“Don’t wait up, sweetheart,” Ryder calls out before cruelly adding, “I’ll be too busy fucking mywhoresto even remember your name.”
I slam the door shut with force and step back from the curb. I swallow hard as I watch the limo pull away, my emotions all screwed up. “That’s not who he really is,” Scott quietly says.
“Don’t defend him. Please. I just don’t want to hear it.”
He slings his arm around my shoulders, squeezing me. “I don’t know what demons haunt Ryder, but something must’ve happened tonight for him to regress. I’ve never seen him as happy as he’s been with you these past few weeks.”
“Well, if it did, he didn’t tell me. We’re supposed to be a couple. He should’ve talked to me instead of treating me like one of his groupies.” I swipe at the hot tears rolling down my face. “I’ve never been so humiliated.”
“He’s going to hate himself tomorrow for this.”
“It didn’t look like he gave two shits,” I say, pulling out my cell to call an Uber to come pick us up. Just then, a blacked-out SUV pulls up to the curb, and Mike slides out from behind the driver seat.
“What’s happened now?” he asks in a resigned tone.
“Ryder’s spiraling,” Scott says. “And he was an even bigger asshole in the car. Do you have any idea what’s going on?”
He shakes his head, and sighs. “I know I’ve no place saying this, Zeta, but those things he said and did back there are not the real Ryder. He’s going to beat himself up over this when he comes down from his high.” He tilts his head to one side. “You remember what I said to you before?” I nod. “I know it’s not easy. I know it’s asking a lot, but he needs you, he just doesn’t realize it.”
“Don’t lay that guilt trip on Zeta, Mike. That’s not fair.”
“He’s his own worst enemy, and when he realizes what he’s done tonight, I fear he’s going to go totally off the rails.” Swiping his finger across his cell, he silently hands it to me.
I watch the TMZ video report with a pain in my heart. They’ve just added a feed of the guys arriving at the venue for the after-party. Ryder staggers out of the car, almost face-planting the ground. He’s carrying the half-empty bottle of whiskey in his hand, letting loose a string of expletives at the waiting paparazzi. He doesn’t even acknowledge his fans as he stumbles his way into the hotel. The reporter suggests Ryder’s behavior indicates he’s relapsed and questions my absence.
“He needs you,” Mike quietly reconfirms.
Scott opens his mouth to interject again, but I hold onto his arm, stalling him. “No, it’s okay.” I shake my head, sighing. “I can’t leave him like that. If anything happens to him, I’ll never forgive myself.”
I’m pissed and hurt and questioning everything I thought I knew about Ryder and our relationship, but I can’t abandon him, not after seeing that. He’s his own worst enemy right now, and if the tables were turned, I know he wouldn’t leave me.
So that’s how I find myself being escorted into the after-party, flanked by Scott and Mike, a half hour later. It’s being held at a snazzy Manhattan hotel, and barricades have been set up outside the entrance, keeping the crowd at bay. Reporters are screaming my name and asking questions about Ryder, as we pass, but I ignore them. “It’s gone viral about you two,” Mike confirms, leading me down the hallway to the elevator. “You can expect more of that in your future.”
We arrive at the ballroom, on the third floor, a few minutes later. The room has been constructed around a large circular dance floor. Two long bars reside on either end of the room, fitted into the wall, and massive chandeliers hang from numerous points on the ceiling. Plush velvet-backed booths are arranged in a circle around the dance floor with high tables and stools in a row behind them. The room is packed with partygoers eager to have a good time. The scent of booze, expensive perfume, and illegal substances is pungent in the air. Strobe lights cut across the crowd writhing to beats played by a renowned DJ as I scan the room, trying to locate Ryder.
Mike is a good head taller than me, and he spots Micah over by the side of the dance floor, so we head in that direction. As we approach, I see he’s dancing with a well-known actress from one of those popular teen soaps. Although calling it dancing isn’t strictly true. Simulating a live porn act would be more akin to describe how they’re grinding and pawing at one another.
“Zeta, baby! You’re here!” Gar shouts into my ear from behind, and then I’m lifted up and draped over his shoulder before I know what’s going on.
“Gar, put me down, you ass!” I pummel my fists into his back, pleading with Mike and Scott to help.
“Oh fuck.” Mike glances ahead, closing his eyes and sighing.
“Look who I found,” Gar proclaims, plonking his butt down in a booth with me on his lap. His dick’s hard as a rock, prodding into my stomach, and I puke a little in my mouth. Before I can get away from him, he grabs hold of my hips, angling me so I’m facing the table.
My stomach drops to my toes and bile floods my mouth as I stare at the girl currently occupying Ryder’s lap. “Who the fuck are you?” I snap, shooting daggers at her.
“Everything you’ll never be,” she proclaims, wrapping her arm around Ryder’s neck while sipping champagne from a bottle through a straw.
If Ryder wanted to go out and find my exact opposite, he’s certainly achieved it. She’s tiny with a nonexistent waist and perky little boobs. Her long white-blonde hair hangs in straight lines down her back, and she’s dripping in expensive jewelry. Wearing a strapless cream and gold bejeweled dress, she’s as far removed from me as you can get.
And, definitely, no groupie.
Ryder runs his fingers through her hair, and a heavy weight presses down on my chest, restricting my air supply, making breathing difficult. Pain lodges in my throat and stings the backs of my eyes.
“What the fuck is wrong with you two dipshits?” Scott barks at Gar. “How the fuck can either of you let that bitch anywhere near him!”
“Dude, chill. Ashley’s cool now.” Gar waves his hands about, his eyes rolling around his head. He shifts underneath me, jerking his hips up, his erection now prodding my ass.
