I follow the sound of Naomi’s drunken voice into the room across the hall, and I carefully knee the door open, balancing the drinks as I take a few steps into the bedroom. I can’t remember the name of the girl whose party this is, but I doubt this is her room, judging by the NFL posters on the walls. Naomi is leaning against the dresser, her hand on her hip as she studies the poster of Philip Rivers in front of her.
“Her brother likes the Chargers?” she says, glancing over her shoulder at me with a look of exaggerated disgust. Her knowledge takes me by surprise.
“Looks like it,” I say. I could have an entire conversation with herabout football, about how much I hate the Chargers, that the 49ers are better, but instead I add, “Here,” and move across the room toward her, closing the distance between us and offering her the drink I’ve mixed up for her.
“You know,” she says, leaning back fully against the dresser and tracing the rim of the cup as she stares down at the drink, “you’re not as big of an asshole as everyone says you are.” Her eyes flash up to meet mine the second she tips the cup to her lips, and I watch her as she drinks while I try to figure out if her backhanded remark was actually a compliment. I think, maybe, it was.
I’m unsure how to reply, so I swig awkwardly at my beer and then ask, “Is it too strong?”
But apparently it’s not, because she holds up a finger and tilts the cup back even further, finishing it off in one. She sucks in a large breath of air once she’s done and slams the empty cup down against the dresser, crushing it beneath her hand. “Did you say it was too strong?”
I blink down at her. Who knew Naomi from English lit was such a drinker? Because I certainly didn’t, not until now, and although she’s wasted and unable to handle it all, I’m still impressed by the way she shotgunned that drink, given the amount of vodka I put in there. “Wow,” is all I can say, and I pass her the vodka bottle, and she finishes that too.
“Can Tiffani drink like I do?” she asks, stepping closer to look up at me with a challenging smirk on her lips, and it pisses me off that she’s brought up Tiffani’s name. I’d only just stopped thinking about her, and I can feel that anger returning as Naomi presses her hand to my chest and moves the empty vodka bottle back to her mouth. Her mascara is smeared beneath her eyes, but that doesn’t stop me from seeing the devious expression that dominates her features. She parts her lips and then encloses them around the bottle neck, her eyes neverleaving mine as she slowly runs her tongue around the glass. Then, her voice nothing more than a hushed slur, she presses even closer against me and whispers, “Can she?”
She’s so close I can almost taste the alcohol on her, and her body is warm, almost too warm, and there’s a lump in my throat that feels as though it might just stick straight through my skin. I swallow hard, but I’m rooted to the spot, paralyzed by her body against mine. “I think this is my…my cue to leave,” I murmur, but before I can take a single step back, her hands are on my jaw and her lips are against mine.
It’s so abrupt that I stumble back from the force, but then I regain my balance and grasp her waist and pull her closer, my beer against her hip, my mouth fast in sync against hers, fueled by the alcohol in our bloodstreams. I weave my hand into her hair, but it’s a tangled mess that I only end up pulling, yet I continue to hold her against me as her hands run down my chest, grabbing fistfuls of my shirt. She tastes like the vodka she’s just consumed, and I’m not thinking straight, too distracted by someone’s body against mine that I can’t bring myself to put a stop to it. I don’t want to. I like distractions.
Naomi bites down on my lower lip in what I think is an attempt at being seductive, but she bites too hard and for too long, and I swear that for a second I think she may have torn my lip open. There’s no time to wonder if blood has been shed, because her hands are under my shirt now, running across my chest, all over my skin, until suddenly her fingers are hooked over the waistband of my jeans.
I tense up, and I firmly reach for her wrists and move her hands away before she can go any further. I tear my lips from hers but keep my eyes closed as I absorb the reality of what we’re doing, and then, my breathing heavy, I slowly open them again to look at her. “Naomi…” I murmur, shaking my head. “I can’t.”
The irritation is clear on Naomi’s face as she harshly pulls her wrists free from my grasp. “Why?”
“You know why,” I say quietly, sighing and running a hand back through my hair as I turn away from her, moving over to the bed where I sit down and set my beer on the bedside table.
I’ve done this before, but only this. Never anything more. I couldn’t do that. I can be an idiot sometimes, but notthatmuch of an idiot. Tiffani may put me through hell and back, we may only be putting on a show for the most part, we may not actually be in love with each other, but I’d never dare fuck her over.
Naomi drifts over and drops to her knees on the carpet in front of me, purposely blinking up at me from beneath her eyelashes. Her devious expression is no longer a turn-on. In fact, it turns me off as she purses her lips together and says, “Tiffani’s never going to know. I’m not going to tell her and neither are you, so what’s the big deal?”
“Naomi,” I repeat, but more firmly this time, more annoyed. When she places her hand on my knee, I promptly push it off again. “No.”
“Fine,” she huffs. Pushing herself up from the ground and back onto her feet, she sways in front of me, adjusting her hair. Then, she grins and tells me, “The dare was only to make out with you anyway,” before turning and walking straight out the door.
I stare after her as the muscle in my jaw tightens.What the fuck? Groaning, I throw both hands into my hair and collapse backward onto the bed. I stare at the ceiling for a while, focusing on maintaining a steady breathing rate, wondering what time it is. The music pulsing through the house from downstairs is hard to ignore, and I know that I can’t disappear for long, because I should be in the kitchen, calling the shots but also pouring them, becausethat’swhat I do at parties. I don’t hide upstairs, that’s for sure.
Sitting back up again, I sigh and pull myself together. I have to mentally remind myself to glare at every sophomore guy I pass from now on, and to smile only briefly at the girls, and to laugh whenever someone cracks a joke even if it isn’t even remotely funny. I have to remind myself to be convincing, to put on a good act.
Before I leave the bedroom, I fix my shirt and try to tame my hair with my fingers so that it doesn’t look so ruffled. That would raise suspicions. I almost gather up the empty cups and the bottle of vodka that’s lying on the carpet, but cleaning up after himself is not the sort of thing Tyler Bruce would do, so I quickly finish my beer and then toss the empty bottle onto the floor.
As I’m heading for the door, I notice the flashing alarm clock on the dresser for the first time. It’s eleven fifteen exactly, and I have no doubt in my mind that Dean will be here by now, and Meghan, and Jake. But also Tiffani, who I dread seeing the most, especially now.
7
Five Years Earlier
Dad’s car has disappeared down the street within a second of me closing the door, but I like that he never sticks around. The quicker he is gone, the sooner I can breathe a sigh of relief. My shoulders sink as my body relaxes from its tensed state, and I fall into step next to Dean as we make our way across campus. We still have ten minutes until first period, so everyone is sort of milling around, leaning against lockers, waiting for the bell to ring. I only have a couple friends, but I still smile at the other kids in my classes whenever I pass any of them, and they sometimes wave back. I’m pretty good at the whole smiling thing. I find myself doing it even when I don’t want to.
“There’s Jake!” Dean says, pointing off toward the main office. He seems to speed up, so I keep up with him while I search for Jake, and when I spot him, he’s already walking toward us.
“I’ve been here since seven thirty because my mom had to start her shift earlier,” he complains as he comes to a halt in front of us, but there’s something different about him today. I tilt my head to one side as I study him, but his hair is still the usual shaggy blond that covers his eyes, and he’s wearing the same old blue hoodie that he always wears.But when he adds, “I had to speak to that weird kid from gym class,” I hear the lisp to his words and I see the shine of metal on his teeth.
“Did you get your braces?” I ask.
“Oh yeah,” Jake says, as though he’s totally forgotten all about them, despite only having them for less than twenty-four hours. He grins wide to show them off. “What do you think?”
“Why did you choose green?” Dean questions.
