Page 109 of Devious Obsession
Oh, great.
I keep my gaze on the road as Greyson drives us to the hockey house, where the party has clearly already started. He parks on the front lawn and hops out, and the rest of us follow. There are already a million people spread out across the front porch and in the house.
“Fucker,” Steele calls to Knox. “You gave Erik a key, didn’t you?”
Knox grins and jogs past us. “Obviously.”
People are noticing our arrival. Well—I suppose with Greyson’s parking job, it would be unrealistic to assume otherwise. But they cheer and whoop, lifting their cups toward the hockey players.
Steele lurks behind me. Knox, Miles, and Greyson lead the way, accepting congratulatory pats on their shoulders and backs. Within seconds, girls have pressed red cups into their waiting hands.
Like royalty.
I wrinkle my nose.
Someone tries to give Steele a cup. A girl with rather impressive cleavage, her breasts on the verge of bursting out of her neckline. I glare at him over my shoulder. He winks at me and rejects it with a quick shake of his head, saying something to the girl.
Whatever he says makes her face go red.
She disappears back into the crowd. The music is loud, the bass vibrating in my chest. The furniture has been pushed aside in the living room, leaving a space for dancing. Beyond it, the kitchen looks packed with people pouring themselves drinks.
I scan the party, taking note of Greyson in the corner, greeting some football guys. Of Knox already dancing with someone. And Miles shoving his way toward the back door. My curiosity toward the younger Whiteshaw brother is piqued.
Steele steps up beside me, distracting me from my musing. He puts a cup in my hand—where it came from, I don’t know—and takes a sip from his own. He watches me steadily over the rim. It feels like a dare. Or a promise.
I don’t know what it means—but there’s a part of me itching to break free. My heart skips, and I take a sip.
Cold beer slips down my throat. I lower the cup, but Steele puts his finger under the bottom. Tipping it back up. I finish the cup, and he tosses it away. Then wraps his hand around mine and pulls me toward the dance floor.
32
MILES
My mood is black. I’ve retreated to the back deck, overlooking some morons in the yard below who are trying to start a fire. They’ve been at it for too long, building and rebuilding the logs after each failed attempt. Inside, Steele and Aspen are practically having sex on the dance floor. He’s got her right where he wants her, like a spider with a meal caught in its web.
Good for him, right?
Greyson got his girl. Steele is on his way to securing his—if he doesn’t scare her away before that happens. My brother… well, fuck him.
I curl my fingers around the blade of my knife, digging another notch into the railing. It’s being replaced over the summer, and my marks will be gone. So it doesn’t matter that I’m keeping track of how many times I lose my temper. It doesn’t matter that there are more lines in this railing than ever before, because soon, it’ll be like it never existed at all.
Itbeing so many things. My temper, my demons, my lack of control.
My brother and I rarely fight. We hardly ever disagree about the important things—well, one important thing: hockey. The rest we let roll off our backs. I think my parents like it that way. They raised us to be best friends, and it stuck. Except for the past year, when my anger and vitriol has been growing and morphing into some beast I don’t understand. Something directed athim.
“Hey, stranger.”
I glance over my shoulder, already frowning.
Willow closes the sliding glass door behind her and steps up next to me. Her gaze flicks to the knife, the tip still buried in the wood, then up to my face.
“How was the competition?” I force the words out, because I don’t want her questioning me. I don’t want her kindness or friendliness or compassion. So better to keep the attention on her, exactly where it belongs. She deserves the spotlight anyway.
She lifts one shoulder. She’s still dressed in her competition outfit, the tight dark-blue cropped shirt with silver lettering across her chest, the dark-blue shorts. High socks and silver shoes. It’s all ridiculous how much school spirit she’s forced to have.
Good thing blue is her color.
The only thing seemingly undone is her hair, which is pulled into a messy braid that hangs over her shoulder. Strands have fallen out, framing her face.
