Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
EVE
P arties are loud. Especially loud when you’re alone and everyone around you is shouting. I’ve never shown up to a party solo before, which was the whole point of coming tonight.
After leaving Ben’s, I went home. Ate dinner, and then—instead of yanking on sweats and flopping on the couch—I put on my sexy bow top and walked to Oak Street, only a few blocks from my house. Mary didn’t mention a specific address for the party, but I didn’t need one. It was pretty obvious where it was taking place.
Now I’m inside, clutching a cup of beer that’s mostly foam and second-guessing this impulsive Fuck it decision.
Mary was busy. Harlow doesn’t get back until tomorrow. Most of my other friends are either connected to Ben or peers I’m only friendly during classes with, like Mae. Not people I can picture playing beer pong with.
It’s noisy and crowded and I know absolutely no one. Which is ridiculous, considering the total size of Holt’s student population. But if any of the faces around me don’t belong to total strangers, it’s too hard to recognize anyone in the dim lighting.
I manage to push my way through the packed kitchen and out into the backyard. I suck in greedy gulps of fresh air, then start coughing when I accidentally swallow a cloud of sweet smoke.
“Want some?” A lit joint appears to my left.
I cough again, waving a hand in front of my face to circulate some fresh air. “No, thanks. I’m good.”
“Suit yourself.” The joint disappears.
I glance at the guy next to me. He’s towering—more than a foot taller than me even though he’s slouched against the shingles. All I can see is his profile as he stares ahead at the group playing a drinking game in the backyard.
Another cloud of smoke drifts toward me. This time, I hold my breath until it drifts past.
“You a freshman?”
I should be offended by that assumption, I think. I’m not old enough that being mistaken for eighteen is a compliment. It’s more of a testament to my sad social status.
“Nope. Senior.”
“Really?” There’s surprise in his voice, and it sounds louder, like he’s looking this way, but I don’t glance at him to confirm.
“Really.”
“That’s cool. I’m Gates.”
Instead of a joint, a hand appears in my vision. I shake the offered hand, meeting his eyes this time. “Eve.”
“Wanna go upstairs, Eve?” Gates asks as soon as our hands separate.
I choke a little on nothing except my own spit. I’m startled…and a little flattered. No one has ever made hooking up sound like such a simple, straightforward transaction before.
Gates is waiting for an answer.
“Uh…I’m sort of seeing someone.”
He nods, then raises the joint to his mouth. “Where is he?”
A male voice interrupts before I have to come up with an answer. “Stop hoarding the good shit over here, man.”
One of the guys who was part of the drinking game is approaching us. And surprisingly, he’s the first person I recognize at this party.
It’s Clayton Thomas.
I’m assuming that means Gates is on the basketball team, both from their familiarity and his height.
Clayton takes the joint from Gates, and then glances at me. “Oh. Hey, Eve.”
My surprise at recognizing Clayton has nothing on my shock about him recognizing me . We’ve only been introduced once, months ago.
I clear my throat. “Hi, Clayton.”
Gates glances between us. “You two know each other?”
“I’m going to find a bathroom,” I say, before Clayton can reply. Honestly, I have no clue what he’d say. “See you guys later.”
Pushing back into the house is harder than shoving my way out was. I finally make it inside, trying to remember what little of the layout I noticed on the trip in and which way will most likely lead to a bathroom. I make it to the hallway and decide to ask the two girls standing by the doorway. One of them tells me to head just past the stairs.
A few minutes later, I locate the bathroom…and the line of eight girls waiting to use it.
I lean back against the white, blank wall—I’m guessing guys live here—and pull out my phone to check the time.
Only to discover that my phone is dead. Crap. I usually charge it overnight, but I was distracted last night. And I blasted music while I was working in the studio all day, not paying attention to the battery percentage.
I was planning to call a campus cab to get back home. The walk isn’t far, but it’s one I’d rather not do alone and late at night. Plus it makes me uneasy to be at a party where I know no one and not have a phone.
But there’s nothing I can do about that now.
Thanks to my useless phone, I have no clue how long it takes me to make it into the bathroom. But it’s eventually my turn. After I pee and wash my hands, I’m faced with the dilemma of what to do next.
I decide to shove my way toward the front door. Not to leave, necessarily, but there’s a spacious front porch with a swing that seems like a less claustrophobic place to hang out.
There are a decent number of people out here already. I pass a couple making out on the swing and a group of three girls whispering before perching on the railing and leaning back against the side of the house, resting my feet on one of the porch caps. I stare over the bushes at the street, watching the stream of students still arriving to the party.
I sip some of the warm beer in my cup, then make a face.
“Want something else?”
I glance up quickly. Clayton is approaching, his own red cup dangling from his fingers.
“I’m good,” I say, surprised to see him again. “Uh, thanks.”
He nods, stopping a couple of feet away. “You here with anyone?”
I chew on the inside of my cheek. “Um…”
I’m not sure why he’s asking. And I listen to too many true crime podcasts to think admitting you’re alone is a smart idea.
“I’m not asking for me,” Clayton adds.
I tilt my head, even more confused. Then, I realize what he means. “Oh. Gates seemed, um, nice. But I don’t think we’re…compatible.”
Clayton tips his head back and laughs. A genuine, deep one that makes me feel more at ease around him. “If I were you, I’d stay the fuck away from Gates. From all of my teammates, actually. They’re not…” He shakes his head. “I’m asking for Morgan.”
I sit up straight. “Hunter?”
“Yeah. I’m not that tight with the hockey guys anymore due to some, uh, unfortunate events.” He scratches his jaw.
I swallow an apology, knowing exactly what he’s referring to. Unfortunate events I encouraged, convincing Harlow to leave Gaffney’s with Clayton to make Conor jealous.
“But I was freshman roommates with Morgan,” Clayton continues. “And he is a good guy. He also talked about an Eve he met back then. That was you, right? I’ve never met any other chick here with that name.”
“Um…” I’m so stunned Hunter mentioned me to his roommate, words aren’t forming easily. And almost as surprised Clayton remembered Hunter mentioned me.
“Look.” Clayton takes a step closer. “I fucked up, getting involved with Hart’s girl. Nothing actually happened, which I’m guessing you know since you’re friends with Harlow. Morgan took Hart’s side, which I get. Respect, even. Like I said, he’s a good guy. But I saw you here, and I just thought…” He shrugs. “We’re graduating next month. YOLO, you know. I’m assuming you’re single if you’re here solo, so I’m suggesting you shoot a shot with Morgan.” He gives me a boyish grin. “Call me Cupid.”
I blink at Clayton. When I impulsively decided to come here tonight, I wasn’t sure what to expect. No chance I ever would have guessed this taking place.
“I didn’t know anyone else still said YOLO,” I say.
Clayton laughs again.
“Thomas. Where’s the other keg?”
Clayton glances over his shoulder. A tall guy with some scruff who I’m assuming is also on the basketball team has appeared.
“Garage. I’ll help you grab it,” he replies. “See you, Eve.”
“Bye, Clayton.”
I relax back against the shingles as Clayton disappears, replaying what he just told me and taking a few more tentative sips of my beer. I’m feeling more relaxed about being here, all of a sudden. No one on the porch is looking at me like I’m an outsider. They’re either absorbed in conversation or looking at their phones. And… I’m not worried about being an outsider. Maybe that’s the secret to belonging. You’ll never feel included so long as you see yourself as other.
I alternate between people-watching and stealing looks up at the stars. It’s a clear, warm night.
At least, warm in comparison to recent nights. I doubt it’s over sixty right now.
I’m debating who to ask to borrow their phone to call a cab—the girl leaning against the railing with friends, or the guy sitting on the swing texting—when I spot a familiar figure walking up the front path.
I’ve abandoned the idea that I’ll gain immunity to the sight of him. I’ve gotten used to the giddiness. It’s almost addictive, the sudden spurt of awareness as soon as his presence registers. Colors seem brighter. Sounds louder. Air warmer.
Right now, it’s mixed with a heady amount of surprise.
I stare, my heart rate steadily increasing, as Hunter climbs the three steps that lead up to the porch. He gets stopped immediately, first by a couple of guys and then by the group of girls. Both times, he glances my way during the conversations, as if he’s checking I’m still in the same spot.
My eyes don’t waver from him the whole time. Staring I might feel self-conscious about, in other circumstances, but it feels right in this one. It’s almost like we’re having a silent, private conversation. Almost like he has the same mysterious draw to me that I have to him.
Hunter says something to the girl I was considering asking if I could borrow her phone, then continues my way.
Porch boards creak underfoot as he approaches, perching on the railing right next to my feet.
“Hey.” I speak first, my voice stronger than I expected it to be.
I thought I’d feel shy the next time we saw each other. But all I’m experiencing right now is happiness. I’m really, really happy that he’s here.
“Hey,” he replies. “I have a few fantasies involving that top, you know.”
I glance down at my skimpy shirt, then back at Hunter. “It didn’t seem like you noticed it before.”
Our trip to Sand Bar wasn’t that long ago, but it feels like an eternity.
One corner of his mouth curves up. “I’ve got a good poker face, Eve. Doesn’t mean I miss anything.” He reaches out, twisting the laces of my Converse around his thumb. One of his fingers brushes my ankle, sending shockwaves across my skin. “You having fun?”
“More, now.”
“Good answer.” Hunter reaches out with his other hand, taking the cup I’m holding. He sniffs the cup’s contents. “I’ve never seen you drink beer.”
“It took me ten minutes to fight my way to the keg. No way was I looking for anything else.”
“Want me to get you—crap.” The laces he was playing with unknotted.
Hunter lifts my cup, clutching it between his teeth so his hands are free, and deftly reties the knot.
It’s hotter than watching him change a tire was. Because he’s not looking after his car; he’s taking care of me.
I slip off the railing and close the short distance between us. People are staring at us—at Hunter, rather—and that would normally make me uncomfortable. But his attention on me is too consuming. It’s like blinders, blocking out everything else I’d normally be aware of.
“Did Clayton tell you I was here?” I ask.
“Mm-hmm.” I’m standing close, but he tugs me even closer until I’m standing between his spread thighs. His hands slip under the hem of my shirt, palming my lower back possessively. More shivers dance along my nerve endings, raising goose bumps on my skin.
“You told him about me,” I state.
Since Hunter’s half sitting, leaning against the railing, the height difference between us is several inches shorter. Blue eyes hold my gaze as he nods. “Yeah. I did.”
I smile. “I like that you did that. I like that you’re here.”
“I would have been here sooner, if you’d texted me.” His tone is teasing. But there’s an unspoken question in it too.
“I wanted to add this to my fuck-it list. I’d never gone to a party alone before. Also, I don’t have your number.”
His thumb draws a tiny circle on my back. “Yeah, you do. I wrote it on your sketchbook before I left last night. It’s on your desk.”
“Oh. I, uh, I didn’t see it.”
I’m pretty sure I dumped a load of clean laundry on my desk, actually. I need to clean my room again.
“I should’ve just texted you. I got your number from Conor, but I wasn’t sure what to say.”
His honesty is refreshing. It’s reassuring to realize I’m not the only uncertain one.
“‘Hi, Eve. It’s Hunter’ would have worked,” I tell him.
He chuckles. “Yeah. I was attempting to come up with something a little more memorable than that.”
He was honest; I decide to be the same. “ Anything you sent me would have been memorable, Hunter.”
“That’s good to know.” The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles. His hands are still roaming my lower back, the sensation distracting enough that I have to force myself to focus. “You want something else to drink?”
I glance at the cup I abandoned by my former spot. “I think I’m good. I mostly was just sipping to look busy since I showed up alone and my phone is dead.”
He frowns. “You came to a party without a phone?”
“I didn’t realize it was dead until I got here, but yeah. I usually charge it overnight, but…”
Some of the concern evaporates from his expression. Worry for me , I realize. “So it was my fault?”
“Pretty much. If you were bad in bed, I’d have remembered to charge it.”
He laughs. It’s tenfold the thrill of a full smile, like a straight shot of adrenaline. “So your lack of a working phone means you’re admitting I’m good in bed?”
I’m blushing, no doubt about it.
And I’m no longer embarrassed by my flushed cheeks. I don’t care if Hunter knows he’s affecting me. “You know you are.”
Hunter smiles. “It’s still nice to hear.”
“It was the best sex I’ve ever had,” I admit.
He no longer looks amused.
Oftentimes, Hunter appears detached. Not superior or uninterested, but remote. Hard to entertain. Hard to reach. Hard to affect.
I’m not sure I’ll ever become accustomed to how it feels to have his full attention. And it was one thing to know that I can affect Hunter’s body. But having power over his feelings? His emotions?
It’s a rush like none I’ve ever experienced before.
I bite my bottom lip, recalling what he said last night, and his eyes track the motion. “Did you want to stay?”
Hunter shakes his head. “I just came to see you.”
I lift a hand and run my thumb across his eyebrow. The one with the thin white scar. When I smooth the short hairs, it’s almost invisible, but I can feel the raised line. “Take me home?”
He nods immediately. His blue eyes appear especially bright as he straightens, hands dropping from my waist. He takes one of my hands before heading toward the stairs, interlocking our fingers together.
Several heads turn as we cross the porch, but I keep my attention on Hunter slightly ahead.
We descend the stairs and walk along the driveway. I glance to the right, toward the garage.
Clayton’s height is easy to spot. He’s standing, talking with two girls. When we make eye contact, he lifts his cup in a silent salute.
Thank you , I mouth.