“I’m not in the market for many friends,” I tell him.
“I figured. Should we find your boyfriend? Make sure he doesn’t puke on anyone.”
“He rarely pukes.”
“That’s good. Does he ditch you a lot at parties?”
“He didn’t ditch me. I left him in the kitchen.”
He holds up his hands, coming in peace. Then I lead the way, and when we reach the glass cabinet, a guy in nothing but a white button-down and socks realigns the bottles with an irritated scowl.
Uh-oh.
“What happened?” Connor asks, though I’m sure he’s deduced the obvious.
Tom Cruise fromRisky Businesstakes out a skeleton key. “I found some asshole drinking my uncle’s liquor. Shit costs more than a car.”Uncle.He must be Thomas Jefferson’s cousin.
“Did you kick him out?” Connor keeps calm while my pulse spikes. What if they pulled Lo outside to beat him up or humiliate him…or worse?
“Nah, my brothers wanted to get his name first. They’re all out back.” Tom Cruise holds up a bottle with residual amber liquid. “He’s surprisingly coherent. I would be knocked out if I drank as much as this kid.”
I don’t wait for anything else. I dart for the backdoor, praying that Lo keeps his lips sealed. He has a way of saying the exact wrong things to instigate a fight. Most of the time, he does it on purpose.
I shouldn’t have insisted on attending a party. When I noticed the shift in his mood, I should have offered to go back home. He didn’t want to be here.
My boots sink into wet grass, and I pass the pool that glows a deep orange. Half-naked girls bob in and out of the water. Lo isn’t among the crowds that group off into small clusters with drinks nestled firmly in their hands.
Connor touches my shoulder and nods towards the side of the house. “Over here.” Has he already seen him? Or does he know where they interrogate unruly guests? I push back spider webs and black streamers, walking closer to the east side of the mansion.
People are sparse here, and the night sky whistles while yelling overlaps the soft hum of music.
“For the hundredth fucking time, the cabinet was open! Maybe you should check your locks before you throw a party.” Lo. We found him, but his inciting words only bring fear to my heart.
“We don’t give a shit about your excuses!”
Another guy adds, “Who the hell are you and what bastard invited you here?”
“That bastard would be me,” Connor says as we come into view.
A rock lodges in my throat. Lo stands cornered against the stone siding of the house. Four guys dressed in dark-green, long sleeve Under Armour shirts and light green surfer tanks, carry indignant scowls—as well as hard shells on their backs, dressed as Ninja Turtles.
Even in orange-lit light, I make out the red plume burgeoning on Lo’s cheek.
Someone hit him.
I run towards Lo, all sensibility flying out of my brain.
One of Thomas Jefferson’s Ninja Turtle cousins grabs me around the waist before I reach my boyfriend.
“Hey!” Lo and Connor yell in unison.
“Why the hell would you bring this trash to our uncle’s house?” The purple-bandana Donatello asks as I struggle to break from his grip. I kick out, my legs flailing in the air, but he holds tightly as if I’m a sack of bones.
Connor steps forward. “What are you, back alley thugs? Let her go, Matt. Then we can talk.”
The few other clusters of people in the yard begin to watch. Through my struggle, I spot a Tinker Bell, a Peter Pan, a green-clad superhero and Dobby, the house elf. The green-clad superhero edges forward, and just when I think he’s coming to my rescue, Matt releases his hold on me, and I finish the distance to Lo.
He quickly places two hands on my cheeks, inspecting the length of my body with his gaze.
