Wrecked (Love Edy Book Three)

by Shewanda Pugh

  The hardest part, it turned out, was keeping her chest in check as Edy two-stepped, sashayed hips, and swung round to change partners, first to Dawn, then to a dark-haired guy with a ‘V’ of eyebrow and polite tip of his head. When Edy stomped his toe with her heel, he grimaced, causing her to attempt an apology at the same moment he hurled her back to Dawn.

  A commotion at the entrance caught Edy’s attention where a swell of gargantuan muscle—two, three guys, maybe more—all attempted to get through the door together. Jostling, shoving and yelling ensued before the D.J. slammed the music to a halt. Some sort of truce must have been reached in the blink of Edy’s lashes as one colossal, dark guy emerged. He dropped to one knee. Then…

  “Is he singing Lou Rawls?” Naomi said, back at Edy’s side.

  “It’s… pageant music,” Dawn said. “Right?”

  Just as Edy gave up on figuring out why the big guy was singing the Miss America theme song, Hassan entered.

  She literally squeaked her surprise, before sprinting like an upperclassman in heels straight for him. Only later would she remember the arm that tried to stop her and missed.

  “Cake!” he said and scooped her up like they hadn’t seen each other in eons.

  “Aww,” came the chorus of males, with one guy placing a hand over his heart.

  Lawrence stumbled in. “I’m not telling you again: don’t put flowers in my hair!”

  Hassan moved as if to help Lawrence, but a hand on his shoulder stayed him.

  “This is rude, Queen. Introduce us to your pretty little friend.” Edy knew this guy, at least: he was the team quarterback Caiden Cash.

  Hassan grimaced, dropped a hand between her shoulder blades and allowed it to drift to the small of her back. “This is Edy.” He stopped short at the open leers and crawling gazes.

  “Edy, huh?” one guy said breathlessly.

  Hassan scowled. “She’s my girlfriend.” As if to emphasize the point, Edy wrapped her arms around one of Hassan’s without thinking. Just then, the music kicked in. “Cake, this is Cash, Freight, Titan, X, Tennessee, and… you know Lawrence.”

  Edy grinned at Lawrence and waved. She supposed that was a smile he returned.

  “Alright, Hassan, we’ll give you a few minutes,” Cash said. “After that, we need you at the bar for a round.”

  Hassan visibly exhaled as Edy pulled him off to the dance floor.

  “That going okay?” she said with a jerk of her head towards his teammates.

  He laced fingers with her and drew her in. “Forget them,” he said, with a lean into her ear. The music had become one obnoxious autotune hit that had grown on both of them. Edy was ready to dance to it.

  “I don’t know this dress,” Hassan said, eyes drinking, swimming in greed, “but man do I like it.” He pulled her in so that his mouth brushed her ear. “I’d like it on the floor, too.” He flicked his tongue into her ear discreetly, causing her to squeal and jerk away, but only a bit as he was still holding her hand. The result was that she wound up looking like an utter fool.

  “Hassan!” Edy cried.

  “You’re getting forgetful, duppar” he said. “I asked a question.”

  “The dress is my roommate’s,” Edy said. “Let’s dance while we can. Something tells me we’re both on borrowed time.”

  Hassan laughed, but it held no humor. “Yeah, I know. Me and Lawrence and a couple of the other freshmen have to treat our teammates to a few rounds. My dad’s gonna shit when he sees the credit card bill.”

  That reminded her of her fellow dancers. Her gaze swept the landscape and landed on a few cold glares: upperclassmen watching without moving. Most of the others were dancing in pairs, though.

  Yeah, Ali would shit for about a dozen reasons if he could take in the totality of their night.

  Edy threw her arms around Hassan’s neck and together they began to sway to the beat. His hands slid in easy, familiar, at her waist, and for a moment only they existed in their world.

  “Let’s find you a dozen of these dresses,” he said. “Seeing one wrap those curves makes me crazy.” He flashed one of his devilish grins and her pulse skittered wildly. Their bodies pressed close, moving tight together, and somewhere in the distance, Edy vaguely registered some sort of techno.

  “I’m in love with you,” he said, breathless in her ear. She closed her eyes to his words and tried to breathe again. God, how did he still have that power over her?

  “I’ve… always been in with love you,” she said up into his ear.

  “Always?” he said, with a trace of confusion.

  They were definitely slow dancing to the wrong music now. Her eyes closed as Edy considered what she’d said. Was that possible? Could she have always loved him, even as a little girl?

  Thinking back, her devotion to him had always been infallible, unshakeable. They were indivisible, as her mom used to say. And when it came time to notice boys, Edy had something of a breakdown on realizing how overwhelmingly attracted she was to him.

  “They’re coming for you,” Hassan said. “Kiss me.”

  Edy’s eyes widened and she instinctively turned. Hassan anticipated and grabbed her chin to guide her to his mouth. When velvet brushed her tongue, she heard them and knew her time with him was up.

  An all-female chant swelled in size, matching the music and growing closer. “Shots! Shots! Shots! Shots!” A hand darted out of the dark and pulled her away.

  “Freshmen don’t get boyfriends!” someone shrilled in a sing-song voice. “Freshmeat thinks it’s prom!” another shouted, while someone actually slapped Edy’s ass. She yelped, then clapped a hand over her mouth.

  Tamela grabbed hold of her wrist and her grip was absolute. Around them, bass-laden trap music thudded as her captain glared with eyes of iron. “You’ll learn how we do things around here, freshman. Quickly.” Not for a second did Edy doubt her.

  Edy’s teammates lined up from dance floor to bar with most girls clustered on the floor. They passed drinks hand to hand, dancer to dancer, like some bucket brigade until they arrived at the huddling mass of whooping girls. Somehow, Edy wound up in the middle. She didn’t think it an accident. Tamela downed the first drink and got a hollering, foot-stomping roar of approval. She shook it off and joined the girls in chanting for more shots until the next drink arrived.

  “Freshman?” Tamela said. “This one’s for you.” She held it out to Edy.

  For a long time, nothing happened. Edy could see the other girl swallow under the strobe lights. What would happen if she didn’t take this drink? What was the worst that would happen if she did? She heard her father’s worries and fears, the thousand academic journals he’d cited to her and Hassan, and for a moment she hesitated. Then she felt a yearning to bond with these girls and be liked. If swallowing one drink could do that, then what was the big deal?

  Edy reached out with both hands, tossed it into her mouth, and felt her cheeks fill like a chipmunk. A pungent aroma filled her mouth and nostrils; she took it down in two hard gulps to be rid of it.

  The girls whooped and crowded in on her.

  Edy danced with her roommate a bit, laughing at an ugly limp and shuffle that her old boyfriend swore would be the next hot dance. When Tamela brought around another shot, Edy hesitated only briefly before drinking it. The crawl down her throat went smoother and she shook it off a tad faster.

  Hassan showed up right after she’d been handed the third shot.

  “Can we talk really quick?” he said and looked over his shoulder.

  Edy stepped away with him. “I’m gonna get flayed for this,” she said.

  “Me too.” Again, he looked around. “What’s with the shots? Maybe you should ride back with me?”

  She squeezed his hand and hoped it alleviated that black, heavy look. “I’m okay. I promise that if I start feeling sick I’ll call or text you.”

  He studied her, opened his mouth, then buried whatever he’d been about to say with a bite of his lip. “Fine.” He swept h
er into the tightest embrace. “As long as you remember your promise and stay safe.”

  Chapter Nine

  Wyatt couldn’t see past his own arm because of the horde crushed into his apartment. Beer splashed on furniture and people shouted over cranked-high hip-hop as weed smoke like fog threatened to choke him. Shots flew. A six-way bong funneled beer into waiting mouths. He had no idea where Lottie was, had only seen glimpses of her fleeting form in a fluttering, ruffled skirt that barely covered her hindquarters and a sheer top revealing a close to concave stomach. When she did scurry to him again and again as the night wore on, she held his hand and introduced him to people she’d met, smiling profusely and acknowledging that it was Wyatt’s party and Wyatt’s beer and Wyatt’s weed (which he hadn’t known about). This got him a handshake or fist bump of acknowledgment that always felt unexpected. Some of the girls that he met even lingered in their looks at him. One bit her lip and smiled. Each time his stomach warmed in a chaotic bramble of nerves that let him know something was happening to him.

  He ordered ten boxes of pizza and got cornered by a guy who wanted to talk nothing but local brewed beer. His dad had a brewery in the city. Would Wyatt be interested in buying a few kegs for his next party? Yeah, sure. They exchanged numbers and made plans for Wyatt to check out the microbrewery.

  Then two girls started making out. Hard and heavy, right there on Wyatt’s couch. The brewery guy, whose name was Solomon, started nudging him, repeatedly and hard enough to bruise the ribs. Cheers erupted from a sweat-laced crowd. One guy leapt up on the coffee table and began cheering them on, giving them instructions, that, unbelievably, they followed. When the tops came off Wyatt forgot how to blink. When the bras followed, he managed a few hard swallows, as his hands opened and closed in tight fists. He’d never seen breasts before, in person, that is. He’d never seen two women making out open-mouthed. He felt his manhood respond like a thump and he turned away from them, desperate for control.

  “God, to be in that sandwich,” Solomon said. “Two years and my last girlfriend never kissed me like that.”

  Wyatt wondered if Edy kissed Hassan like that, open-mouthed and ravenous, starving for more and taking it no matter the consequences. He bet she did.

  Lottie appeared before Wyatt. “There’s a girl that wants to meet you.”

  Between the two on the couch and his thoughts of Edy, Wyatt was in no condition to meet girls. He shook his head. “Maybe some other time.”

  Lottie pursed her lips in disapproval and grabbed him by the wrists, tugging Wyatt before he knew what was happening.

  “Lot, stop—”

  She whirled on him in a rare show of impatience. “Look, I know she’s not Edy, but there’s more than one way to pass the time without her. Maybe you could learn how to make yourself a better option in the meantime.”

  There were so many ways to take that.

  It was a short distance from here to there, from where he stood to where this person was.

  “Wyatt, Kennedy. Kennedy, Wyatt.” Lottie made herself scarce.

  Kennedy brushed back brilliantly copper hair. “Hi, Wyatt. I saw you over there and, uh…” Briefly, she looked unsure of herself. “Want to dance?”

  Wyatt stared. It was the last question he expected, even at his own party. His mouth flapped. His tongue lolled. Fabulously, he embarrassed himself.

  “It’s okay if you don’t,” Kennedy said.

  He could feel her withdrawing and nearly reached for her. At the same time, a wild shout went up from the crowd. Wyatt didn’t dare look behind him, at the girls.

  “I’m not much of a dancer,” he admitted. He would have made an attempt for Edy, but for this girl… she wasn’t worth the laughter he’d earn.

  She lifted a slender shoulder. “That’s cool.” Kennedy took a shot of dark liquid and grinned. “Shit. You’ve got the good stuff.”

  Now, it was Wyatt’s turn to shrug. He’d only provided the money and given Lottie free rein. He didn’t even know how she bought the alcohol when she wasn’t old enough.

  “We could talk,” Kennedy said gently.

  Wyatt hesitated. The friendliness all felt so alien that he had to bury his innate defense mechanism. Did she know he was Wyatt Green? Did she know what he’d been accused of? If she knew Roland Green, she’d be curling a lip in mockery.

  “Talk about what?” was what Wyatt said.

  Kennedy looked around, as if she’d uncover a topic. She wasn’t an unattractive girl, with skin the color of savannah gold and a burst of frenetic freckles across the nose. He liked her hair, though, which was wild and so much like Edy’s, tumbling on and on, though not the same shade of midnight. This girl had heavy-lidded almond eyes and the ripe sort of mouth guys went on about.

  She stepped close, so close that he felt the roundness of her breasts as she jammed her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “Maybe you do want to dance, after all.”

  Wyatt rolled his eyes. “I’m not trying to dislocate anything tonight.”

  She smiled grandly. “That accent is absolutely adorable.”

  He smiled a little at her, shyly because he didn’t want her to see his dental work—or lack thereof. Both the race of his pulse and the sweat on his brow were problems, too. “Yours is cute, too.”

  This was the closest anyone had ever come to flirting with him, and it meant nothing, of course. Her, in his room, meant nothing, of course. He wasn’t crazy enough to think anyone wanted him that way.

  “Wanna make out?” Kennedy said.

  Wyatt choked, most likely on his own tongue. “I—I—” His stomach ground down and his fists balled tight. He gave her a closer look. Was she serious?

  She watched him intently, hazel eyes following his minute movements.

  Maybe. Maybe not.

  “You—you wouldn’t want to,” he said, almost to himself. “I’ve never kissed before.” He wasn’t even sure if he’d actually said that part.

  “You’re kidding.” Her eyes crinkled at the corners. Yep. He’d said it.

  Wyatt took a step back and hit the wall, as his fingers toyed with the button of his shirt. He’d had a bit of beer, but not much. After all, Roland Green was his father. He wasn’t interested in pissing on the furniture.

  “You’re not kidding,” Kennedy said. “You’ve never kissed before.”

  For some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to look away from those eyes, doubtful though they were. He shook his head and tasted his beer, before remembering that he didn’t really like it.

  Kennedy licked her lips and his gaze flickered down to them. They were lush and full, wet from the licking, and he thought of those girls on his couch, of the guys cheering them on, and of how he wished this was Edy with him right now.

  But did this girl really want to make out with him?

  “Well, can we?” Kennedy said. She leaned in, looking naughty as a kid tearing into presents on Christmas Eve. “I’ll be your first.”

  At the moment she said, ‘I’ll be your first,’ a distinct moan rung from the couch. Wyatt gasped in surprise, lips parting, as every part of him flashed alive.

  He was thinking of another type of first, of course, one that he and Edy could no longer share. She’d given herself to Hassan and taken his word that he—the star athlete—had been a virgin.

  Yeah, right.

  It was all wrong. There were rumors of Hassan and any number of girls back at South End, including Sandra. Why couldn’t he have settled for them and left Edy to Wyatt? It was an old complaint, yes, but one that still irked him, even as this plain girl offered her mouth up to him. Wyatt took another drink of beer, felt the earlier bit slosh in his stomach, then shut his eyes.

  “Yes,” Wyatt said.

  The first touch of lips to lips was far more gentle than he would have anticipated. It stirred something deep and primal and left him flexing, reaching so that he ended up hand-in-hand with Kennedy. He pressed, warming to the heat and friction of the kiss, thrilling at the dip of her to
ngue in his mouth and the collide of curves against him.

  They broke, smiled a little, then began again. Wyatt found sureness in his footing, and grounded himself in bits of reality. Yes, he was kissing a girl. They both had beer and cigarettes on their breath, and God, the slopes of her body were like sweet teases against him. She had to feel the beat of his heart, like a knock on the chest, or his hardness, straining in its own silent plea. But it was her that left a whimper in his mouth as her arms wrapped his neck. He was back against the wall when she rocked her hips hard against his, earning a hiss from Wyatt.

  He squeezed her breast through the shirt and no one said or did anything to protest. As a matter of fact, she moaned. Kennedy’s kiss was raw and open now, leaving Wyatt to hold on as they grinded together, music thumping in his ear, his own gasps the loudest sound in existence. He worked a hand under Kennedy’s polo and shoved up her bra. His thumb found her nipple and caressed. She laughed breathlessly in his ear.

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Kennedy said between the unschooled nips Wyatt had taken of her mouth. His hands had begun a free roam once he realized he could do what he wanted, and both now were under her shirt and working hard.

  He didn’t know the right moment to take things further with her. Touching the other girl, kissing and squeezing her like this all felt so outrageously thrilling, but Edy was his heart and there could be no forgetting it.

  What would he do if she walked in right now?

  Wyatt pulled away, horrified at the thought, only to hear a shout for Kennedy at the exact same time.

  “Kennedy, what the hell are you doing?” A girl with the same spray of freckles and sensuous mouth snatched Kennedy back as if it were a rescue. She turned to Wyatt with an upturned nose of disgust, before pulling Kennedy even further away. Two other girls, both with mounds of straight hair and wide hips, stood behind as additional backup for the rescue effort.

  Wyatt inhaled, waiting for the fallout, the accusations, the fleeing from town.

  But Kennedy snatched away from them. “Jesus Christ, Merissa, at least let me get his number.”