Page 54 of The Striker
With our fingers laced, Wyatt climbs the front steps of the house with me close at his side. Instinctively, I tuck myself closer to him. “Please don’t be here,” I whisper under my breath. Please.
I don’t miss the curious looks from some of the partygoers. There are a few faces I recognize and plenty of people who seem to recognize me. As we step inside, the noise grows louder, but Wyatt doesn’t hesitate as he weaves through the crowd, effectively dragging me along with him.
He heads to the kitchen, saying hello to the occasional person here and there. Adriana said he wasn’t in any of the fraternities, so why do so many people here know him? Is this his crowd? His usual scene?
“Wyatt!” a voice shouts, and Wyatt drops my hand to wave.
“Hey, man.”
“You made it! I didn’t think you’d show.” The guy approaches. Tall. Wide. Corded with muscle. He has a lopsided smile on his face as he nears, but that can easily change. He holds his hand out and Wyatt takes it, the two pulling one another into one of those guy handshake hug things.
“Sorry to disappoint,” Wyatt says. “I was on a date when Spence called, whining about needing his books.” He lifts the book bag off his shoulder.
“A date?—?”
His gaze finally flicks toward, me and the newcomer eyes me with open curiosity.
“I’m Terrance,” he offers.
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. With a quizzical look, he turns to Wyatt as if to askwhat’s wrong with her?But Wyatt brushes the silent question off. That’s good. I don’t think I can talk right now. It’s hard enough just to breathe.
“This is Cecilia,” he tells him.
I’m in the Zeta Pi house. Austin’s house. Is he here? Of course he is. Austin never misses a party, let alone one his own frat throws. I scan the room, looking for any signs of the boy who’s been hell-bent on tormenting me, but I don’t catch sight of him.
Okay, good. If we can do what Wyatt said, just get in and out, it’ll be okay.
I can do this.
I can be here for a few minutes. Not see Austin. Not talk to people. Leave.
I suck in a breath. Then another.
I’m fine.
Is it hot in here? I tug on the neckline of my dress.
“Have you seen Spencer?” Wyatt asks his friend. “I can’t stay long?—“
“Yeah. He’s upstairs in his room trying to study.”
“With all this racket?” Wyatt asks.
I focus on their conversation, using it to block out the noise and intrusive thoughts swirling around inside my head. I’ve got this. Deep breath.
Terrance shrugs. “You know how he is. Kid’s allergic to social activity.”
Can’t say that I blame the guy. I’m pretty allergic to people right about now, too.
Wyatt chuckles. “Cool.” He jerks his chin toward the staircase and steps that way. “We’ll head up and drop this off.”
Wait. Up?
Wyatt reaches for me, and on instinct, I step back.
Brows furrowed, he gives me a bewildered look.
“I’ll uh ... I’m going to wait down here.” Yep. That’s what I’m going to do. I’ll stay right where I am. Wyatt can go drop off the bag and then we can get the hell out of here.
