“You should’ve.”
“I didn’t realize it was going to be like…that. The bar with Gen? I thought that was a fluke.” He stares at the endless sea of our peers filling every crevice of the house and I can tell he’s looking for her. “Look, this will be a good time. Sloane said you need to get out of your head, anyway. So just try to ha?—”
“Why are you talking to Sloane?” Any simmering rage has now been fully brought to a boil at the mere mention of his sister's name.
Don’t tell him I sent you.That and don’t invite Will were her only instructions.
“We’re…friends.” The word feels hollow and wrong in my mouth. “She said you seemed in your head and she said she’d…owe me a favor if I could get you here.”
Grant chuckles beside me and I know how fucking pathetic it sounds the moment I say it.
“You have an interesting definition of friends.” He claps me on the shoulder and for a second it destabilizes me, because he’s right, a friend probably wouldn’t siphon information to their father in exchange for tuition and they sure as hell wouldn’t agree to keep tabs on your every move. I sigh and as if he can sense my discomfort he finally throws me a bone. “The least you can do is show me a good time.” He nudges me forward into the pool of bodies and the night ahead.
13
Andy
“So my roommate isn’t going to be home tonight…I mean, if you don’t have plans.” The girl—Meg—has blue strands that fall around her face and I should want to brush them back, trail my lips across it and take her up on her offer. Going through the motions has been easy—it’s muscle memory for me. But it’s half-assed. A sad attempt at interest that Meg is not committed to noticing. Scott slaps me on the back before I have time to answer her.
“Ay, you up for some beer pong?” Scott is clearly intoxicated as he usually is at these sorts of things.
“I'm good, man. I just played with Grant.”
He looks at me, his face morphing into something comical, his bewilderment clear.
“Grant? What the fuck? Didn’t you hear about Ben and Will?” I roll my eyes and sigh, lifting my hand off the wall where it was resting right above Meg’s head. I tilt my head in the opposite direction, insinuating I’ll catch up with her later, and she goes, eyes heavy with lust. I straighten, crossing my arms.
“Yes Scott. I was there.”
Scout’s mouth is set in a pout, and I know he can hear my annoyance. “We aren’t friends with Grant. Will would flip the fuck out if he?—”
“Have you tried growing up, Scott?” I shake my head at him like he’s an idiot because he is, and shove my hands in my pockets, scanning the crowd. He mutters something under his breath, but I ignore him, waiting for him to walk away as I scan the room for Meg, finding her at the bar. But in the center of the room is a tall mess of blonde hair that wasn’t here twenty minutes ago, swaying to a song I’ve never heard. Scott, still within two feet of me, follows my gaze.
“So you do have an ulterior motive…shouldn’t be hard. I heard she gets around,” he snickers, nudging me with his elbow and I can’t stop my scowl. I wonder if he can see the guilt binding itself around my ribs, because I do have an ulterior motive with Sloane, whether I like it or not.
“Scott. Shut the fuck up.”
I push past him and decide to walk towards Meg—the woman waiting for me, who’s a chess champion, who’s laugh is soft and forgiving, who’s uncomplicated and who’s touch doesn’t do a thing to me except what it scientifically should. No magic. Just a reaction, untethered from anything that lasts.
I pivot toward the kitchen bar, really meaning to meet her, not ready to do the fucked up thing I’m supposed to be doing to Sloane. But somewhere along the way, I decide to wander through the crowd, not around it, because the need to get just a little closer is all consuming, even as it’s tinged with hot dread. Keeping a few people between us as I move, I just let myself look.
Eyes closed. Long tanned limbs moving fluidly to the pop song blaring from the speakers. Cowboy boots on her feet and an oversized, distressed t-shirt that hides the shorts that may ormay not be there hung over her deceptively athletic frame. Glitter on those eye lids. Unbothered and innocent, and it feels unfair that she’s ended up in my father’s crosshairs.
“Spellman!” Josiah throws an arm around me and I watch Sloane's eyes snap open, catching me looking. A small, mischievous grin lights up her face and I quickly turn to Josiah, trying to seem busy,tryingto look like I wasn’t fixated on her.
“Yo, bro—you in love?” Josiah smiles and I wonder how long I was looking.
“Just taking in the sights.” I give him a douchey grin to cover it all up.
“Yeah, man. You and every other guy here.” He nods to the guys I clocked looking at Sloane and I feel rage heat the pit of my stomach. “Shit, looks like someone beat you to it.”
I turn and spot Ryan McMahon, one of the hockey guys, with his hands firmly planted on Sloane’s waist. The hem of her shirt dress leaving little to the imagination as she sways, her ass way too close to the guy for it to be a first encounter. My jaw clenches and my whole body feels on fire, even though I’m thelastperson who gets to feel possessive over her.
“Damn Andy, don’t kill the guy. Besides, weren't you talking to that blue haired chick? Where’d she go?” I glance over at the bar where Meg is sipping a drink and staring at her phone, oblivious. I look back over at Sloane who seems to have forgotten my existence entirely, her attention fully on Ryan.
The sight burns, has that jealousy warming my chest, but I know it’s not really jealousy. It’s self-pity that I can’t do what I usually do, can’t just talk her up all night, and fall into her like I swear she’d want to fall into me if it weren’t for her brother.
It’s self-hatred, the kind that’s never stayed around this long.
