect society.”
She’s already halfway down the ladder before either of us can breathe.
Lucien doesn’t look at me.
And I don’t look at him.
Because Lena might’ve been too drunk to see the truth…
But she wasn’t wrong.
Lena disappears down the path like a swirling storm of Chanel and chaos, her perfume still lingering in the air.
And for a second, all I can do is breathe.
Until I feel him.
Lucien doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.
Not until I turn to look at him.
Then—he’s there.
Close again. Too close. That look in his eyes—the one that makes gravity feel optional.
He leans in, so slow it’s sinful, and whispers into my ear:
“This isn’t over.”
My breath catches.
“And I don’t give a f**k what my sister thinks.”
My heart stutters, and he hears it.
His hand grazes the edge of my waist. Light. Possessive. Casual only in appearance.
“She can draw her little lines in the sand,” he murmurs, “but I’ll just keep stepping over them.”
I should push him away.
I don’t.
His lips brush the shell of my ear, and I feel it down to my thighs.
“You ever think about me,” he whispers, “with your hands tied behind your back and your mouth too full to argue?”
I flinch like he’s read my mind.
No.
Like he’s read my journal.
He grins against my cheek. “Knew it.”
My pulse is an earthquake. He steps even closer.
“Or maybe on your knees,” he adds, “wearing nothing but that pretty little silver ring on your finger, the one you twist when you’re nervous?”
I stare at him.
I do twist it.
I am nervous.
And he’s not guessing.
He knows.
He lets the silence wrap around us like velvet before giving me one last wicked smile.
“You’d better get moving, princess,” he says, stepping back. “Before Lena comes back up here and finds out all your secrets.”
Then he leaves. Just… disappears into the night like a devil with no leash.
And I’m left standing in the treehouse, shaking, stunned, soaked in something I don’t have a name for.
⸻
Back at the house, the party continues. The world keeps spinning.
But inside me?
Everything’s changed.
Because I don’t know what’s worse — how badly I want him… or how badly I want to let him destroy me.
And the real question is—
Will we ignore Lena’s drunken line?
Or will we cross it again…
and again and again?
- Writer
