What a laughingstock. He’s always hiding under her skirt, waiting for her to speak up as if she has the balls, not him. I hate Venetia for what she is, but I’m not blind or stupid enough to miss how Eli has no idea what to do with everything she gives him. It’s ridiculous, and it starts to irritate me. Why does he have the audacity to show up here and demand her when he treats her like shit?
“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Eli,” I say, stepping back and blocking the entrance with my hands on either side. “We have business to discuss. She’s withme.”
Anger flickers across his face, heating his round cheeks a shade of red. I bite the inside of my cheek to stifle a laugh at the sight.
“Hey, don’t be so sad,” I add, lowering my voice to a patronizing tone. “I’m sure she’ll text you later.”
I step back into the house, closing the door in front of his face, a grin pulling at my lips.
This certainly lifted my fucking spirits.
The sun clings to my skin like an irritating, scorching veil, its heat so intense that it feels as if it’s burning right through my SPF. I shift in my chair, my nails clicking against the glass before bringing my margarita to my lips for a short sip—the only way to survive days like this. This city is a paradise of heat and palm trees for others, but a suffocating, sweaty nightmare for me.
Most of the guests have flocked to the other side of the backyard, having fun on the water slides, while I’ve forced Grace to stay with me. She’s all about fun and chatter, but I’m definitely not in the mood for any of it. I’d rather sit quietly, sipping my liquid heaven while watching the wasted adults actlike children, judging them with a silent thought—I could never fucking act like that.
“I don’t understand why you wouldn’t take the chance while you can,” Grace chirps, and I turn my head, my expression questioning. “The water slides! You don’t have those at your place. It’s a chance to recreate some moments from your childhood.”
She makes a valid point, but I didn’t have a childhood filled with fun. My mother made sure of that. I never ate sugar because it would make me fat and cover my face with pimples. I never cut my hair because girls were supposed to have long hair to be pretty. I never wore jeans because they weren’t lady-like.
You get the idea.
And, of course, simply having fun was out of the question. It would make me loud and bubbly, and no one wanted that. I wasn’t allowed to show any emotions, and if I did, I faced the hard cuffs of reprimand on the back of my neck. If my mother saw me enjoying myself on the water slides, I’d be stuck for at least an hour listening to her lecture about how unladylike it was.
“I already told you,” I sigh. “Go ahead if you want. I’m out.”
With her head tilted, Grace lets out a low laugh through her nude-colored lips. “I won’t leave you here alone. If I do, you’ll be gone before I even blink.”
Not immediately, no. But I would leave earlier. My friend thrives on the company of energetic people, while I feel like crawling out of my skin. I’d much rather stay home, watch a terrible reality show, and expend my energy critiquing the directors and whining about the acting.
The moments I get to myself are rare, and I prefer to cherish that time for my own pleasure. Technically, though, I’m not here to have fun today. There are certain occasions when I need to blend in and be with my partners—myfriends. Thankfully, thisso-called party is winding down, and soon I’ll finally be able to head home.
Just as Grace begins to talk again, something suddenly interrupts her. I glance over at her, but she, along with everyone else, is fixated on something off to the side. Curious, I follow their gazes, and when I see who’s approaching, any remnants of my positive mood evaporate.
A familiar disgust rises in my stomach as I watch West angrily wipe his nose, smearing the blood that runs down his face. He’s been in a fight again, probably too high to realize he couldn’t take on his opponent. Nothing new there.
His dark brown curtain bangs, slightly damp and styled chaotically, cast shadows across his face. A loose-fitting blazer hangs on him, and his white shirt has bloodstains on the collar.
Noah, his friend, mumbles a question to him, and then he glances over our way. As his eyes lock onto mine, a shiver darts down my spine, leaving faint goosebumps behind. I appreciate that he’s far enough away not to notice.
He looks downright fucking menacing—6’6” tall, sapphire eyes blazing with anger, and his face is bruised and bloodied, radiating scorching fury. From the moment I met him, it felt like West Reyes thrives on chaos—the danger, the insatiable craving for power, and that never-ending high. He’s not just impulsive; he’s fucking reckless. Nothing seems to stand in his way of getting what he wants, and right now, it’s clear he wants only two things.
Fighting and getting high—that’s his life, and he has an uncanny ability to suck the air out of any space he enters, just like now. There’s a heavy weight in my chest, squeezing my heart and constricting my lungs. My face becomes a canvas, painted with dark shades of negative emotions as I hold his gaze, refusing to back down.
Inside, however, I’m screaming to escape the invisible, suffocating cage he’s built around me.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he looks away, nearly knocking his friend off his feet as he storms into the house. My lungs welcome a rush of intoxicating oxygen, and I lift my glass to my lips, downing the rest of my margarita in one swift gulp.
“God, the way he looks,” Grace whispers, masking her disappointment over how he never gives her the attention she craves. “What do you think happened to him?”
As I exhale, I feel the tremors of my entire being—thefuckingWest Reyes effect. I lean back in my chair, flexing my shoulders. “Got high, drunk, and picked a fight with someone stronger. Nothing new.”
She gives me a skeptical once-over. “Stronger? Name at least one person you know who could take him.”
I open my mouth, but no words come out. After a moment, I say, “There are plenty of men in this town, Grace. Someone could definitely take him down.”
Skepticism radiates from her as she folds her arms across her chest. “What’s going on between you two, anyway?” My eyebrows knit together in confusion, but her lips curl into a sly grin. “Oh, come on. Out of everyone here, he looked atyou.”
The manner in which she speaks about West is always amusing. Saying she has a crush on him feels a bit childish, and it seems deeper than that. We’ve known each other for two years, and during that time, she’s acted strangely around him, turning into a doll with noodles for brains whenever he speaks.
