I shake my head. “That is who you are, Brian. Not just my ex, not my first love, but that. A fucking coward—and that’s being kind. There’s no friendship for you and me. There’s nothing.” I say meaningfully, never blinking, making sure he hears me. “So just leave me the fuck alone.”
I turn away from him, needing some distance, some privacy. I make my way down a hall and through the first door I can find, pleased to find it leads to the basement steps.
I rush through the basement gym and into Reeve’s bedroom. I’ve only been here once before, but it seems the most remote place in this house to hide. At least until I can get my head together.
Fuck Brian. Even if what he said about David is true—and the merciless voice inside me makes sure I know it is—Brian didn’t tell me about it now because he wanted to do the good, honest thing, not anymore than that’s why I told him about the pregnancy, or about the choice that, in the end, I made for nothing. No, I told him those truths to hurt him, just as he did me.
Because if Brian was good and honest, he would have told me about David’s role in our breakup three years ago. But Brian wanted to have his cake and eat it, too. Actually, no—Brian wanted to fuck his cake, store it in the freezer a few years, and then take it out and fuck it again when he was done fucking all the cupcakes and pies and goddamned soufflés he ditched the cake for in the first place.
Well, Brian can go fuck himself.
A door slams overhead, and anger colors my cheeks at the thought that he fucking followed me. But Steven staggers drunkenly down the steps instead, unknowingly making his way toward me.
“Well, hello there,” he slurs as he lights up what is definitely not a cigarette.
“Hi, Steven.”
“You don’t smoke,” he mumbles, and I laugh, confirming that, no, I don’t smoke. I know Reeve is one of the only guys in the house that doesn’t care if people smoke in his room, and I guess David isn’t the only one who takes advantage of that.
“You’re really pretty, do you know that?” Steven says out of nowhere, his words slow and exaggerated. “You know about the Hope Diamond?’
I laugh at his randomness—at his drunkenness. “Like the jewel?” I ask, but vaguely I think I’ve heard him mention it before, though I can’t place the memory.
Steven grins, big and goofy. “Yeah. The diamond.”
“Yeah, well, I got that from the name,” I point out, and Steven’s brows pinch together in confusion. “Hope Diamond,” I nearly have to spell it out for him.
He snorts with recognition—finally—practically guffawing like an ape, and I laugh again at his reaction. He is a ridiculous drunk. Steven takes a pull on his joint, moving closer and gesturing to offer me a hit, and I back farther into the room. “No thanks,” I murmur. I recognized the smell from the rare times it wafted from the distance at a party, or the even rarer times it clung to my brother’s or David’s clothes, but no one has ever smoked pot so brazenly in my presence—and I have certainly never tried it myself. And it’s not even that I wouldn’t necessarily, but I sure as hell wouldn’t do it here, now, for the first time with Steven-freaking-Bogart.
Steven sucks down another huge hit just before he stumbles over his own feet, causing him to exhale hard, blowing that entire monstrous cloud of pot smoke smack into my face. I cough and cough, choking violently, my lungs rejecting their first taste of smoke, my hands coming up to wave it away from my face as fast as possible.
“Sorry, shit.” Steven flaps his hands in front of me as I lean back against the windowsill to try and get my bearings.
I’m still coughing and Steven is still apologizing when I reopen my eyes.
Fuck. Smoking hurts. Why do people do this?
“Sorry. Shit, man,” Steven slurs again, and I’m not sure I can stand another round of his apologies when I wave my hands again, only the smoke is gone, and now it’s Steven I wish I could wave away.
I just wanted to find some place to get away for a few minutes, and to charge my damned phone. Was that really so much to ask?
“March wants to keep you all to himself, you know,” Steven says, yet again, out of nowhere.
Wait, what?
“But I don’t think that’s fair.”
“What?” I gasp out, my voice box hoarse from the smoke-assault.
He looks me up and down. “The Hope Diamond.”
Huh? We’re back on this now?
He takes a step toward me, and I want to take an answering one back, but there’s nowhere to go. “Remember when you danced with me at Hot Box?”
I swallow audibly. I can still taste the smoke in my throat. I know Steven isn’t a bad guy. That he’s David’s friend—his frat brother—and there’s no logical reason to be afraid. But then, me and logic and a little alcohol—we don’t mix well, and I can’t tell my gut feelings from my anxious ones, or read whether Steven is just being a drunk douche bag, or something worse.
I skirt my way along the wall, but Steven follows me, like it’s a game or something. But I’m not particularly comfortable around drunk men—especially one I’ve just remembered I don’t actually know all that well—and my body language couldn’t be more clear. Steven doesn’t heed it, though, which gets my hackles up even more, and I cling desperately to one last hope that this is all a misunderstanding.
