Fletcher’s deep voice trumpets behind me. “If the girl wants to dance, let her dance!”
She wants to pull her clothes off and toss them into a crowd of immaturity and vodka-scented sweat, then so be it.
I tried.
And now, I’m walking away.
Because fuck her.
And fuck Webber, too.
NINE
VIOLET
Violet:*sends selfie in sheer top*
Olive:Screw the milkshakes.
Olive:That TOP is going to bring all the boys to the yard.
Violet:I’m not interested in boys, much less them crowding my yard.
Olive:You’re right. Let’s scrap the boys, find the fishing line, and LURE in the sexy hunks of man meat.
Violet:You’re really going hard on the man meat thing.
Olive:Because I’m deprived.
Violet:Of meat?
Olive:UGH. No, Violet. Of MEN.
I findmyself climbing the stairs. Halfway up, I curve around a girl straddling a guy on the edge of a step.Real nice. I focus on finding a quiet area of the house, which is beginning to seem impossible. Fletcher’s house is a can of sardines. There’s no empty space, but it isn’t as bad upstairs. I can tell from the banister’s clearing that overlooks the living room. I edge closer to it and peek down, curious if I’ll find Everleigh. I don’t want her thinking I ditched her, especially since Tristan was too busy with his team not long ago.
I spot her in the middle of the living room with him. Sebastian’s green shirt catches my attention not far from them, and I relinquish the worry of her being alone. She’ll be fine if Tristan ventures off again if Sebastian is nearby.
I back away from the banister and follow the hallway that leads to the back of the house. There are less and less people, and the beat of the music bumps a little lighter. I go as deep as the house allows, only relenting when I spot the last door in the hall.
After Sylvia’s cruel words, I need a minute alone.
I need to breathe and get my thoughts in order before I have to deal with her again, or anyone, for that matter.
I hate this side of her, the one that turns vicious because she’s never known how to handle the unfair expectations her family puts on her or her increasing inability to process her thoughts maturely.
I wonder what would go through their minds if they knew about her extracurriculars and how she’s not upholding the Murphy name. We may not care an awful lot about it around here, but they definitely would.
She’s dragging it through the mud with what she’s doing. Giving the football team a show like that…it’s not going to go unnoticed. When everyone wakes up tomorrow, they’ll remember. And then they’ll want more.
What will she do then?
I’d care more if I wasn’t so pissed, if there wasn’t a liquid heat moving through my veins at her nasty comments.
You weren’t on his mind, but boy, was she.
No wonder Webber never took you home to meet his parents.
My face flushes, shame finagling its way in. I didn’t ask for this, for Webber to handle our relationship like it wasn’t important or for Sylvia to turn on me at the first taste of a little more than beer.
