Page 28 of Mad Girl

I lifted the whiskey bottle to my lips again, but you snatched it from my hand, your sharp gaze piercing mine. “I can handle you just fine. You’re not winning this time.”

“Watch me,” I said, hopping off the island. Your gaze swept over my body, making my skin prickle all over as I tugged the dress down. “Come on, Willoughby. Let’s dance.”

I grabbed Willoughby’s hand, pulling him behind me as I strutted off. We danced near the sofas as Garland gazed down upon us with disapproval, and it was the first time I’d ever danced with a boy. I loved the possessive feel of Willoughby’s hands on my hips, loved that his leg kept darting between my thighs and hitching my dress up higher, loved the hunger in his brown eyes as they roamed over my curves. We were dancing especially close when I heard a familiar voice at my side.

“Hey,” Michael said, his arms folded across a white button-down. “What’s going on here?”

I sprang back, pushing Willoughby off me. “Shit. He called you over here, didn’t he?”

“Enough,” Michael said, taking my arm. “You need to end this right now.” He dragged me into the kitchen and handed me my phone. “Turn this music off and tell these people to leave.” His gaze dropped to my dress. “Also, what the hell are you wearing?”

I tugged the dress down my thighs, hyperaware of you leaning back against the counter. Your gaze dipped to the dress again, like Michael’s had, burning a hot trail all the way down to the high heels Tinsley had lent to me, too. I shifted next to Michael, self-conscious. “No. They can stay.”

Michael pulled out his phone. “Okay, I’ll text Nic. See what he thinks of this.”

“That’s what she wants,” you said.

“No,” Michael said, eyeing me. “She doesn’t want that.” He typed out a text to my dad, his thumb hovering over the little blue arrow when he was finished.

I shrugged. “Go for it.”

Michael narrowed his gaze. Deleted the text. Slipped the phone back into his pocket. “You’ve been very busy today, haven’t you?”

I folded my arms. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know exactly what I mean,” he said.

While Michael and I stared at each other, you said, “Am I missing something here?”

“She was at my apartment earlier today,” Michael said. “She destroyed some stuff of Sienna’s.”

“Oh, no. That wasn’t me.”

“It was you,” Michael said. “Who else would it be?”

“Maybe you have a stalker or something.”

You glared at me. “She told me she was at school.”

“I was,” I lied. “Michael’s full of shit.”

“She does this,” Michael said. “She goes through my stuff—and then she lies about it.”

“I caught her in my room the other day,” you told him. “Looking at my laptop.”

“I bet she’s looked at more than that. She doesn’t understand boundaries.”

“Yes, I do,” I snapped.

“Oh, I’m sorry. You’re right,” Michael said, bringing his gaze back to mine. “She doesn’t respect boundaries. She thinks she can do whatever the hell she wants. Which is why I cleaned up the mess she made, and Sienna will never know it happened.”

Bristling, I shot him a death glare. Of course he would do something like that.

Michael shoved my own hand at me. “Turn the music off, then tell these kids to leave.”

“I don’t even know most of these people,” I said, marveling at the number of strangers who were gathered around my kitchen island. Kids who definitely didn’t go to my school. Kids with streaks in their hair, facial piercings, ripped fishnet stockings, and platform shoes. They’d drained the bottle of whiskey from Michael’s apartment, along with many others. An empty bottle of vodka lay on its side, clear liquid dripping down the island and splashing onto the floor.

“They’re friends of the boy,” you told Michael.