I open my locker and pull a fresh shirt over my head.
It’s not the first time he’s followed her around, but she usually shakes him off pretty quickly. Yesterday, though, he got way too fucking close, and that was on school grounds. He fuckingmarkedher. At Elijah’s, there will be nothing holding him back. No rules. No limits.
“Maybe I’ll stop by for a minute. Check things out.” I almost take the words back once they’re out, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
Zach pauses halfway through pulling his own shirt on. “You serious?” His eyes narrow. “Hold up, don’t tease me. That’s not cool.”
My lips quirk, but the tension coiling in my shoulders spreads down my back. I could never admit aloud the real reason I stopped going to parties: if there’s a party, Eva’s guaranteed to be there. Drinking, dancing, following guys behind closed doors. I grit my teeth, pushing the unwanted visual away. But the last thing Eva needs is to be messing around with a piece of shit like Carter, especially after yesterday. Just the thought of them together makes my fucking hands shake.
“Nah, I’m serious. I’ll go.”
“Fuck. Yes.” He slaps my shoulder, his grin about to split his face open. “My boy is back!”
I shake my head and grab my gym bag. “One night. That’s it. And no drinking.”
“The hell’s the point then?”
“Simple, man,” I mutter, heading toward the exit. I’m already wishing the party was over. “Get in, keep an eye on her until she’s ready to leave, and get the hell out.”
“Yo, wait.” He grabs his bag, then jogs to catch up to me. “Look at you, all protective and shit. Whitney’s a damn queen.”
“What?” I glance at him and yank the door open. The sun blinds me as we step outside. “Yeah, I guess.”
I run my fingers through my damp hair.
Whitney.
Of course, that’s who I meant.
“Just one more?” Whitney pouts, her crimson lips a shade darker than the hair hanging down her back. “Pleeease?” She leans in, trying to kiss me, but trips over herself and crashes against my chest instead.
Planting a hand around each of her arms, I steady her.
She curls into my T-shirt and sighs.
“Think you’re good on alcohol for tonight, Whit.”
“Mmm. You smell so nice,” she slurs. “So manly and charming and yummier than ice cream.”
“Jesus.” I rub the back of my neck, pushing out a breath. I’m already sick of the throbbing techno music and heavy scent of beer wafting through the house. “Come on. Let’s grab you some water and sit down.”
I get a water bottle from the fridge, then steer her through the crowd until we reach the living room. There are three huge couches, each one of them covered in tangles of arms, legs, and wandering hands.
“Matt,” I call to one of my buddies taking up half the couch. He’s my team’s quarterback, and one of the cheerleaders happens to be straddling him right now. How fucking cliché. “Scoot over, yeah?”
He doesn’t bother to unlock his mouth from the blonde’s, but he slides over so I can set Whitney down and slip into the spot beside her. As she slumps against me, I lean back, stretching my legs. Zach was right: Carter’s here, and if the keg stand I saw him doing with Elijah in the back yard is anything to go by, he’s not leaving anytime soon. But I haven’t seen Eva since she walked in ten minutes ago and headed to one of the bathrooms. Craning my neck, I don’t see Carter through the open back doors anymore either. I run a hand over my jaw, scanning the room again, but the longer I look, the more frustration builds in my lungs like poison.
Where the hell is she?
I’m seconds away from checking the bathrooms when a loud whistle snaps my gaze to the opposite end of the room. Eva’s form flickers in and out of sight behind a horde of drunken bodies. She winks at Marco, the dick I presume whistled, and takes a sip from the red Solo cup in her hand. My fist clenches at my side, but I slowly release it as my eyes slide down her body like she’s sugar and I’m on a fucking low-carb diet.
Black jeans ripped at the thighs, stretched tight around the kind of curves that bring grown-ass men to their knees. Her shirt’s a scrap of material, painted on her full breasts and ending just below her rib cage. My jaw ticks at the sight of her in such revealing clothing, but I push my irrational feelings away and drag my gaze back to her face.
Truthfully, she’s more covered than most of the girls here, including Whitney. But you’d never know it by the way Marco’s slipping behind her, whispering who-the-hell-knows-what into her ear.
My muscles tense. I can take a few guesses at what he’s saying.
He shouldn’t be whispering anything to her. He shouldn’t be talking to her at all. He doesn’t know her like I do. He hasn’t seen her like I have. He doesn’t watch her like I do.
