Walking up the steps, I push through the crowd to reach the door. As much as the sweaty bodies and loud noises grate, I can’t stop the fluttering in my stomach. Is this what having actual butterflies feels like?
Easton made a point to tell me he would be here tonight. After we talked, joked,flirted. I don’t know what’s supposed to come next, but at least a party is busy enough to get lost in a crowd, loud enough to be discreet. Not that we have anything to be discreet about ... do we?
I slip out of my jacket, tie it around my waist, and flit my gaze across the packed living room. Seconds. It takes seconds to spot him.
Easton’s leaning against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other, hand in his pocket. Whitney stands beside him, laughing at something Zach said. She looks over her shoulder to scan the room, and that’s when she sees me.
Her eyebrow arches, a challenge dancing behind her eyes.
I stare back.
I’m not here to start shit. I came because it’s a party. And maybe because Easton said he’d be here. Although, now I don’t know what the hell I expect. That we’ll flirt again? That he’ll forget he’s my brother, that he has a girlfriend? Forget who I am? Forget all the nights the dirty, damaged little girl snuck behind his house? What the fuck is wrong with me?
As if Whitney reads my mind, she smiles, turns to Easton, and slides a hand up his chest.
He lets her.
Whirling around, I curl my fingers into my palms.
Maybe our conversation yesterday meant shit. Yesterday, when I laughed, when I freakingblushed. Maybe it all means shit. Embarrassment floods me, and my dinner threatens to climb up my throat. It’s my first party all over again.
Swallowing the bitter sting of rejection, I lazily make my way to the kitchen.
“Hola, guapa,” Marco says from behind the island. “I know exactly what you need.” He mixes a vodka soda for me and slides the red Solo cup across the marble countertop.
“Thanks.” I grab it, bring the cup to my lips, and pretend to take a sip. He smirks and looks behind me to ask for another girl’s order. I wait until I’m in the bathroom to toss the vodka down the drain and replace it with water from the tap. It’s an art form, making it look as if I’m actually drinking.
Slipping out of the restroom, I find Whitney in conversation with Easton. The words are hushed, but something seems ... unstable. Lovers’ spat, maybe? Whitney’s eyes flick to me, pause, then narrow. By her expression, a snarky remark begs to leave her lips, but apparently, nature’s call is stronger. Saying nothing, she walks past me and locks the bathroom door behind her.
Then, I’m face to face with Easton. His gaze drops to the Solo cup in my hand, then slides back to my face. I blink slowly and take a refreshing sip.
After a long, suffocating moment of silence, he nods toward the living room, where another fight has broken out. “You should go,” he says loud enough to be heard over the music. “Only a matter of time before the cops show up.”
“I’m curious, do you have fliers for your babysitting service, or is marketing still in the works?”
He doesn’t appear amused. In fact, a little muscle in his jaw twitches.
“Still in the works then?Okay.” With a roll of my eyes, I push past him, and my shoulder brushes his arm. Electricity sparks and spreads from the contact.
“Eva.” His voice touches my ear, neck, soul. “I’m serious.”
Suppressing a warm shiver, I continue down the hall.
“I’ll call you an Uber, whatever. Just go home. You’re drinking. Do you want to be arrested if the cops show up? It’s not worth it.”
“Worth is in the eye of the beholder,” I call out, my gaze fixed ahead.
Yelling breaks out. Glass hits the wall and shatters, followed by a film-worthy scream. God, it sounds likeFight Clubhas invaded the party.
My thoughts are cut off when a hand curls around my waist and forces me to stop. A shallow breath escapes me. His touch doesn’t spread revulsion like everyone else’s. It burns, scalds,scorchesthrough my T-shirt. His chest is to my back, hot breath on my cheek. “Go home, Eva.”
I steady my voice. “Right, so you and your precious girlfriend can stay, but poor little Eva has to go?”
“Have you ever heard me call youpoororlittle?”
I swallow. Inhale. “No.”
“So, why can’t you just fucking listen to me when I’m trying to keep you safe?”
