“I didn’t see anyone with him, baby girl. He’s pouting, probly.”
“Right. You need to find Roman and ask him to drive you home. And to get you a bottle of water.” I ignore the waymy voice catches on his name and run my hands over Beck’s shoulders, smoothing his wrinkled shirt. “You’re wasted.”
He sways slightly before gripping me back, taking my hand and bringing it to his lips. There’s something blatantly sad in his gaze now.
“Do you think I’ve been stalking her?”
I take my hand back and lean a bit closer before moving a finger in front of him. He follows the movement without struggle, even as his body tips a bit. His teeth snap in front of me, aiming for my finger before I yank it out of his reach.
“Who?”
“Quinn. I think I might be.”
“The owner of Blank Page, Quinn?”
He groans, gripping the railing and sidestepping me. “You’re right. It’s not stalking. I don’t even know where she lives.”
“Nuh-uh, I never said that. You better not be acting like a creep, Beck. I like Quinn.”
“Hey! You’re my friend first. She hates me, anyway. There was a sticker on my car,” he slurs, his attention moving behind me. “And now, I don’t think she was flirting with me. I can’t get her to go out with me. She’s stubborn. But . . . I like that.”
“Okay. You need to find Roman. I’m serious. You’re going to fall down the stairs or into the pool and drown if you stay here on your own.”
There’s a pat against my cheek that I don’t feel until he’s already walking past me. My gut twists up with worry, and I reach for his wrist, already having decided to take him to Roman myself. Or preferably anyone else who can take care of him.
The moment I spin around, I realize there’s no need. Roman’s already waiting for him at the front door, summoned by my thoughts, maybe. Suddenly, it’s like I’m the one who’s a twelve-pack deep. I lose my balance just enough that I have tofist the railing to steady myself. He’s somehow speaking to Beck while staring directly at me.
I feel that gaze right in the very centre of me, prodding and tugging. Pleading.
Snapping into motion, I jog up the stairs, needing to get away as fast as possible. My breath is sawing in and out of my chest by the time I reach the landing and push forward, avoiding looking behind me.
Door after door flashes by as I rush down the hall, the music player through the built-in speaker system dulling the further I get. It’s not the first time I’ve cursed how insanely huge this house is and my brother’s dramatics for buying it, but I’ve never truly detested the size until right now.
There’s no need to have a house this big. All of the spare bedrooms, lavish bathrooms that go unused, and the movie theatre that’s played a handful of films in the year since it became his make this a showpiece rather than a home. The latter, we grew up in. All of this? It was a way to show our father how little he needs him and how much he’s achieved on his own.
My gut sours as I reach the shut door that belongs to the king himself. I slam my fist to it five times before pausing for half a second and then doing it again, harder this time.
When there’s no answer that second time, I open the door on my own and storm inside. The scent of marijuana smoke fills the room, making me cough. Blinking through the sudden mist in my eyes, I find the balcony door swinging in the breeze now coming in from the backyard.
I slowly pad through the massive bedroom. It’s one of the few places in this house that actually shows Wes’ personality. From the messy stack of comic books on the nightstand to the same curling Lara Croft poster pressed to the expensive black-and-white checkered wallpaper that he had up in his teenage room, there’s no doubt in my mind who sleeps here at night.
The red-and-white, mushroom-shaped area rug at the end of his bed tickles my toes a beat before I reach the balcony. It reeks like pot now, but I hide my disgust and step outside. Wes is leaning against the railing with the joint held between his fingers, smoke curling from the end into the air.
“Since when do you smoke?”
He flicks the white ashes into the beer can he’s balanced on the railing beside him, still staring out at the city lights. “I don’t.”
“Right. You just enjoy the smell, then?”
“At this current moment? I sure as fuck do, Brielle,” he snips.
I take the hint and drop the topic. Settling beside him, I drape my arms over the railing and look down at the pool, realizing very quickly that if he were here earlier . . .
He snorts a laugh low in his throat before taking a hit. I stare at the slight glow at the tip for a minute before stealing the joint from his loose grip and forcing it to my lips. My first inhale burns like a bitch, making me cough.
Wes plucks the joint from my grip and moves it to his furthest hand, holding it off to the side. “Are you always that bad at it?”
“I’m not bad at anything, Wesley,” I say pointedly. “And no, it’s just been a while.”
