Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
I snort at her. “As if.”
She rolls her eyes. “We don’t have to be friends, Casey. It’s just a dance.”
Reluctance still lingers inside me, but a glance toward the fire reveals Jazmine and Gray whispering to each other, Jaz practically in his lap. I can’t see myself prying her from him anytime soon. And Oliver is a good dancer…
I slug back nearly half my drink and then plant my hand in Oliver’s waiting palm. He curls it around mine, then draws me and Mila toward the throng of dancers.
CHAPTER 29
LAWSON
“GREEN FOR GIDDY, PURPLE FOR PASS THE FUCK OUT…”
It’s my voice. I think? And someone responds, but it’s like we’re speaking underwater. I can’t make sense of anything. There’s no context.
With a groan, I open my eyes. Swallow my frustration, then a swig of bourbon. I give up. This remembering thing is goddamn hard.
Since my impromptu joyride with Casey, I’ve been trying to do her a solid by revisiting prom night, but it might be time to call it quits. Truth is, I’d ingested so many illegal substances at prom that even if I had a clear memory of that night, it would be impossible to trust its accuracy.
It’s all a drug-induced jumble.
I remember nonsensical phrases that may or may not have been uttered by me.
I remember really shitty music.
I think I got my dick sucked at some point in the shadowy corridor outside the locker rooms, but that seems like faulty recollection on my brain’s part because I also think the person doing the sucking was Silas? Which means it’s bullshit, because one, there’s no way in hell that ever happened, and two, when I do recall the blowjob in question, I remember running my fingers through long hair. Which would definitely rule out Silas and his buzz cut.
The only definitive memories I have, ones that can be verified by third parties, all take place after the excitement started. Searching the halls with Silas for a missing Casey. Sloane’s wild, frantic eyes as she’d grabbed everyone by the collar one by one, demanding to know if we’d seen her sister.
“Hey, wanna shoot some pool?”
Fenn appears in my doorway, looking a little sheepish. Ever since he accused me of trying to defile his girl, he’s been extra nice to me. I guess I appreciate it. I mean, my intentions aren’t always the best, and yeah, I flirted with the girl—I flirt with every girl—but I didn’t make a move on her.
I lift a brow. “There’s a party at Ballard tonight. You’re not going?”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
“Well, I was. Just waiting on Silas to get back. His parents are in town for his sister’s sports thing, so they took him to dinner.”
The sound of Silas’s name brings a dark cloud to Fenn’s face. “Fuck Silas. Asshole set me up.”
I shrug.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t expect you to care.”
Taking another swig of bourbon, I eye him over the rim of my glass. “He’s wanted to bang Sloane for years. Saw an opportunity and took it.”
Fenn snorts. “Of course you’d support that.”
“I don’t care either way. Your dirty little hookup with Sloane would’ve come out regardless, bro. You can’t keep secrets from a girl like Casey. You would’ve had to come clean eventually.”
His jaw tightens.
“Am I wrong?”
“You’re not wrong,” he grudgingly agrees. “But Silas is still a dick for what he did.”
“Speaking of Silas and dicks,” I say, slanting my head. “What are the chances he would ever blow me?”
“Zero,” is the instant response. He stares at me. “Trying to seduce your roommate?”
“No. Just testing a theory,” I say vaguely.
“Whatever. Get off your ass and let’s play until you bounce. I need to get out of my own head for a while.”
So we end up in the lounge, where our game becomes competitive from the get-go, rife with trash talk. Fenn’s a good sport, though. He doesn’t know how to hold a grudge, and that’s a valuable trait people always underappreciate.
“What’s the matter?” he taunts to distract me from realizing he’s only a couple of shots away from winning the game. “Your date get grounded?”
“You know the worst part about you?” I return, sinking the last striped ball in the side pocket off a bank shot. Yeah, there’s no way I’m letting him win. “I’m not allowed to make ‘your mom’ jokes when you say something like that.”
“At least I know you can’t sleep with her.”
“This would be embarrassing if you were trying to let me win.” I casually sink the eight ball that’s teetering on the edge of the pocket to end the game. “What’s our running tally now? Two games to zip? Let’s wager a grand on the next one.”
“How ’bout you just open a tab for me,” Fenn says while he collects the balls to re-rack.
“I like where your head’s at.” It’s my turn to break. I line up the shot and send two solids into opposite pockets. “Where’s Remy tonight?”