by Eva Ashwood
If anyone had told me at the start of the semester that Declan would become my smoking buddy, I would’ve told them they were crazy.
But he has. And I like it. Way more than I expected to.
And I especially like knowing that Declan’s probably sneaking around behind Gray’s back just to have these simple, stolen moments with me.
18
Mid-terms are coming up next week, so maybe that’s part of why the entire fucking campus seems to have decided to attend the game on Friday night.
Guess I’m not the only one who needs to blow off some steam.
Blue and gold are everywhere—on flags, on shirts, on painted faces—and it makes my skin crawl a little. Call it a natural result to my upbringing, but I’ve always been a bit of an outsider. I’m more comfortable on the outskirts looking in, so being part of a massive demonstration of school spirit makes me feel weird.
“It’s a little cultish, don’t you think?” I mutter to Max as we crowd into the stadium with dozens of other students.
She chuckles, grabbing my elbow to stay connected as we make our way through the throng of people. “Tell that to my dad and all his football buddies.”
I brought a bit of the cash out of my winnings from Gray, and I treat Max and myself to some overpriced concession food before we’re joined by a couple of other people in our first year-class.
I haven’t mingled with the other students as much as Max has, and I hang back, expecting to be generally ignored while they speak to Max.
But Jeff, the guy, and Abigail, the girl, introduce themselves to me—managing somehow not to be awkward about it, considering I’m pretty sure they know exactly who I am and could probably spout off details of my medical records and describe the shape of my tits.
“Is this your first game?” Abigail asks as we shuffle into the stands.
“Yeah.”
I suck at small talk, and I find myself oddly regretful that Declan isn’t here. He’s easy as hell to talk to, because he never acts like he expects it. Any words spoken are spoken because there’s actually something worth saying, and not just to fill the silence.
“Cool.” She grins. “People give Hawthorne shit because we’re such a small school, but we’ve actually got a good team.”
I wonder how much Gray has to do with that, then I remind myself sharply that I don’t care.
We settle into our seats as the game starts, and I glance around at the utter chaos around me. The sheer amount of noise is disorienting. People are yelling, laughing, cheering, and booing.
A little ripple of unease makes my stomach flutter, but I push it away. The dizzy spells and disorientation that hit me from time to time are often brought on by extremes. Extreme loudness or quiet, extreme emotional states, anything that’s just too much.
I should be okay tonight though. I’ve had a few minor incidents where I got lightheaded or faint since the day I arrived on campus, but nothing anywhere near as bad as that first episode.
And Max knows about my shit—the version I told her, not the Cliff’s Notes version everyone knows from seeing my medical records. If she notices me acting weird or if I give her the signal, she’ll get me out of here before I make an ass of myself by collapsing in the bleachers or something.
As I’m talking myself out of worrying, someone passes me a drink, and I look over to see Jeff smiling.
“Got a fake ID from my older brother before I came here,” he says, like he’s the most rebellious rebel that ever lived. “I got us all beers.”
I press my lips together, resisting the urge to tell him I’ve been drinking in bars without an ID since I was fourteen.
We eat and drink as the game plays out on the field below us. I get a nice buzz going from the first beer, and that settles in even nicer when Jeff comes back with another round. Beer isn’t my beverage of choice, but I’m not picky when I’m not buying.
I don’t know shit about football, and only half pay attention to Jeff’s explanations to Abigail about it.
As I’m watching, trying very hard not to let my eyes search out number forty-five on the back of the jersey’s, my gaze snags on someone else.
Elias.
He’s not too far away from where I’m sitting with Max, Jeff, and Abigail. He’s watching the game, but not with the same kind of fervor the rest of the stadium seems to be. With his focus trained on the football field, a slight frown on his face and his hands shoved in his pockets, he stands out like a sore thumb from all the drunken, rowdy spectators around him.
There’s an intensity to the way Elias watches the game. His eyes are analytical, narrowing even as the crowd roars in appreciation. His mouth is the same, setting in a near-judgmental frown that I notice is actually moving, like he’s muttering things to himself as he watches the game.
“Apparently, he used to play.”
I look over at Jeff as he speaks. He’s noticed me watching Elias, and jerks his head in the blond man’s direction, draping an arm around Abigail’s shoulders.
“Oh, really?” I ask, a strange feeling fluttering through my stomach.
I already know that. Declan told me. But that’s all he told me, and even though I know I shouldn’t care, I find myself jumping at the chance to learn more.
Declan said it was Elias’s story to tell, but when the hell would he ever do that? Why would he ever tell me anything?
And I want to know.
Jeff nods. “Yeah. He was good too. Great. On a fast track to the NFL is what I hear.”
“What happened?”
He grimaces. “Fucked up his leg or something. Doesn’t play anymore.”
He doesn’t elaborate more than that, and a second later, Abigail pulls him down for a kiss that draws his attention away from tragic backstories.
I turn away from them, but I can’t stop my gaze from darting toward Elias again. This time I scan his legs, as if I’ll somehow be able to spot the injury Jeff was talking about through the expensive-looking, perfectly worn denim of his jeans.
But of course, I can’t. I’ve never noticed him walking with a limp or anything, so whatever the injury is, it must not be that bad.
Bad enough to keep him from playing, but not bad enough to keep him from walking.
Not visible, but soul-crushing.
I wish like hell I didn’t know how that felt.
We drink enough at the game for me to actually agree to go with Max to an afterparty at one of the player’s mansion—a sure sign that my judgement is severely impaired.
I really meant for the house party at Gray’s place to be my first and last college party.
Oops.
The house we end up at isn’t quite as massive as Gray’s, but it’s close. A heavy, thumping beat rattles the glass in the chandelier as Max and I dance in the middle of a throng of people in what I think might actually be a legit ballroom.
The lights are dimmed, and the mass of sweaty bodies gives the air a musky smell as people writhe and gyrate. Jeff and Abigail disappeared a while ago, probably to find someplace to fuck.
My buzz is wearing off, or maybe I’m drunker than I thought, because as the song ends I stumble a little. The heavy press of bodies all around me is suddenly too much, and I shake my head at Max, gesturing toward the door.
“Hey girl. You alright?” Max catches my arm, tugging me away from the crowd of dancers. We jostle Caitlin and her two besties as we slip past them, and she shoots me a death glare, but I ignore her as we step outside the ballroom.
It feels like there’s a little more air where we stand, just between the crowded, smoke-hazed living room and a whole other wing of the house that’s thumping with music, raucous laughter, and raised voices.
“Yeah just… a little off,” I say.
What I don’t say is that I’ve been off for a while now, but Max is observant, and the look she gives me says all it needs to. Her mouth is set in a little frown, her eyes squint in a way that I’ve come to learn means she’s worried.
“Come on. W
e’ll cut the alcohol with something actually worth drinking,” she jokes, tugging me toward the kitchen.
I don’t argue with her. My head feels like it wants to split open.
“Probably just because I haven’t been sleeping well,” I mutter.
And having insane, fucked up dreams.
I’ve been painting more to try to get everything out of my head, but it doesn’t seem to be helping.
The kitchen is a large open-layout room nearly twice the size of my dorm. It’s almost as packed as the ballroom was, and when we reach it, Max grabs a glass and fills it with ice before topping it off with cold water. The glass is already sweating by the time she hands it over to me, and I’m thankful for the frigid rush of liquid down my throat.
Somehow, it tempers the thunder running through my head.
“Feel better?” Max asks, cocking her head as she looks at me.
“Yeah.” I grin at her. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Hey, ladies.” The voice behind me draws my attention, and I turn to see Cliff making his way toward us.
Max catches my gaze and rolls her eyes slightly. Cliff’s developed a bit of a fascination with me ever since that stunt I pulled at Gray’s party. He’s not the only one, honestly. There were definitely a few guys there that night who took my little strip show as confirmation that all the rumors about how easily I spread my legs are true.
I’ve shut most of that shit down and tuned the rest of it out, but I still get the odd comment or glance sometimes.
“Were you at the game tonight?” Just like he usually does, Cliff ignores Max and focuses on me as he comes to stand in front of us, holding his glass loosely in one hand.
“Yeah,” I say shortly, turning away.
“I’m glad to see you’re starting to socialize more,” he goes on, ignoring my very obvious cues that the conversation is over. “Gray and his boys are dicks, and Colin and Oliver are assholes, but we’re not all like that. I hope you’ll realize that by the time you graduate.”
Colin and Oliver are the two guys who accosted Max in the cafeteria that day. I’ve since learned their names, although I regret taking up valuable brain space on such useless trivia.
“Yeah,” I repeat, looking at Max and jerking my head toward the door.
But Cliff follows us as we leave the kitchen, falling into stride beside me as if we’ve all somehow become a fucking unit.
Jesus.
“So what do you have planned for tonight?” he asks, leaning down to speak conspiratorially into my ear as we step into the large living room.
“What do you mean?”
My voice is blunt as I tilt my head to look at him. I think he’s trying to flirt with me, but he’s fucking bad at it—and he’s clearly not picking up the fact that I’m not interested.
“Well…” He shrugs, grinning at me. The smattering of freckles across his face is set off by a small scar on his right cheek, and I’m annoyed that he’s standing close enough for me to notice that. “After what you did at the last party, it’ll have to be something pretty spectacular. How’re you gonna top that?”
Oh. For fuck’s sake.
“I’m not.” I take another sip of water, letting the cold liquid clear my head a little more. “I’m not a fucking party clown. I don’t do tricks, and I’m not here for your amusement.”
He blinks, looking startled. “I didn’t—” He laughs, shaking his head. “That’s not what I—”
“Hey, Montgomery. Fuck off.”
A new voice from my right makes my eyes widen. My head whips toward Elias as he ambles up beside me, nodding at Max before turning to look at Cliff again.
“It’s not your house, Pierce,” Cliff shoots back, looking annoyed. “You can’t tell me what to do.”
“No.” Elias shrugs. “But I can kick your ass for standing where I don’t want you to.”
Cliff scoffs, looking like he wants to say something else. His gaze darts to me quickly, and he snaps his mouth shut. Then he flips Elias off and stalks back into the kitchen.
Max whistles, turning back to Elias and cocking her head curiously. “So, you guys are really good friends, huh?”
Elias grins at her, his light brown eyes gleaming in the dim light. “Well, Saints and Sinners have never gotten along.”
“Saints?” I ask, looking between the two of them.
“Cliff and his crew,” Max explains, and I roll my eyes. These names are too fucking much for me. I’m about to give Elias shit for it when the volume level in the room suddenly triples.
Several members of the football team have entered, and shouts and cheers rise up as they’re quickly handed drinks. Gray is among them, and I can tell he’s riding high after their win tonight. I don’t know fuck-all about football, but he obviously loves the game. He played hard, and I can practically feel the leftover adrenaline emanating from him.
His blue-green gaze lands on me, and I hate the way my heart jumps a little in my chest. I yank my attention away, turning back to my conversation with Max and Elias.
I don’t honestly know why Elias is talking to us at all, or why he took issue with Cliff hitting on me, but I’m not going to question it right now. Maybe it’s just because of whatever rivalry exists between them—between the Sinners and the Saints.
The party continues on in full swing, and I’ve finished my water and am contemplating another drink when something catches my attention out of the corner of my eye.
Gray is standing in the far corner of the living room, talking to one of the guys from his team. A few other people are gathered around them, including a second-year girl named Isla. As I watch, she steps closer to Gray, trailing a hand down the defined muscles of his back.
My stomach knots, an unpleasant heat building in my veins.
It’s not jealousy. It fucking can’t be.
So why does it feel so much like it is?
Gray’s body tenses a little, and he turns toward her, opening his mouth to speak. As he does, he notices me watching, and unlike when he stepped into the living room, I can’t force myself to look away this time.
His jaw slowly closes, his lips pursing slightly. Our gazes remain locked for a second, and I can’t read the expression on his face. He’s too fucking good at hiding his emotions for me to have a clue what he’s thinking.
But a second later, I don’t have to guess anymore.
His arm loops around Isla’s waist, tugging her a little closer to him. She giggles and steps into him willingly, one hand landing on his chest while the other trails down his muscled arm. His own large hand slides down her lower back, drifting dangerously close to her ass.
And I see red.
My heart is pounding out a heavy, staccato rhythm in my chest, and the heat in my veins has turned into a full-on fire.
Gray drops his head to murmur something in the girl’s ear, and she laughs. But even as a smile splits his face, Gray keeps his gaze focused on me.
He’s doing this for me.
He’s doing it to me.
He’s taking the piece of my heart I never meant to let him have and squeezing it, balling it up in his fist until blood pours through his fingers.
He’s trying to hurt me. To piss me off.
And he’s fucking succeeding.
I don’t think. I just act.
My body moves on instinct, stepping toward Elias and grabbing the front of his shirt with both hands. Max lets out a startled gasp as I pull Elias the last few inches toward me, rising up on my tiptoes to meet him halfway.
I’m drawing from the same playbook I used the day the Sinners invaded my dorm for a “surprise inspection.” But it worked that day, so why the fuck not?
And unlike when I kissed Declan, Elias responds instantaneously. There’s a split second where he jerks in shock, but as soon as he registers what I’m doing, he palms the back of my head and angles his mouth to deepen the kiss.
As if he expected me to do this.
As if he’s been waiting for me to do thi
s.
And as if now that it’s happening, he doesn’t want to waste a single damn second.
He kisses differently than Gray or Declan. It’s reckless and wild, sinful and sexy, his teeth biting at my lip before his tongue slides into my mouth. It’s the kind of kiss that makes you giddy, like an instant shot of dopamine, and I grab on to his thick arms for balance as I give myself over to it.
Gray sees us. I know he does.
I can’t see him with the way my body is angled toward Elias, but I don’t need to. My impromptu hot and heavy make-out session with Elias has drawn stares and whispers as everyone in the living room reacts. But the only gaze I can feel, the one that burns over my skin like scorching, angry fire, is Gray’s.
He’s watching us.
And he’s furious.
That’s what I wanted. I should be gloating gleefully in my head. But as Elias nearly bends me backward with his hungry, demanding kiss, I realize that I don’t care what Gray thinks. He could walk out of this room right now and I wouldn’t stop kissing Elias.
Because I like kissing Elias.
And I’m not doing this for Gray anymore.
I’m doing it for me.
My teeth scrape over Elias’s full bottom lip, nipping at him like he did to me earlier, and he groans, splaying one large hand over my lower back as he licks at the seam of my mouth again.
His groan ends on a laugh, and I can feel his smile against my lips. “Fucking hell, Blue. You’re gonna get me in a shitload of trouble.”
Right back at you, I think, but I don’t say the words.
Instead, I just keep kissing him, drawing this perfect moment out as long as I can.
Because if life has taught me anything, it’s that perfect moments don’t last.
And I already know the fallout from this will be brutal.
19
The fallout is brutal.
But not in the way I expect.
After my very public make-out session with Elias at the football game’s afterparty, I expect Gray to redouble his efforts to drive me out of school, to fuck with my emotional state, and to turn the rest of the students against me.