Tomorrow, new bruises will develop and new cuts will appear.
And they will all be caused by Dad.
2
Present Day
Someone’s been fucking around with my beer. It doesn’t taste the same as it did ten minutes ago. I close one eye and tilt the rim of the bottle toward me, peering inside, trying to figure out if someone has been pouring other drinks into it while I haven’t been looking. I’m getting a strong scent of rum. I glance over to the kitchen. Jake is there, his back to me, bent over the countertop as he mixes together a bunch of different drinks as though he’s a fully trained bartender. I fucking hate that guy.
“What’s wrong?”
I drop my glare down to Tiffani. She’s been sprawled across me for the past five minutes, her long bare legs folded over my knee and her head resting against my bicep. She’s been running her nails slowly around my chest in a circular motion, but I haven’t realized she’s stopped until right now. Her face is tilted up to look at me, and her bright blue eyes are studying me through a thick set of eyelashes that didn’t exist yesterday. “Jake thinks he’s hilarious slipping rum into my beer,” I tell her, then I press my lips together as I set my bottle down on the small table beside the couch. “Come here,” I murmur, pulling my arm out frombeneath her and sliding it around her shoulders instead, pulling her closer against me. She presses her head to my chest, and I know for a fact she’s going to get at least five layers of her makeup on my shirt, but I don’t care because now I’m running my eyes up and down her legs. I move my free hand to her knee, then slide it across the smooth skin on her thighs. Her tiny black dress is too short and too tight, but that’s nothing to complain about. “What time are we heading out?”
“I was thinking eleven,” she says, but I know she’s distracted because she reaches for my hand and places hers on top. Slowly, she moves my hand higher up her thigh, under her dress. I can feel the lace of her underwear beneath my fingers, and when I look down at her, she’s smirking as she leans up toward me, her lips brushing my ear as she murmurs, “Are you staying here tonight?” I used to love that thing she does with her voice, where she lowers it to a breathy whisper that would have driven me insane a year or two ago, but it just doesn’t do it for me anymore. She’s only trying to keep me interested with the promise of sex.
But whatever, right now it’s working. I sit up a little and pull her entirely onto my lap, my hand still gripping her hip beneath her dress and my other moving her blond hair to one side so that I can press my lips to her neck. She tilts her head back fully as she runs her fingers through my hair, her eyes closed. I take her skin beneath my teeth, leaving my all-too-familiar mark on her body. Tiffani claims she hates hickeys, but she never attempts to stop me, so I beg to differ.
Suddenly, she pulls away, springing off me and getting to her feet, straightening up fast. Over the sound of the music that Jake’s controlling from the speakers in the kitchen, I haven’t heard the front door open. Tiffani has, and now she’s setting her drink on the coffee table and pulling at her dress, willing it to cover more of her thighs.Right now, it hardly covers her ass. “Mom,” she splutters, taking a few barefooted steps across the hardwood flooring. “I thought you said you were working late.”
“It’s eight thirty,” Jill states. There’s a black folder held to her chest as she moves further into the kitchen, her heels clicking against the floor. “Thisislate.” She purses her lips in disapproval as she looks around. First at the alcohol lining the countertop, then at Jake, who is leaning over to quickly lower the volume of the music, and then at Tiffani. “You didn’t tell me you were having friends over.”
Tiffani is still pulling at her dress, because if there’s one thing I know for sure about her mom, it’s that she won’t be impressed right now. “Because I thought we’d be gone before you got back,” she admits, shrugging. She has her arms folded across her chest now, but it’s obvious she’s only attempting to hide how exposed her body is in that dress.
“And where exactly are you planning on heading?” Jill asks in that hard tone she seems to always have. In the past three years that I’ve been dating Tiffani, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her mom crack a smile. She’s kind of a bitch. They both are.
“There’s a party,” Tiffani says, pouting. “I thought we could all just hang out here until it was time to show up, because c’mon, Mom, we never turn up early to house parties. That’s just embarrassing.”
“Fine,” Jill says, but the stern tone to her voice makes it clear that she’s not happy we’re here. “Keep the music down. I have a pounding headache.” She rubs her temples as though to prove this, then flicks her hair over her shoulder and spins around, back toward the door. As she leaves, she throws me a disgusted glance as her eyes narrow, and I raise my hand and wave back at her. I grin only because I know it’ll piss her off.
The thing is, Tiffani’s mom doesn’t like me. She never has from thevery first moment I met her, back when Tiffani and I were nothing more than friends. Even then, she didn’t want her daughter around a kid like me. Bad influence, she thought, and in some ways, I was. Over the years, her dislike for me has grown into seething contempt, which she doesn’t even attempt to hide. But I don’t even care all that much about Tiffani, let alone her mom, and I know this relationship isn’t going anywhere, so I’m not worried about winning over her parents. The second Jill is gone, Tiffani relaxes back into her dress and says, “She’s such a pain sometimes.” Rolling her eyes, she tells Jake to turn the music back up as she joins him by the speakers. He’s careful not to play it as loud as before.
Pushing myself up from the couch, I get to my feet and head toward them both as they hover around the kitchen countertop, debating over which songs to add to the playlist and which drink to have next. I push my way in between the two of them and throw my arm around Tiffani’s shoulders, and as she leans in closer against me, Jake watches us out of the corner of his eye. Jake Maxwell can get any damn girl he wants, but he can’t get Tiffani. I think it’ll forever infuriate him knowing that three years ago, she chose to get together with me rather than with him. Sometimes I like the satisfaction of knowing I’m with a girl so many other guys would kill to have by their side. Other times, IwishTiffani had chosen Jake over me. That way, it would be him she puts through hell and back and not me.
I reach over and pluck a new bottle of beer from the pack, and as soon as it’s in my hand, Jake is lifting his head and asking, “What’s wrong with the beer you already have?” The asshole smirks at me as he raises an eyebrow, and again I think how this whole “let’s pretend to be friends for the sake of everyone else” thing is nothing but bullshit. I just want to knock the guy out.
I sharpen my glare, fixing him with a threatening hard look. More often than not, I don’t need words to warn someone not to fuck with me, but with Jake, he’s used to it by now, so instead of backing off, he only snickers and passes me the bottle opener. Seriously, I think he just pisses me off because he’s hoping I’ll snap eventually. It’s like he lives to test my patience.
“What the hell are Dean and Megs doing upstairs?” he asks as casual as ever, glancing down at the watch on his wrist. When he looks back up, he motions to the drink he was working on five minutes ago. “I’ve created an exotic signature cocktail, and I need Dean to be the guinea pig who drinks it first.”
I lean over and steal a glance into the cup, and the only exotic thing about it is that it’s a deep green. “I’ll go get them,” I say. Releasing my hold on Tiffani, I pop the top off my beer and take a swig as I head for the stairs. My steps are slow, my beer held loosely by the tips of my fingers, my other hand in my hair. It pisses me off that I’m not drunk yet. We’ve still got a few hours to fill before we head over to the party, so I’ve got time to change that. I can’t do parties sober. I never have.
The door to Tiffani’s room is open a few inches, and I can see Meghan having a breakdown as she paces across the carpet, both her hands pressed to her face while she lets out a long groan. Dean only watches her and scratches at the back of his neck.
“You guys are taking your time up here, ain’t you?” I say, pushing open the door wider and stepping into Tiffani’s room. They both look at me, although Meghan looks more exasperated than anything else, and she seems to scream under her breath through gritted teeth as she throws herself down onto Tiffani’s bed. That’s when I notice that her dress is open and her back exposed. I lift an eyebrow at Dean. “Have you guys been hooking up?”
“Funny,” Dean says, sighing. He shakes his head and nods back to Meghan. “The zipper is stuck.”
Meghan dramatically sits up and sniffs, telling me, “I’m going to have to borrow something of Tiffani’s,” as though it’s the worst thing in the world. I know she’ll kill me if I roll my eyes right now, but it’s hard not to when she’s up here having a breakdown over a damn dress. After being with Tiffani for three years, I’m somewhat used to outfit dilemmas.
“Come here,” I say. Setting my beer down on Tiffani’s dresser, I move over to the bed and reach for Meghan’s hands, pulling her up to her feet. I step behind her and run my eyes over her pale skin, down to the zipper that’s jammed just above her waist. It’s caught in the blue material, and with a firm tug downward, it comes undone. With ease, I smoothly zip it up fully to the top, and Meghan breathes a sigh of relief while spinning back around, claiming that I’m a lifesaver.
My gaze moves to Dean as Meghan skips across the bedroom to fetch her shoes. He’s making a face while he takes a sip of his beer, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, and it’s evident by his expression that he’s waiting for me to taunt him. It’s hard not to.
“C’mon, man,” I start. “You seriously struggled with that?” My lips curve into a grin and as I step toward him, I thump his bicep twice as though there’s nothing there. Dean’s a nice guy, though he could do with some toughening up, because sometimes he can betoonice.
“I thought I’d leave it to the expert. You know, given the number of dresses you’ve unzipped in your lifetime,” he fires back. It’s an exaggeration, but we share a laugh anyway, and he hands me my beer. We clink bottles and take a swig.
As I swallow, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and glance back over at Meghan. She’s perched on the corner of Tiffani’sbed, sliding her heels onto her feet. “Where’s Rachael anyway?” I ask. In the past few hours that we’ve all been here, I haven’t even noticed that Rachael is missing until right now. She’s usually here too, and she would usually be drunk by now, and Dean would usually be helping her stay upright, and Jake would usually be continuing to pass her shots. Rachael thinks I’m a dick, so I don’t particularly care that she’s not here tonight.
