I press one hand against the throbbing spot on my forehead and push my window open again with the other. It’s not like me to forget the thing glitches, but I’m bound to make stupid mistakes at two in the morning.
Once I’m in my bedroom, I shut the window quietly and check the lock three times. Satisfied it’s secure, I untuck the shard of glass from the waistband of my jeans and slip it under my pillow.
Exhaustion pulls on me as I undo my ponytail, letting my hair fall down my back, and walk into my bathroom. I turn on the faucet, then let out a groan. All I want is to go to bed. Unfortunately, I have to wash Marco’s stench off my body first, and my crappy shower drain is clogged again. You’d think rich people didn’t have these kinds of issues, but this is my life after all, so of course shit follows wherever I go. At least it’s loyal.
I undress quickly and drape a towel around my naked body, then make my way down the hall. When I reach the spare bathroom, which also happens to be three feet from Easton’s room, I pause to eye his door. A flush slowly works up my neck, and I look away. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t caught off-guard when I saw him at Elijah’s. Parties aren’t his scene anymore.
My pulse skipped when I found him watching me. His gaze traveling over my body like it was his to observe. But then I spotted Whitney slumped against him, and a weight crashed to my stomach. When he picked her up, pools of envy blurred my vision. But that wasn’t the worst part.
No, the worst was that his eyes were no longer on me.
The flush at my neck inches higher. Shaking my head at myself, I grab the bathroom knob and turn it.
“Could’ve stopped at one drink.”
My heart flips like an acrobat doing a circus trick. Hand frozen on the knob, from the corner of my eye, I see him lean lazily against his doorframe. I must have been too caught up in my own head to notice his door open. First, the party, and now, he’s talking to me? Easton Rutherford is full of surprises tonight.
I release the knob and tilt my head innocently. “Now, where would be the fun in that?”
“Is that why you do it? Forfun?” His voice is a soft growl that simmers deep in my stomach.
My ribs are tight. I want to feel that growl against my skin. I want it to be mine.
“Maybe,” I whisper.
Liar, liar, liar.
“Was it worth it?”
I assume he’s referring to the alcohol—I’ve witnessed enough of his mom to understand why he hates it—but the dark, almost threatening rumble in his voice lets me fantasize that picturing me with Marco is what’s setting him off.
I blink slowly, lost in the thick haze of my fantasy. “Yes.”
He says nothing. It feels endless, the heavy current of our breath filling the gap.
The air shifts, and I’m jolted back to reality.
His bedroom door closes. Suddenly, I’m alone again.
The following evening, after slipping my arms through the leather sleeves, I untuck my hair from my jacket and snatch the sealed white envelope off my nightstand. I leave my purse and money behind, save for some change in the back pocket of my jeans.
Easton and Zach are lounging on the couch when I enter the living room, the TV screen pouring soft beams of light over them in the otherwise dark space.
I’m only halfway across the hardwood when a low whistle hits my ears. I know it’s Zach without looking. The day Easton whistles at me will be the day my mother returns for me. I glance sideways at them, and Zach smirks, tipping his baseball cap in acknowledgment. Easton’s leaning against the leather cushions, one ankle resting on his knee, staring straight ahead at the TV. I can only see the left side of his sharp profile, but his eyes are unblinking, and I know he’s not watching the screen at all.
“Where you going so late? We might hit up another party if you wanna come.”
I stop in front of the door and look at Zach. “You’re kidding, right?”
He adjusts his hat, brows furrowing. “Ah, no?”
“Easton always stays in Sunday nights.”
Finally, Easton’s gaze slides to me. He swirls the Coke can in his hand, watching me almost thoughtfully. His undivided focus makes warmth swell in the pit of my stomach. The moment doesn’t last long though, not nearly long enough. Like usual, he’s quick to go back to pretending I don’t exist.
“It’s already Sunday?” Zach rubs his face, pulling my gaze to him, and I realize how tired he looks. Actually, he still looks drunk from last night.
Rolling my eyes, I turn and open the door. “I have to go.”
