Sweet (True Believers #2)(44)
Author: Erin McCarthy

“True. Okay. What time?”

“Ten at the earliest.”

Riley stood up. “Can I shower before we go?”

“Sure.” Even though I really just wanted to crawl into bed at my apartment and feel bitter.

When he passed me he reached out and squeezed both of my br**sts. “Mm. Bacon.”

Yeah, that didn’t improve my mood.

I turned and Tyler was watching me, and he gave a short laugh. “Don’t look at me, seriously. I don’t think I’m allowed to talk to you about, you know.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the bathroom Riley had retreated into.

Glaring at him, I said, “You’re supposed to be my friend.”

“Okay, all I’m going to say is this—now you know what it’s like to date you.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Just think about it.” Tyler got up and grabbed his pack of cigarettes. “I’m going outside to smoke, and frankly, I don’t want to be alone with you. I don’t think Riley and I bloodying each other is going to look good in our custody case.”

I followed him, because I didn’t want to sit in the hot house by myself. As Tyler blackened his lungs, and Easton and Jayden played some undetermined game involving a tennis ball and a sad piñata that looked like they had found it in the trash, I sat at the picnic table and reflected on Tyler’s words.

Apparently he thought Riley and I were similar personalities.

I could see that. Snarky. Emotionally closed off.

But it didn’t explain why Riley was giving me the brush-off. He hadn’t even tried to touch anything on me that was within twelve inches of the erogenous zone. Well, unless you count smacking my ass in triumph or tweaking my bacon boobs. Funny how the one thing I’d always been confident about with other guys was the thing I had no handle on with Riley.

The tennis ball bounced off the garage and nailed me on the side of the head.

Fuck me, that hurt. My eyes teared up.

Easton looked horrified and like I might beat him. “Sorry, sorry, sorry!”

“It’s okay. Shit happens.” Which probably wasn’t appropriate to say to an eleven-year-old. I turned to Tyler. “Got any beer? I think I need one.”

***

Cracking open a beer at four was how I ended up drunk by the time I even arrived at the Shit Shack, tottering in my heels. Holding onto Robin for support, already regretting my shoes, I shoved open the screen door and scanned the crowd, alcohol buzz ringing in my ears.

After Riley had dropped me off, Robin had come over with a bottle of vodka and cranberry juice, and it seemed the beer had broken the seal and it was a fabulous idea to start drinking. We had killed half the bottle while getting ready and eating a twelve-pack of Reese’s Cups. Considering I hadn’t really eaten all day, it was a miracle I didn’t blind myself with my mascara or electrocute myself with the hair dryer, because I was drunkity-drunk.

Alcohol—worst coping mechanism ever.

But at least I looked good. Or I thought I looked good puckering up in front of my mirror, fluffing my hair and adjusting the cle**age on my strapless red jersey shirt. I had on tiny denim shorts and sky-high wedge sandals in a red and hot pink stripe. For some reason I felt compelled to put on seventy-two bracelets and carelessly discarded my cross necklace on the dresser. I wasn’t in the mood for Jesus.

I was in the mood for dancing. For laughing. For flirting.

Maybe Riley didn’t think that I was hot, but other guys did. It wasn’t going to hurt to look good and have a little appreciation tossed my way.

“OMG, it’s crowded here,” Robin said, her huge earrings shaking as she scanned the room for the action.

“Good.” It had taken twenty minutes to walk from my apartment to the house, since Robin was in no shape to be driving. You would have thought my buzz would have slowed since I hadn’t been able to drink since we’d left, but if anything I felt more drunk than I had when we started walking.

“Jessica!” A big, brawny guy called out, holding up his arms. “Give me some love.”

Aaron was a guy from my Dead Sea Scrolls class last semester. Like me, he was also getting a secondary degree in Religious Studies. Like me, he was also drunk.

“What’s up?” I asked, giving him the hug he was requesting.

“Want a drink?” He gestured to the toilet in the corner that had a pony keg resting on it.

The Shit Shack had gotten its name from the many toilets and plumbing fixtures left over from its former life as a shop. Now it was a dumpy college rental where a revolving door of frat guys lived, and it was notorious for killer parties.

“Sure,” I said, because my mouth was hot and dry. “This is my friend Robin.”

“Stellar.” Aaron held up his hand to Robin for a high five. She giggled and gave him one, her tiny palm swallowed by his massive one. He gave her a look of pure sexual interest and entwined his fingers around hers so they were holding hands.

She let him.

Fabulous. I was not jealous of my friend, but what was with the Robin Effect lately?

Ten minutes later, I actually was jealous. Robin and Aaron were making out and I was trying to shove myself down the narrow hallway to the back door, wanting some fresh air. My beer sloshed over the rim of my cup as someone jostled me. “Hey!”

“Sorry.” Though the guy didn’t even look remotely sorry.

I clung to the wall and checked my phone, almost dropping it. No text from Riley. That just further spurred my desire to have a good time. Fuck him. These were my classmates, and we were having fun. When a guy I vaguely knew from previous parties pulled me out into the yard where everyone was dancing, I let him. He tried to bootygrind and I laughed, pushing him away, keeping an arm’s length between us.

So he changed tactics, doing some kind of swing dancing thing, flinging me around and around in circles so that I was breathless and laughing hard.

“Dancing with the Sig Eps!” he yelled in a frat battle cry, lifting me up at the waist and spinning me around.

“Shit!” I cried out when he lost his balance and we started to slice through the crowd, beers sloshing and bodies scattering. He ended up on his ass, and I landed with a knee in his gut.

But it didn’t really hurt because I was trashed. Even seeing the other knee that had hit the hard-packed dirt now covered in blood and grass clippings, I didn’t really feel any pain. I just laughed and offered my hand to help him up off the ground. But when he stood, his own laughter died out and he shifted in front of me in a protective gesture. I glanced around his body to see why his tone had shifted and I realized that in the middle of a crowd of colorful tops on the girls and polo shirts and cargo shorts on the guys, Riley and Tyler were standing there in black T-shirts and jeans. They looked like a metal band had been dropped onto a college campus for a free concert. Riley’s shirt featured Ozzy Osbourne in his infamous bat-biting shot, and Tyler had a lock on a chain around his neck above his Metallica shirt. Neither looked like they belonged. Neither looked happy.