There’s another party at the boathouse on Friday night, and according to Ford, my attendance is mandatory. He’s like my keeper; always telling me where and when I need to show up and herding me through campus when I’m walking to and from classes. He doesn’t give me any instructions for Friday night other than to ‘just be there’, though, so I tag along with Richelle and Lesley again, much to their chagrin.
When we arrive at the boathouse, the two of them are quick to ditch me, evidently not wanting to tarnish their reputations by being seen with a social pariah. The party is already in full swing, sweaty co-eds grinding together on the dance floor and drinking suspicious looking punch out of plastic cups. I make my way to the bar on the back deck and opt for a beer, seeking a little bit of liquid courage but wanting to keep my wits about me so this party doesn’t end like the last.
Most of the girls here are dressed to the nines, flitting around in skimpy dresses and heels, while my own attire makes me look woefully out of place. I’m rocking a pair of black skinny jeans, sneakers, a t-shirt, and a white Corvus College hoodie– which was a total impulse buy from the campus bookstore on my firstday– as if covering up will provide some sort of protection from the predators lurking here. It’s a little chilly out on the deck, though, and while most of the girls are rubbing at their arms for warmth, I don’t regret how cozy I am in my thick sweatshirt.
I post up alongside the railing overlooking the lake, sipping my beer and people watching. I don’t see the Kings anywhere, but I do see Travis, the cute guy from the library. When he spots me, I’m expecting him to turn away and ignore me like everyone else seems to be doing, but to my surprise, he actually beams a smile and heads in my direction.
“Hey Ava,” he greets as he approaches, big brown eyes sparkling. “How’s it going?”
“Good,” I lie. I suppose Icouldbe honest and tell him that I feel like I’m slowly descending into madness from the games the Kings are playing with me, but I’m pretty sure that would send him running in the other direction. The last thing I want to do is alienate the one person at this party who will actually talk to me. “How about you?”
He shrugs a shoulder casually. “Can’t complain. Especially now that I’m talking toyou.”
I feel a blush rise to my cheeks, a bashful smile pulling at my lips. “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”
“Only the pretty ones,” he winks, raising a plastic cup to his lips and taking a sip from it. He swallows, licking the residue from his lips as his gaze drops down my form. “I like the casual look. Most of the chicks around here would be afraid to make a statement like that.”
I arch a brow, resting the rim of my beer bottle against my lower lip. “And what statement do you think I’m making?”
He grins. “That you don’t give a fuck.”
I bark a laugh, shaking my head. “I don’t know about that. It just seemed easier to dress for comfort.”
“Well, whatever the reason, I dig it. I mean, nothing against showing skin, but sometimes it’s sexier to leave things up to the imagination.” He wags his brows suggestively, shifting to stand a little closer. “So, how are your classes going?”
“Good,” I sigh, setting my beer down on the railing beside me. “I’m finally caught up, so that’s a plus.”
Travis’ gaze flickers past me, his grin suddenly faltering. “Uh, I’d better go,” he mumbles, raking a hand through his hair and shuffling backwards uncomfortably. “Nice talking to you, Ava.”
My own smile drops, brow furrowing in confusion. “What?”
Travis doesn’t stick around to answer me. He abruptly turns around and walks off, and when I glance over my shoulder to see what’s got him so spooked, I realize why.
Raf storms across the deck toward me, invading my space in two seconds flat.
“What the hell are you doing?” he grits out, the muscle in his jaw feathering from how tightly it’s clenched.
“Um, talking?” I reply, thoroughly confused by his approach. Pretty sure the guy hasn’t said two words to me since that night on the beach two weeks ago.
He reaches out, curling his fingers around my arm and giving it a sharp yank. “Let’s go.”
I wrench my arm back, managing to free myself from his grip thanks to the baggy material of my sweatshirt. “What the hell is your problem?” I scowl, stumbling back a step. “Now you think you can tell me who I can and can’t talk to?”
Raf’s glare hardens, his jaw ticking. Then he abruptly turns on a heel, stalking away.
For a second, I think I’m in the clear… but then Ford’s suddenly there, shaking his head in disappointment as he approaches me. “Let’s go,” he sighs, ducking down to wrap an arm around my waist and hauling me up over his shoulder with ease.
“What the hell?!” I protest as my world flips upside-down, kicking my legs and pounding my fists against his back. My attempts to fight don’t deter him in the least. He carries me inside like there’s nothing amiss, his arm clamped down around my waist as I continue flailing.
I only stop trying to wriggle free when he starts to ascend the stairs up to the loft out of a sense of self-preservation, not wanting to send myself careening over the railing on the way up. Though honestly, falling to my death right now might be a better fate than what awaits me up there. The last time one of the Kings brought me to the loft, it didn’t end well.
Ford doesn’t take me inside, though– he strides across the balcony and dumps me onto the large black sectional instead. I sweep my hair out of my face with a huff, getting my bearings, only to realize that Raf is sitting just a few feet away.
I whip my head back around the other way to yell at Ford for manhandling me, and that’s when I see Wes seated on the opposite side of the sofa, sandwiched between a pair of girls. They’re all over him, touching and giggling and lifting the hem of his shirt to run their fingers over his washboard abs. An unexpected wave of resentment hits, knocking me even more off-kilter.
Raf clears his throat loudly and I snap my head his way again, finding him pointing at the floor in front of him in command. And, because the possibility of what he might do truly frightens me, I jump up from the couch and scramble over to stand before him like a whipped puppy.
“It seems you’re forgetting who you belong to,” he says, the low, threatening tone of his voice making the little hairs on the back of my neck prickle.
