“My mom’s.” I touched the jewel, glad I’d worn them.
Laika accepted the punch the attendant handed her. “I didn’t see you guys come in. Where’s Alan?”
“Where else.” I tipped my chin at the group of footballers standing close to the door, chatting. “And Ryan?” I asked, referring to her date who belonged to the chess club when Samantha and Nyla arrived.
“Probably adding more oil to his hair,” Laika grumbled. “Hey Sam, Nyla. I seriously don’t know why my grandmother asked Ryan’s mom to let him take me to the prom.” She rolled her eyes taking a sip of her punch. “OMG, this is so bland. It needs some alcohol.” She wrinkled her nose at the plastic cup.
My brow shot up as I snagged Sam and Nyla’s surprised expressions. “Alcohol? When did you start drinking?”
While Laika was the pastor’s granddaughter only I knew she wasn’t the most innocent among our group of friends.
She shrugged. “I haven’t, but I always wanted to say that.” She giggled on another sip. “So, about the virginity thing? Have you decided?”
I looked at my friends’ expectant faces, saying nothing.
“You have the hottest guy in Rocky Mountain wanting you, Skye, what’s there to think about?” Samantha piped up.
“Sorry, girl but I disagree. That title belongs to Shay,” Laika immediately rebuffed. “Did you see that man after he came back from his latest deployment. I mean I’ll give up my virginity in a heartbeat if he belongs to the other end of the dick.”
I choked on my drink, coughing up a storm while Nyla rubbed my back. My eyes watering, I gaped at Laika. “That’s my brother,” the words came out a little harsher than intended. She only suspected I had a crush on Shay, I never completely confirmed it since it never went anywhere other than seeing him naked.
“You know better than to go there, Laika,” Samantha scolded, side-eyeing me.
Embarrassed, I stared at her red-faced, recalling last year’s incident when I shoved her to the ground for admiring Shay. In my defense, I hadn’t understood my reactions then.
Now as Laika blanched, giving my hand a little squeeze, I felt bad for being a bitch because this time, I understood my unsaintly reactions which had somehow grown more intense in his absence.
I offered an apologetic smile. “When did you see Shay? He just came back as I was leaving.”
“He was at the gas station with Griffin and Ryleigh when Papa and I stopped to get gas,” Laika explained, blissfully unaware of my palpitating heart.
Just the mention of Shay going to see Ryleigh first, set my mind on a tailspin. I wondered why he hadn’t brought her home. Probably because he didn’t want to spoil my big night.
So, I’d definitely imagined his subtle looks. There was nothing there for me to hold onto except my dreams. My heart spasmed. A pain I couldn’t describe, ripped through me, drowning out the sounds of Samantha arguing with Laika about Shay, the blaring music and all the other chatter. My bottom lip began to tremble, and I bit down on it, hating my stupid heart for the path it was choosing.
Swallowing down the emotion, I forced myself to get a grip. I seriously needed a reprieve from this childish infatuation I held for Shay.
And it came.
In the form of Alan. As Sam and Nyla headed for the dancefloor, he returned from his group of friends and held out his hand. “This prom is lame. Tyler is throwing a party at his house. Let’s get out of here.”
“But you haven’t even had your first dance yet,” Laika said to me but leveled Alan with a scowl. Clearly, she didn’t like him, and I couldn’t understand why.
He cocked a brow at her then looked at me, his expression softening. “I’m pretty sure you’d rather spend time with me. We can dance at Tyler’s if you want.”
Laika cast pleading eyes in my direction then searched the dance floor for our friends, for moral support I guessed.
It was now or never. Giving no more thought to my action, I placed my hand in his, ignoring the potent smell of whiskey and weed poisoning the air around him. I needed an escape, and he offered me one.
Only, when we got to Tyler’s house and Alan had shoved a red cup of brownish liquid into my hand ordering me to drink, regret began to swirl in my gut.
“Jesus, Skye, it’s not like you haven’t tasted alcohol before.” He guided my hand holding the cup to my lips.
I gave him a meek smile. “I haven’t.”
“Seriously?” He grinned. “This is going to be fun then. Drink up,” he urged, readying the bottle to pour a refill.
Somewhere, at the back of my mind, I heard Aunt Sarah’s maternal voice warning me to be careful of spiked drinks. Immediately, I lowered the cup. “Do you mind if I use the bathroom first?”
