Trish turned from Spencer and gave Ash the full force of her glare. “He’sthe asshole.”
“It sounds like you were more than aware of his reputation. You knew what you were getting into. So fuck off before I make you.”
Trish gave Spencer a devastated look that was at least 90 percent acting. “You’re going to let him talk to me like this?”
Spencer gave her a dazed smile, no longer quite so frozen or false. Ryder had crept forward until he was right behind him,and Spencer was clearly giving the other alpha the majority of his weight. It looked like Trish wasn’t the only person who’d had one too many. “It’s Ash,” Spencer said. “There’s no ‘letting.’”
Ash bared his teeth at Trish. “Exactly. So fuck. Off.”
Trish’s gaze darted around to the bystanders, even more of them filming the show now. She huffed and gave a flip of her hair, then whirled away to her pack of beta hangers-on.
Ash looked to the crowd. “Keep filming and I start smashing phones.”
Just like that, everyone was suddenly dancing again.
Ash stepped closer to Spencer. Ryder had an arm around his waist now, and Spencer wasn’t even pretending to stand on his own. “Have you had enough?”
Spencer gave him a sorry pout. “I lost at beer pong. Bishop was vicious tonight.”
“Come on. You’re sleeping at ours.”
Spencer nodded sleepily. Ash and Ryder exchanged a glance, then headed back to the TV room to check if Everett wanted a ride.
Parties were fine, but the night had soured for Ash. This bunch of idiots didn’t deserve Spencer’s enrichment time.
Bunch of assholes, all of them.
Ash scoffedwhen Spencer insisted on riding in the back seat.
“I wanna lay my head down if I wanna,” Spencer argued, the closest to petulant Ash had ever heard him.
For his part, Ash insisted on buckling Spencer in himself, because he didn’t trust the loose-limbed, bleary-eyed asshole to actually do it properly.
Spencer grinned at him in a vaguely lecherous way as Ash leaned inside the car and wrapped his arm around Spencer’s lap, trying to get at the buckle. “Aw, spitfire. You want to put your hands on me?”
Ash scowled at him, shoving the belt into place. “What was in those beer pong cups?”
“Some kind of punch.” Spencer smacked his lips loudly as his head thudded against the back of the seat. “Fruity.”
“Loaded,” Ash countered. Ryder grunted his agreement from the driver’s seat.
With Spencer safely shackled, Ash shut the door and darted around to the passenger’s side, climbing in and buckling himself. Everett had refused their ride, claiming he’d come to the party with another omega who’d take him home. “Let’s go.”
Ryder grunted again, and they were off.
Gym rat that he was, Spencer’s car should have smelled like terrible body spray or obnoxious air fresheners designed to mask the smell of sweat, but it didn’t. It smelled like him, like his spiced-tea scent had been worked into the fabric over time. It was the kind of car that would be classified as a beater by any discerning eye, but it was also clear Spencer took meticulous care of it. Bought cheaply and treated to last.
The car was silent until it wasn’t.
“Everyone hates me,” Spencer whined.
“No one hates you,” Ash told him without looking back. “No one that matters, anyway. And you shouldn’t let people talk to you like that.”
Ash caught Spencer’s half-hearted shrug in the rearview mirror. “Makes ’em feel better.”
“And what about you?”
“’M fine. S’okay if they hate me.”
