“Fuck off, Raff.” The smile vanishes from his face. As I turn to leave, he reaches out again.
“Stella. What happened?” Grabbing his beer from his hand, I move out of his reach and choose to ignore the genuine look of concern he’s giving me. Instead I opt to back away into the crowd with my chin up and my face a stony mask. No matter how hard I work to keep my eyes blank though, I know flickers of pain are dancing through their depths, and if I stare at Raff too long, he’s bound to see them. Refusing to expose any more of myself to the vultures, I spin on my heel and disappear into the crowd of people using Roxy’s living room as an impromptu dance floor.
Chapter Fourteen
Usually, I’m down for a party, especially when it’s one of us throwing it. My mood has been so shitty lately though that I’d love to skip this one, but I can’t. The guys wouldn’t care if I told them I wanted to sit this one out, but they aren’t the reason I’m going. She is. I don’t know if she’ll actually be there, but on the off chance she is, I need to see her, be near her, even if I have to pretend to hate her.
The past couple of days have been challenging for me. After my run-in with Hali in the cafeteria, she’s been particularly loathsome, somehow ending up wherever I am and making her presence known. Always laughing too loudly at stupid shit or rubbing her tits against me when she walks by. I’ve started having the guys show up everywhere ahead of me and texting me if she’s there. I would avoid the cafeteria altogether, but I know it’s the one place I have an excuse to be around Stella, even though I keep my distance.
Moving through the halls, I can always feel when she’s near. It’s like something in me recognizes its equal in her and wants to pull us together. I know I’m making her feel like shit, hell, I’m making me feel like shit, but it’s how it has to be. It’s safer for her this way. Every time my need to apologize to her for being such an ass and to ask if we can start over tries to overwhelm me, I remind myself of my mother’s creepy as fuck threat, and I force myself to keep my distance.
It’s almost ten o’clock when Payne texts me and asks if I’m still planning on driving tonight. Knowing there is no way I’m staying in, I text him back that I’m on my way.
Pulling on dark jeans and a fitted black Henley, I run some product through my hair and spray on some cologne, telling myself I always go to this much trouble when I go out.
Sure you do, fucknuts.
Slipping on the large hammered silver ring that belonged to my grandfather, I jam some cash and my license in my back pocket, grab my keys and phone, and jog down the stairs out to the garage.
One thing I have in common with my father is our love of cars. Five of the bays in our six-car garage are outfitted with hydraulic lifts so we can fit a total of eleven vehicles in here. My ridiculous mother refuses to ride in anything other than her chauffeur-driven limo, so the single is for her. The other ten spots are for my father’s toys and my car.
I push the wall button to open my bay door and slide behind the wheel of my black Aston Martin Vantage AMR, an eighteenth birthday gift from my father, and feel a little of my stress ease as the engine growls to life. Dropping it into gear, I make the short drive to the Emerson estate in silence, enjoying the rumble and purr surrounding me.
“Well, don’t you smell nice, princess?” Payne razzes me as he climbs in.
“You looking to walk to the party, jackass?” I fire back, a little more bitingly than I intended.
“Oh, shut up and drive, Halliday. Don’t fuck up my night because you have a raging case of blue balls.” Laughing, he flicks through my playlist and cranks up ‘Can You Hear Me’ by Korn.
Bro, if you only knew how much more than blue balls it really is.
Roxy’s place is on the other side of our small town. My nerves are making me antsy and my foot heavy on the gas pedal, so the ordinarily fifteen-minute drive takes only eight. Whenever the Heirs throw parties, we always make sure to set aside preferred parking for the others, either to avoid being boxed in or to have a place to leave our cars overnight if we decide to drink. Pulling into my usual spot, Payne stops me before I get out.
“You really have a thing for her, don’t you?” he asks in a voice that lets me know he’s serious.
“Yeah, I do. And fuck if I know what to do about it.”
I love Roxy’s house. It’s smaller than mine, but the melding of stone, glass, and metal has always appealed to me. When I was younger, and my mother would get blind drunk and start smashing shit at home, I would often bike to the Rose’s house, and Roxy and I would watch movies while her mom would stuff us with junk food. This place has always been a haven for me.
Walking in through the front door, we head straight for the kitchen and the kegs. Threading through the crowd, I don’t see the face I’m looking for, and the one I’m actively avoiding plants herself directly in front of me.
“Poe, you came.” Hali looks like she’s ready to hit an L.A. nightclub or a stripper pole. Hair in perfect waves, thick fake eyelashes, eyebrows drawn on, and covered in that weird shimmery highlighter shit certain girls seem to love. And all of it wrapped in a red leather halter dress short enough to require a second hairdo.
Before I can say a word, Raff’s voice pipes up as he and Heller materialize behind me.
“Fuck off, Hali.”
“I wasn’t talking to you, Rafferty.” She snarls at him.
“Don’t care who you were talking to. Sentiment stays the same. Fuck off, Hali.” The way he says it, with his big grin and cheerful voice, is just so Raff. Hali looks at me, seeming to expect me to ask her to stay, and when I just stare back at her with a bored expression, she gets seriously pissed and flounces off.
“You’d better watch it with that one,” Heller warns, finishing off his drink. “I have a feeling she could get pretty fucking nuts, pretty fucking fast.” Payne and I glance at each other, and I sigh.
“You’re not wrong, bro. You are so not wrong. I need a fucking drink.” The four of us finally get to the kegs, and as I dip into the secret stash of bottles Roxy keeps for me when we party here, I notice Raff filling three cups, then Heller filling three more.
“Jesus, Raff, you guys going on a bender tonight?” I ask as I crack open the top on my beer.
“Not that you’d recognize it, but we’re gentlemen, Halliday. Fetching drinks for the womenfolk.” I snap my bottle cap between my fingers, aiming for his head.
“That’s for calling me unrefined, dick.”
“Don’t let Sunday hear you refer to her as womenfolk. She’ll kick your ass.” Payne says with a grin and elbows Heller, jostling his arm.
“Watch it, fucker. If you make me spill her beer, I’ll tell her you called her womenfolk, and she’ll kick your ass twice as hard.”
While I’m listening to my friends’ banter, my brain suddenly registers four extra beers, not the usual three. The uptick in my pulse has me wanting to kick my own ass.
She came.
“Who do you think would win in a fight, Sunday or Payne?” Raff asks as we follow him and Heller back to where the girls are waiting for their drinks.
“Sunday.” All of us, including Payne, answer in unison without hesitation, unable to stop the laughter that follows.
“Alright, alright, what about New Girl or Poe?”
“Shut the fu—” Midway through my thought, the crowd parts, and I have a clear line of sight to the girl in question, and my mouth goes dry as my dick twitches to life.
Sweet fuck, that is the single hottest female I have ever seen.
Standing with the other three, Stella is the only thing I can focus on. She’s magnetic. All of that silky, dark hair twisted up on top of her head, her striking violet-blue eyes lined softly, and wearing curve-hugging black leather pants that look like they were tailor-made for her. She turns to answer a question from Sunday, and that simple move awards me a perfect view of the deep V in her top that exposes most of the pale, creamy skin of her back.
“You okay, brother?
” Payne hangs back beside me, knowing full well what’s got my attention. He claps his hand on my shoulder, and I turn to look at him, letting him see the pain and turmoil written all over my face. He whistles softly. “What are you going to do?”
“The only thing I can.” Carefully arranging a disinterested mask over my features, I join the rest of my friends, Payne following close behind. Sinking into the nearest chair, I survey the room, looking everywhere but at her as I try to drink my beer calmly. The fucked-up thing is I can feel her frustration and hurt at the way I’m ignoring her, and it bothers me. A lot. My friends and I are the kings of Fuck and Chuck. No strings, no seconds, and no apologies. I’ve ignored tons of girls over the years. Hell, I do it to Hali every day, and it doesn’t bother me in the slightest. Seeing Stella upset though twists like a knife in my gut, and knowing I’m the cause of it nearly breaks my resolve.
From the corner of my eye, I watch her abruptly get up from the arm of Sunday’s chair and hear her ask Roxy where the bathroom is. When I see her push her way through the crowd to the stairs leading to the second floor, I finally release the breath I feel like I’ve been holding since we got here.
“Hey, have you guys seen Malibu Ken anywhere?” Sunday asks, looking around the room. “I need to go kick him in the junk.” Choking on my saliva for a minute, I cough to clear my throat.
“Sun, who the hell is Malibu Ken, and why do you need to inflict damage on his junk?” My confusion only increases when I look over at Raff and see him counting down from five on his fingers.
“That’s Stella’s nickname for Bingham Ramsey. He brought her here tonight and made her feel super shitty. I feel the need to return the favor.” Raff counts his last finger just as my fist tightens around the neck of my bottle, and my jaw clenches in anger.
“See, Sun? I told you I knew somebody who would be pissed off.” He just grins at me when I pin him with a glare. Shoving out of my chair hard enough to move it back a few inches on the carpet, I ignore the stares I’m sure my reaction is getting and follow Stella upstairs.
Advancing quietly down the hall to Roxy’s room, I pause in the open doorway and watch Stella caress the hand-carved wooden mantel above the fireplace. Even that simple movement is so fluid, so graceful.
And so damn erotic.
She must not have heard me coming down the hall, or she’d be grabbing the closest thing available to throw at my head.
Even though I know this beautiful, brave, and sinfully sexy girl in front of me can never be mine, something in me craves everything about her. Tonight, I just need to know what it would feel like if things were different. To touch her creamy skin. To hear her sigh my name. To taste her.
You are so fucked, Halliday. So very fucked.
My willpower crumbles under the weight of my need. Crossing the room silently, I step up behind her to curl my arm around her waist, whispering low next to her ear.
The taste of her still on my lips, I stomp my foot harder on the gas pedal as I rip through the gears and push the speedometer up over 100 miles per hour, racing the back roads toward the coast. Northlane’s ‘Bloodline’ raging from the speakers and the wind whipping through the wide-open windows do nothing to ease the lump of guilt and shame sitting in my stomach.
“FUCK!” Pounding the steering wheel, I scream into the wind, devastated by the look on her face that will haunt me until the day I die. The look I caused, with empty, vicious words meant to keep her safe. But she doesn’t know that. All she knows is that she trusted some fuckstick with an intimate part of herself, and he tore her to shreds in front of a live audience.
Nearly losing it on the last turn before the dirt road leading to the hidden beach the guys and I found when we were younger finally forces me to slow down. This small, sheltered section of sand and ocean has been our place to escape to for years.
Pulling into the parking area we created under the trees, I shut off the ignition and climb out, taking the two six-packs I grabbed from Roxy’s fridge with me. The light of the moon is more than enough to show me the path down to the water. I kick my boots off awkwardly as I stumble my way to sit on the sand with my back to the pile of driftwood we use as a makeshift shelter. Twisting the top off a bottle, I finish it in five quick swallows, tossing the empty and opening the next one.
What have I done?
Gulping down the second and third bottles in rapid succession, I set them aside and rest my forehead on my knees, hands tugging at my hair as I replay the gut-wrenching scene on the stairs. I had no intention of leaving her like that, no intention of destroying her. As soon as I started down those stairs, still high on her allowing me to give her that leg-shaking orgasm, Hali’s livid face at the edge of the crowd told me the bitch had an idea of what just happened. The promise of retribution written all over it scared the shit out of me.
Because it looked just like my mother’s face.
And it wasn’t aimed at me.
It was aimed straight at Stella.
So, I did the only thing I could think of; I made sure she’ll hate me, throwing my mother’s words about her mother in her face. Watching her walk away from me almost made me puke, and I thundered down the stairs needing to get the hell out, only to have my escape intercepted by Hali as she followed me outside. When she reached out and touched me, I lost it. Ripping my arm away from her grasp, I looked her straight in the face and called her every filthy expletive that came to mind, before getting in my car and peeling out.
The breeze coming off the dark water is cold, chilling the tears streaking my face and making me curl in on myself even further. Finishing the rest of the beer in my hand, I wonder drunkenly if Stella’s okay and finally pass out on the sand, with dreams of her screaming my name haunting me.
Chapter Fifteen
Finding my way to the backyard without further incident or interruption, I drag a patio chair into a darkened corner to finally sit down and try to digest what happened inside. The emotions Poe keeps fanning in me are volatile and confusing.
How can a person switch gears so fast? How can he kiss me so tenderly one minute, and then publicly and horrifically humiliate me the next?
Unfortunately, my mulling over of recent events doesn’t have a chance to go any further as Malibu Ken steps toward me from the shadows beyond the pool house.
“Hey. Where have you been?” Bingham asks. Still too wired and upset by what happened with Poe, his blunt question tangles in my already over-sensitized nerves.
“Does it matter? I’m here now, aren’t I?” A slow smile spreads across his face at my clipped response, making him look like a creepy wax version of himself with the way the shadows are playing against his features.
“You want some company?” he asks. After another long swallow of the beer I stole from Raff, I set the half-empty cup on the small glass table beside me. I drop my head in my hands and take a deep breath.
“Sure. Whatever.” I mumble through my fingers. His heavy steps move closer to the pool, where he grabs another chair and drags it to my position, the metal feet grating over the stone pool deck. I keep my face buried in my hands a little while longer, not trusting myself to not burst into tears quite yet.
Here in the relative quiet of the Rose’s expansive yard, I can hear my thoughts without the noise of a hundred other voices taking up space. Lifting my head and tilting it all the way back, I stare at the clear night sky and, for the thousandth time, wonder what the fuck I’m doing here in this town, at this party, in these clothes.
Bingham hums quietly beside me, and I take a deep breath, turning to face him. He picks up my red Solo cup and dangles it out to me, almost challenging me to finish it. Glancing down into the pale amber liquid, I have a quick internal battle. Should I stay and try to have some fun, or should I call myself an Uber and go back to Tweedvale to feel sorry for myself?
Screw it. Why shouldn’t I have a little fun after Poe and his bullshit? Might as well live up to my trashy reputation.
“Cheers,”
Bingham says, his eyes hooded in shadows as he taps his cup to mine.” I raise my cup and tip it back, draining most of it in two gulps. The alcohol burns its way down my throat and into my belly, leaving a tingling warmth behind.
Bingham leans back in his chair, and we sit, and he talks. And talks. About football, his car, his plan to take over the world. Okay, that last one probably isn’t entirely accurate, but I feel a little fuzzy around the edges, and I’m not fully listening to him anymore. As his lips continue to flap, his empty eyes watch my every move, and I’m not sure he ever actually blinks. Like a snake. Giggling to myself at the comparison, I slide low enough in the chair to rest my head against the back, and the reflection of the house lights dancing off the swimming pool entrances me.
I don’t know how long I sit like that before I notice Bingham has stopped speaking and is watching me silently.
Waiting.
Waiting? Where did that thought come from?
Giving my head and arms a bit of a shake, I stand a little too quickly and wobble unsteadily.
“Looks like that beer hit you harder than you expected, huh?” Playing the role of Good Samaritan, Bingham puts his beefy arm around my shoulders and pulls me tightly to his side. Too tightly for my liking. But when I try to pull away, I realize my limbs don’t seem to be under my control anymore. Digging his fingers into my upper arm, he steers me toward the path leading around the side of the house.
The bones in my legs are turning to mush. I can’t feel my feet, and somewhere along the path, I lose one of my pretty new shoes. In my foggy brain, I picture Sunday’s face when I tell her I only have one shoe left, and for some reason, the thought makes me laugh, a hollow, faraway sound to my ears. My head lolls on Bingham’s shoulder; it feels thick and seven sizes too large for my tiny straw-like neck to support.
Fragile Things (Folkestone Sins Book 1) Page 11