“Nah, man. I’m going to pass.”
He gives me a look of understanding and squeezes my shoulder again before getting up and striding over to the tables.
I sink farther into the couch, forcing myself to sip the beer in my cup as I watch. Once my cup is empty, I struggle to get up and walk over to the kitchen for another beer, starting to feel light on my feet from the four I’ve already had.
As I’m about to slip through the entryway of the kitchen, a slender tan arm shoots across it, a well-manicured hand with black nail polish landing on the door frame to block my path. My gaze travels up the arm and over a bare shoulder to meet a pair of familiar wicked green eyes.
“Hi, Bronx,” Adrianna says with a vicious smile.
I sigh. “I’m not in the mood, Ads.”
Her hand stays planted on the door frame, preventing me from entering the kitchen. “Your little blowup in lab the other day was pretty Oscar worthy,” she comments. “Left those nerds at your table stunned.”
My jaw ticks. “Move,” I demand, my voice hard. I debate ducking under her arm to slip by, but I don’t think our height differences—or the alcohol in my system—will allow me to limbo under her arm gracefully.
Adrianna stays put, a grin spreading across her face. “And you thought you had her fooled.”
My blood boils, and before I can have another public blowup—something Adrianna wouldlove—I turn on my heel and shove my way through the crowd to get the hell away from her. I head straight for the backyard, needing some fresh air. I’m not going to stand around and play cat and mouse with her all night. I came to this party to try to relax and forget about everything.
Shoving past numerous sweaty bodies, I finally reach the back door and head outside. The night air is chilly, probably colder than I actually think it is, but the alcohol and the anger coursing through my veins seems to keep me comfortable temperaturewise.
I scan the backyard, finding a handful of people occupying the space. Most of them are smoking, actually having the decency to step outside instead of doing it in the house. A few are standing around drinking, talking and laughing obnoxiously. Then there’s one couple practically getting it on near the bushes lined along the back fence.
With the temperature dropping, I opt to sit near the fire pit crackling in the center of the yard. Daringly, I take a seat on one of the old, dry rotted lawn chairs, praying it holds my weight. It makes a god-awful noise but manages to stay in one piece.
I recline, the chair making another sound that makes me cringe, and watch the flames dance around in the light breeze that’s causing goose bumps to form on my bare arms. I debate trying to find Chase so I can get the keys to the truck to grab my hoodie, but my stomach drops in realization that my hoodie is no longer in his truck. I gave it to Olivia at homecoming.
Has she worn it since that night?I wonder childishly.Or has she tossed it in a fire and watched it burn with satisfaction after I acted like a complete ass?
Because I would.
God I could really use another drink.
Before my mind wanders too far down the Olivia rabbit hole, I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. I pull it out to see a new text message from Adrianna. Stupidly, I open it.
Adrianna:Come find me when you’re done with your hissy fit. The attitude doesn’t suit you
Now I could really use a drink.
Riled up and fuming, I sit up, leaning forward to place my elbows on my thighs as my thumbs tap away at my phone screen. Instead of replying, I go straight to my contacts, Adrianna’s name the third on my list—right after Abbi and Abby. I click on her name, and without thinking twice hit Delete Contact, watching her name disappear from the list, a weird sense of satisfaction and relief running through me.
On some weird high, full of spite and anger, I go down the list, deleting every girl’s name from my phone—including Abbi and Abby. When I get to the Fs my heart drops. My thumb hovers over the nameFinchfor a long time, a weird feeling settling deep inside my chest. I swallow thickly before eventually scrolling past her name. Hers is the only female contact I have in my phone by the time I’m done.
I hear the chair next to me groan in protest under someone’s weight. Turning my head, I catch Ciara reclining, a cloud of smoke swirling around her as she exhales, a joint lazily dangling from her fingers. “You look like you could use this,” she says, extending the joint to me, her voice only half teasing.
I shake my head. “No, thanks.”
Ciara shrugs, taking another hit. “What’s got you down?”
“Nothing.”
“Girl troubles?” she jokes, knowing I don’t date.
I stay silent, avoiding her gaze.
“Wait,” she says in disbelief. “Holy shit, is it a girl?”
I sigh, scrubbing a hand down my face.
