Oblivion (Alphaholes #4)

3. Sammy

3

SAMMY

Three Months Later

M oving into Collinswood House with Starling, Sebastian, Clay, Hunter, and Evan has been an adjustment. The room I was assigned by the college is in Alistern House, with the Attingham triplets, Amie, Amelia, and Anastacia, and their boyfriends Tim, Nicholas, and Chris.

Until two days ago, I lived with three couples, and that wouldn’t have been a problem, except the six of them are complete nymphos. The sheer number of times I’ve walked into the house and found the six of them having sex all at the same time in the living room in the last twelve weeks is ridiculous.

I’ve found them in the kitchen, the backyard, on the stairs, and in the bathrooms. In fact, the only room they haven’t had sex in is mine—thank God.

The school year started less than three months ago, but I’m honestly not sure if any of them have attended even a single class. In the last couple of weeks, it’s gotten so bad that I had to make sure I didn’t touch anything outside of my room just in case there were…fluids on it. Four days ago, I overheard one of the girls excitedly tell the others that she was pregnant and that her and whichever guy it was, were getting married.

So, when Starling suggested I move into Collinswood with them, I jumped at the chance. My very conservative parents have no idea about my now ex-roomie’s behavior, nor that I’ve moved in with Starling and the guys, and right now, I have no intention of telling them. I adore my parents, but I refuse to risk the freedom I’ve discovered here by telling them about any issues I’m having or my new address.

Starling has become my sister, and despite being rich assholes, I kind of adore Sebastian, Clay, and Hunter too. Truthfully, the only bad thing about living here is Evan.

The first time we met, I felt a connection to him, and I think he felt it too. But the longer I’ve known him, the more distant he’s become. He’s never outright flirted with me, but he watches me when he thinks I’m not looking and sometimes even when he knows that I am.

I wish I could say that the feeling of his eyes on me doesn’t affect me, but I’d be lying. I like it when he looks at me. I like having his attention. I like it when his brows arch up, and I see that tiny furrow between his eyes like he’s on the verge of losing it. But he never does.

In the last couple of months, he’s watched me dance, flirt, and date other guys, and done nothing. A part of me wonders if I’ve imagined that heated look in his eyes when he stares at me, but I don’t think I have, and neither does Starling.

Wanting him has become a nagging ache in my chest. I’ve tried ignoring him. I’ve tried dating other people, but none of the guys that ask me out ever call again after the first date—not that I’ve actually wanted them to.

I don’t have proof, but I think Evan is making guys lose my number, but if he doesn’t want me to see other people, why hasn’t he made a move?

I see the guilt in his eyes when he looks at his stepsister. It’s obvious that he craves a sibling relationship with Starling, but he knows he’ll likely never get one. I can’t believe I ever thought he might be interested in her. Now that I understand the group dynamic better, it’s easy to see that out of the four of them, Evan is the one who’s been most affected by what they did to Starling. This group has a lot of history, but where Starling, Sebastian, Clay, and Hunter all seem to be moving forward, Evan only seems to be able to look back.

Drunk is fun.

Well, it’s fun right up to the point that I puke. But until then, it’s great.

We’re all at a party right now. It was supposed to be just a girls’ night out, but of course the guys couldn’t leave us alone for even one night, so they’re here. Sebastian is wrapped around Starling, making sure everyone knows she’s his, and Clay is dancing with his new wife, January, and whispering in her ear. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but judging by the look on her face, it’s something naughty.

Hunter is dancing with a girl I don’t know, and Evan is looking at me, the way he always does when we’re out like this. Lifting the drink in my hand up, I find the straw with my lips, and suck up the last of the liquid, trying not to cringe as the taste of vodka coats my mouth.

Usually, I drink Long Island Iced Teas at parties, because there’s enough juice for me to pretend it counteracts the alcohol. But when the guys showed up, I decided to go for something a little stronger.

I’m regretting it now that the trees around the dance floor seem to be bouncing in time with the music, and my heels feel extra wobbly as I make my way to the bar. I’ve been to several of these parties now, and there’s always a manned free bar, but I have no idea who plans them or who pays for all the booze we’re drinking.

My head is spinning by the time I curl my fingers around the edge of the counter, and I chuckle softly to myself as my equilibrium stabilizes and the world comes back into focus. At the back of my mind, I know I absolutely should not have any more drinks, but when the bartender looks at me, instead of asking for a soda, I ask for four shots of tequila instead.

“Really?” a rough familiar voice growls from behind me.

A full-body tremor ripples through me at the sound of his voice. Sober I might have been able to hide my reaction to him, but drunk, every defense I’ve built against his fake disinterest collapses to the floor.

When four shot glasses filled with gold liquor appear in front of me, I grab one, downing the contents to distract myself from the fact that Evan is behind me, so close I can feel his body heating my skin. So close, that there’s no way he’ll have missed the way I reacted to his voice. So close, that I can feel his hard dick that’s now pressing against my ass.

“You’ve had enough,” he chides, reaching around me to take the shot glasses.

“What do you want, Evan?” I ask.

“I’m trying to stop you from making a fool of yourself when you fall over drunk,” he hisses, his eyes bright with anger and something that I can’t quite decipher but that right now looks a lot like lust.

“I can do as I please, and if I want to drink until I puke, it’s none of your business.”

My body prickles with need when he curls his arm around my waist, pressing his chest against my back, his huge, hard cock pushing between my ass cheeks as he pins me to him. “That’s where you’re wrong, Wild One. Everything about you is my business.”

Like my entire soul is ready to admit defeat, I melt into his hold, desperate for him to keep me in place, to hold me exactly where he wants me to be.

“Evan.” His name on my lips is a pathetic whimper, but if this is the moment when we finally see if this connection I’m convinced we share is real, then it’ll be worth it.

But instead of kissing me or doing something—anything—he lifts one shot glass after the other and drinks the three tequilas in quick succession. Then he hands the bartenders a fold of bills. “She’s cut off. Serve her again, and I’ll make sure Oracle never hires you again.”

Both bartenders look at me, then at Evan, before they nod and leave to serve other people.

My spine goes ramrod straight, and I lean forward into the bar, pulling away from him until not an inch of us is touching. “You’re an asshole,” I hiss.

“Yes, I am,” he retorts, then turns and walks away.