“I’m sorry.” He says those two words so softly I barely hear them. He says them again, cupping my face with his big hands as he tilts my head back so my blurry gaze meets his, his thumbs gently wiping away my tears. He stares into my eyes, his gaze dropping to my lips, and then his head descends. I stretch up on my tiptoes…
We’re kissing. And the kiss is wild. Hungry. Hot. He pulls me into him and I collide into his chest with a whimper, my lips parting and his tongue sweeping into my mouth. We cling to each other, his hands falling from my face to land on my hips. His fingers curl around the belt loops on the front of my shorts and he yanks me closer, as close as we can get. A mixture of fear and excitement grips me and I struggle against him, tear my mouth away from his, and then he’s kissing my neck, his mouth wet, his teeth nibbling my skin and making me shiver.
“Don’t fight it,” he whispers close to my ear. “Don’t fight me, Livvy.”
He kisses me before I can say anything, and I let him. I get lost in the taste of his lips, the sensation of his hands roaming beneath my shirt and touching my bare skin, his tongue tangling with mine. I’m so angry yet I want him. It’s the craziest, most confusing thing I’ve ever experienced, and I don’t know how to stop it from happening.
So I let it happen.
I let him guide me to the couch.
I let him pull me onto his lap so I’m straddling him.
I let him kiss me so thoroughly I’m left breathless. His mouth breaks away from mine to move down the length of my neck, his hand curved around one breast, my hands in his hair, the both of us panting, our bodies trembling with anger. Passion.
I let him take my shirt off, his fingers skimming over my collarbone, down the valley between my breasts. His attention is fixed on my chest, as if he’s enraptured, and without thought I reach for the tiny clasp on the front of my bra, undoing it with a quick flick of my fingers.
And oh God, I let him touch my bare skin, his fingers shoving away the cups of my bra impatiently, his mouth eager as he kisses me there. Licks me there. Sucks me there…
“Stop.” I shove at his shoulders and he leans back, his eyes glazed as he stares up at me with swollen, damp lips and ruddy cheeks. “Dustin. What are we doing?”
He shakes his head. Swallows hard. Tentatively reaches out to brush the back of his fingers against my left breast. I shiver at the gentle touch, telling myself I can’t do this. I can’t fall into this trap.
“You should go.” My voice is low, my gaze never wavering from his, and he touches the side of my face, his fingers brushing my cheek before he drops his hand.
“Get off me, Liv.”
His voice is steel. Hard. Demanding.
Without a word, I do as he asks, turning away from him so I can fix my bra, snatch my shirt off the couch and slip it back on. I take a shuddery breath and turn to find the living room empty.
He’s already at the door, his broad back to me as he runs a hand through his hair. I watch with held breath as he opens the door, pauses, as if he might turn to face me or say something.
But he does none of that. He slips out of the house, shutting the door behind him quietly, and I fall onto the couch the moment I hear that click, my legs giving out, my heart thundering as I think of his mouth on my skin, the anger I felt toward him.
The pleasure that I let consume me for one delicious, crazy moment.
I slap my hands over my eyes, waiting for the shame to wash over me.
Yet it never comes.
“Want to pre-party?” I ask Amanda as I slide into the passenger seat.
She sends me a confused look. “With what?”
“This.” I pull out a bottle of vanilla-flavored vodka Mom had in her stash. I remember that she didn’t like the taste. She bought it last Christmas. I’d bet money she forgot it was in the back of the pantry.
Amanda’s face brightens. “Sweet.” She reaches for the bottle and takes off the cap, then tips it to her lips. The moment she takes a swallow she grimaces. “This stuff is awful.”
I laugh and take the bottle from her, gulping a few swallows down. She’s right. It’s horribly sweet yet burns like acid as it slides down my throat. I can feel the alcohol working its magic within minutes, though, coursing through my veins, leaving me warm and tingly.
I take another drink. Then another. Not giving a damn that we’re sitting in my driveway at nine o’clock at night. Mom isn’t even home. She left a few minutes ago with Fitch. They were going to the movies like they were a young couple in love or something gross like that.
“Slow down there, cowgirl,” Amanda says, amusement lacing her voice, her arm stretched out toward me as she waggles her fingers. “Don’t polish it all off in one swallow.”
“You said it’s awful,” I point out, giving her the vodka.
“Doesn’t mean I won’t drink it. Beggars can’t be choosers.”
We polish off the bottle within twenty minutes. Well, I mostly polish it off. Amanda takes a few sips, but otherwise she’s trying to be good as our designated driver for the night. She only has to get us to the party, though. Tuttle’s parties are known to go on all night, with lots of people leaving in the morning after they’ve slept off their drunken night. His parents go out of town on a regular basis and somehow they never find out about the big parties he has.
Or if they did know, they never protested.
“I can never remember how to get to his house,” Amanda says as she puts Tuttle’s address in her maps app.
“You’ve been to his house before?”
“Well, yeah. I’ve been to exactly one of his parties.” Her eyes get this faraway look as she stares into the distance. “It was a crazy night.”
“It’s always a crazy night at Tuttle’s,” I joke, though it’s true. The last time I went there Dustin and I had so much fun—
No. I push the thought of Dustin out of my head. Forget him. I’m with Amanda tonight. I need to focus on that.
Off we go to his house, me giggling and desperate to talk about what happened between Dustin and I earlier. But I don’t know if I can trust her with my secrets yet, so I remain quiet. She cranks up the music and is singing along with the radio, her voice actually pretty good and then I’m singing along too, only I sound awful.
“Your talents don’t lie in your voice,” Amanda says not too kindly once the song is over.
I laugh and shove at her shoulder, which makes her hands jerk on the steering wheel, the car swaying. This only makes me laugh harder. “You’re mean.”
“Honest,” she points out. “There’s a difference.”
Maybe she’s what I need in a friend. Someone who’s painfully honest, who will tell me when I’m screwing up and being an idiot. Clearly Em let me fail on a daily basis. Now look at me.
I’m the queen of the idiots. It’s like I can’t control myself when I’m around boys.
Especially Dustin.
It’s weird because I never let boys distract me before. Have my hormones kicked in or what? I’ve been focused throughout high school. Involved in a few clubs, mostly yearbook-related. Was on student council last year, but only as part of the junior prom committee. I didn’t party much, but then again neither did Em, not until near the end of the last school year did she start getting a little crazy.
We all started getting a little crazy.
Leaning forward, I slap the dash of Amanda’s tragically average car, desperate not to think tonight. I need to just enjoy and…feel. “Hurry up. I need a drink.”
Amanda presses on the gas, gunning it, and my body snaps against the seatbelt, jerking my head back. She laughs when I glare at her.
“You told me to hurry,” she points out, and I give her the finger, making her crack up.
I’m not acting like myself. I could blame the booze or my earlier encounter with Dustin but I don’t think that’s why. I feel…freer somehow. Like I can do and say and be whatever I want, whenever I want. I don’t have Dustin and Em holding me back.
I don’t care w
hat anyone thinks.
We arrive at Tuttle’s house in less than twenty minutes, so it’s almost ten o’clock by the time Amanda pulls into the long gravel driveway. He lives out in what we call the country, where the lots are bigger and the houses are grander. Tuttle’s family is loaded. His dad is a big shot corporate lawyer and his mom comes from money, so they live in a freaking mansion.
And by the looks of all the cars parked along the driveway and out in the fields that surround the Tuttle house, it looks like practically the entire senior class is here.
Amanda parks the car out in the field and we make the long trek down the driveway to the house. The night air is warm, a cool breeze washing over us every few minutes, and I spot a few familiar faces as we walk. A small group of guys stand in a circle passing around a joint. A cluster of girls console one who stands in the center, her hands pressed against her face as she cries.
I look away, hoping like crazy I don’t end up like her tonight. I’ve cried enough this week already.
Ryan’s car is parked right in front of the four-car garage, the half-moon shining from the sky above making the BMW’s pristine white paint gleam. I didn’t notice Dustin’s Jeep anywhere, but that doesn’t mean he’s not here.
I have a feeling he is.
And I don’t want to see him.
“Should we just open the door?” Amanda asks as we walk up the steps that lead to the entrance.
I’m guessing she hasn’t been to a lot of house parties. The music playing inside is loud, the throbbing bass seeming to pulse within me. So many people are talking and yelling it’s like a dull roar, where you can’t make out what they’re even saying.
“No one will hear us if we knock,” I say as I grab the handle and push open the door. I stop in the entry as Amanda shuts the massive door behind us, taking it all in.
The living room is huge—and it’s crammed full of people. Some are sitting on the overstuffed white couches. Most are in the middle of the room dancing to the music blasting from invisible speakers, cups clutched in one hand, smiles pasted on their sweaty faces. It’s blistering hot despite the giant fan circling frantically above us.
“Let’s look for something to drink,” Amanda yells close to my ear, and I nod, taking her hand as I lead her through the crowd.
We push our way through the crowd, Amanda and I a united front. I see the curious looks on everyone’s faces as we pass. They’re probably wondering when did we start hanging out, and I have a feeling some of them will ask where Em is.
Or maybe they know. Maybe she’s already here.
My stomach twists at the thought of seeing her.
We make our way to the kitchen, which is three times as huge as my own. The room isn’t as crowded and the air is much cooler. I sag in relief against the shiny black granite countertop as Amanda grabs two bottles of beer from a giant bucket of ice that sits on the floor.
“Tuttle’s so high class he doesn’t even have a keg?” Amanda asks as she twists off the cap of her beer.
I do the same and pitch it into the nearby garbage can that’s already overflowing with trash. “I guess so.”
Amanda brings the beer to her lips, her wide-eyed gaze darting everywhere, taking the kitchen in. “I think I could fit my entire house in here.”
I smirk at her. “Whoever marries Tuttle is going to live the high life.”
She grimaces while I chug half my beer. “Who’d marry Tuttle? Talk about setting yourself up for misery.”
“And here I thought you were madly in love with me.” Tuttle comes up directly behind Amanda, and the look on her face is straight out of a cartoon. All bugged-eyed and gaping mouth and flushed cheeks. She stiffens when he wraps his arm around her neck and pulls her in close, her back pressed against his front. He presses a sloppy kiss to her cheek and she sends me a look. One that says, save me.
I just laugh and shake my head.
“What exactly did you hear?” Amanda asks him cautiously. She looks frozen in place, like she might shatter at any moment, and I’m starting to suspect she might like Tuttle more than she’s letting on.
“Enough to know you think you’d be miserable if you married me.” Tuttle kisses her cheek again, his mouth drawing closer to her lips and she leans away from him. “Aww, what’s wrong, Mandy? You don’t like it when I kiss you?”
“Get off me.” He loosens his hold on her and she turns around, her hands going to his chest to push him away. He goes easily, the smile on his face downright unreadable. I never know what Tuttle’s thinking. It’s like no one does.
His gaze shifts in my direction and he slowly approaches me, his arms open wide as if he expects me to walk into them. So I do, a surprised huff of breath escaping me when he hugs me tight. I return it, careful not to spill my beer before I disengage from his hold.
“Ryan will be glad to see you.” Tuttle’s gaze eats me up yet I can’t look away. “Lookin’ good, Olivia.”
I tell myself not to be excited by the mention of Ryan, but I can’t help it. I’m pitifully excited. “You realize no one calls me Olivia but teachers and my parents,” I point out, finishing off my beer. I set the empty bottle on the counter and Tuttle grabs a fresh one from the bucket of ice.
“And Dustin.” Tuttle smirks, like he knows my secret. “He’s allowed to call you Olivia.”
I say nothing as he twists off the cap on the beer and then hands the bottle to me. His fingers graze mine and I meet his gaze, wondering why he’s bothering with us when he has hundreds of other people to choose from.
He’s barely said ten words to me the past three years of high school. He runs with a different crowd. But he’s eyeing Amanda and me like he’s interested, though he tends to focus more on Amanda. All while she’s doing her very best to ignore him completely.
This is going to be a weird night.
“Tuttle!” A curvy blonde appears out of nowhere, curling her arm through his as she stares up at him with adoration in her eyes. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”
“I’ve been here the entire night, doll.” He leans in and drops a kiss to her over-glossed lips, his hand smoothing over her ass in a blatant possessive gesture. I stare at both of them, at the display they’re putting on, at the obvious way Tuttle’s laying his claim on some girl, like that’s supposed to make us feel…what?
Jealous?
“Who are your—friends?” the blonde asks with a sneer, glaring at Amanda and me.
“She’s Olivia.” Tuttle smiles as he points at me with his beer bottle. “And that’s my future wife, Amanda.”
Amanda’s eyes bug out of her head yet again.
The girl sniffs, her eyes narrowed as she contemplates us. “Huh.”
“Who are you?” Amanda asks.
The blonde’s thin eyebrows rise. “You don’t know who I am?”
“Um, no.” Amanda’s trying to contain her smile, but it’s no use. It breaks free and wow, when the girl smiles? She’s knock-em-dead gorgeous. From the stunned look on Tuttle’s face, I believe he thinks the same. “I’ve gone to school with most everyone in this house since I was five. And I’ve never seen you before in my life.”
The blonde makes an irritated noise and glances up at Tuttle. “Tell them my name, sweetie.”
He makes a face, one that says he’s busted. “Uh…”
She pulls away from him, her glare icy enough to freeze hell. “I give you the best blowjob of your life and you can’t remember my name?”
“Aw, babe, you should know better. I say that to all the girls,” Tuttle drawls as the blonde storms out of the kitchen.
We still never find out her name.
“Do you really say that to all the girls you’ve been with?” Amanda asks when the blonde is gone. “That they just gave you the best blowjob of your life?”
Tuttle shrugs, looking completely at ease. The little argument didn’t faze him one bit. “Yeah, probably. I’ll say pretty much anything when a girl lets me come in her mouth.”
/> “Ew,” Amanda says as I start to laugh.
Big, warm hands land on my hips and I go hot when lips brush against the side of my neck. I could smell him before he touched me and I glance over my shoulder to see Ryan standing there, a satisfied smile on his too-gorgeous face.
“I figured you wouldn’t show up,” he murmurs.
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
He shifts so he’s standing at my side, and I can’t take my eyes off of him. He’s wearing a charcoal gray T-shirt and a pair of jeans that fit him to perfection. His brown hair is artfully mussed, his mouth damp from the beer he just took a drink of, and my heart goes pitter-patter the longer I stare.
“You’ve made my night.” He shifts his attention to Tuttle. “Hogging her already?”
“Keeping her by me since I knew you’d come back for another round.” The boys grin at each other and I wonder what they’re talking about.
Maybe it’s best I don’t know.
“Tuttle slid his hand between my legs,” Amanda announces when I find her hours later.
Yes. Hours later, I finally stumble upon her on the crowded back patio. I lost her somehow and ended up wandering all over Tuttle’s house, both inside and out. Talking with people I don’t know, telling more than a few people no, I didn’t come here with Em and sorry, I have no idea where she’s at. I also drank lots of beer. Did a round of tequila shots with a group of cheerleaders including Lauren Mancini, queen of the student body, who called me over and offered me a glass.
That was a surreal moment.
I spotted Dustin about an hour ago. Chilling outside with his basketball friends and sending me hot looks, all while ignoring Brianne Brown, who’d planted herself right next to him, her arm linked in his.
It was difficult, but I looked away. I’m not going to be lured in by him again. It doesn’t matter how good his hands felt on me earlier. Or how frantic yet delicious his kiss had been. None of that matters, not when I know he—he cheated on me (I have no idea what else to call it) with Em.
I haven’t seen her all night.
But back to the matter at hand. Amanda is watching me, an expectant expression on her face. She looks excited about her revelation. What she expects me to do with her announcement, I’m not sure but I’ll try my best.
Just Friends Page 10