Wow.
I’m really out of the loop, aren’t I?
Zayd’s busy setting up kegs in the corner, and Creed is nowhere to be seen. So even though I’m most definitely not friends with any of these guys, I seek Tristan out on the deck, his gray eyes the same color as the sky above the lake.
“I owe you an explanation,” he says, his voice as smooth as silk. Just the sound of it makes me shiver. I try really hard not to notice the swell of muscle in his forearms, just a peek at how much strength must be in that tight body of his. He has a nice ass, too, for a psychopath. I mean, he must be one, right, considering the way he acts?
“You really do,” I start, softening slightly. How stupid am I? I forgive too easily, I know that. Dad once told me that when he was super drunk, that I forgave my mom too easily for leaving us. She found her way to greener pastures, but I always tried to keep it in my mind that she tried to take me with her. Tried. And then … dumped me at a rest stop at age three because her newest boyfriend didn’t like kids. My eyes close against the pain, and when I open them, Tristan is staring down at me with that stony expression of his.
“I said if you lasted the first week, I’d tell you about that girl I fucked.” My mouth drops open, but I’m seriously speechless. Every time I think these guys have hit a new low, they plummet even further down my list of respectability. They’ve been so horrible to me, that even if they started farting rainbows, wearing halos, and gifting me the world, I don’t think we could ever truly be friends.
“Believe it or not, I don’t care what you did with that girl or any other.” I cross my arms over my chest and take a step away from his chilly peppermint scent. The wind teases his hair around his cruel face, but there’s not much left of mine to tease. Sadly, I lift my fingers to the back of my neck. No more tumbling brunette waves.
“You were the one that asked,” Tristan continues, turning to face me, like he’s scented a challenge and now can’t bear to let go. His eyes glimmer like flint, hard but ready to spark and start flames. “I assumed you were curious because you wanted to know what I could do for you.”
“Dude, are you talking about your conquests again?” Zayd asks, dragging a keg out to the deck and standing up to wipe some sweat off of his face with his shirt. After a moment, he just shrugs and takes it off completely, flashing all those colorful tattoos of his. When he turns around, I look again, and I’m sure I see it this time: there’s an infinity tattoo on his right hip.
So … Zayd definitely has one. Pretty sure I saw one on Creed. Tristan, too.
What the hell?
“Why don’t you just tell her about the girls you aren’t banging? It’d be a shorter list.” Tristan smirks, but the way he looks at Zayd isn’t pleasant. There’s some rivalry there for sure. Zayd looks between me and him for a moment, and then shakes his head. “Creed’s up to something, and I have a feeling it’s nothing good.” He pauses as Andrew comes out onto the deck.
Right away, I can feel it, a tension between Andrew and Tristan. The latter man’s fists curl tight, knuckles whitening. With the other hand, he sips his drink.
“Marnye?” Andrew asks, blue eyes wide with surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“We invited her,” Tristan says, stone-cold. He looks down at me, and his expression morphs into something savage, but ardent, too. When he leans close and his lips brush my cheek, warmth blooms in my chest. “Try to survive the party, and we’ll see what you’re really made of.” He stalks off into the house, leaving me alone to the wolves.
I swear, everyone’s staring at me.
“You keep saying you don’t drink, but maybe tonight, you should give it a try.” Zayd holds out a red Solo cup, green eyes focused on me. “You might need it. Don’t worry: Creed never tries the same trick twice. No breathalyzers tonight.”
He drops the cup in my hand, and then turns away to focus on his friends.
I pour the liquid out in the bushes next to the deck and steel myself for a long, long night.Luckily, not everyone at the party is a maniacal psycho, and I end up sitting around a table with a bunch of drunk football players, kicking their asses at various boardgames. I’m laughing so hard, my stomach hurts, and for the first time since I got to this school, I almost feel normal again.
