Chapter Twenty One
Unsurprisingly, Laura is perched on the low stone wall outside the apartment when I exit. We hadn’t planned where to meet, but I figured since she chased me down outside class, she’d pop up somewhere along the way between here and Everest’s.
Before noticing me, Laura picks at her nails, her shoulders curled inward.
She’s picked an outfit that looks similar to my second option.
A sexy little number in shimmering black that makes her skin appear paler beneath the streetlight.
Her blonde hair falls in ringlets, twice the volume as yesterday.
Paired with dark, sultry make-up, it helps her to appear older, which will make my job of protecting her from the hounds even more difficult.
But that’s future-Meg’s problem. My current concern is getting across campus with a light buzz in my veins and warm uncertainty in my head.
The second Laura spots me, she straightens and smoothes down her skirt with nervous fingers.
There’s something almost painfully hopeful about the way she smiles at me, as if she’s hinging her time here on the outcome of tonight.
No pressure. I slow my stride as I approach, simply offering out my arm for her to jump up and take.
“You came,” she smiles. I feel my own lips curl up, the gin working in the way I’d hoped.
Clenching my palm around the neck of it, I lead us towards the courtyard where clusters of students are migrating in the same direction, cream envelopes in hand.
The excitement is already palpable, hordes of guests flooding towards the strobe lights and pounding of music beyond the dorm blocks.
Everest’s place is perfectly situated for those who aren’t deemed worthy enough of an invite to be forced to listen in and watch on.
It’s also fenced off, with the large gates that are manned by hired security this evening.
Moving closer, I spot the line of people waiting to be admitted from a mile off.
Fuck that. Sidestepping, I keep my pace even, despite the way Laura hesitates, the crook of her elbow tightening in mine.
“Maybe we should—” she starts but I only make my steps wider, forcing her to half-run in her six inch heels to keep up. At the gates, a large man dressed in black with an earpiece looks me over with raised brow.
“Invitation?”
“I’m Everest’s co-captain. I don’t need an invite,” I challenge.
There’s a beat where the security look at each other with amused expressions and I’m sure I’ll get told to get lost, before he grunts and steps aside to allow Laura and me to enter.
A rush of adrenaline floods me, the power trip mixing with the alcohol in my system.
Finally, a trickle of my forgotten confidence slithers back in.
I push the gin bottle into Laura’s hand to hold while I drag my party invitation from my pocket and toss it into the nearest, overflowing trash can.
We come to stand in front of the house, giving Laura a moment to drink it all in while I snatch back my gin and take a long swig.
I’m going to need to be wasted to survive this.
The house is a spectacle of white columns, sweeping steps and oversized windows.
Light pours out onto the front yard, the silhouettes of those dancing inside reflecting across the fake grass like looming shadows.
I can already smell the sweat of bodies being pressed together, and the thump of music pulsing beneath my ankle boots.
Glancing up, I raise my bottle in mock salute towards the Calloway crest etched into the stone above the porch. Everest isn’t the first of his line to attend Hollowbrook and take up residence, and I highly doubt he’ll be the last.
“I’ve never been to anything like this,” Laura breathes dreamily, her face the picture of awe. Nothing like the slight snarl of disgust curling my upper lip.
“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” I reply dryly.
“Come on then. Let’s ruin your life.” Dragging her up the stone steps, we smush our way through the bodies crowding the entrance.
There’s no clear path ahead of us, raised red cups sloshing dangerously close to the rim and arms nudging us along.
We veer around a small wooden table that is straining beneath the man dancing upon it.
Further inside, the music becomes even more deafening, causing my chest to pound as if I’m having the first tremors of a heart attack.
A group of lacrosse boys in the hallway are chanting something unintelligible near a keg, arms slung around each other’s shoulders, shirts unbuttoned or torn clean open.
In the corner, I clock at least three freshmen who look overwhelmed and one girl arguing with her friend by the stairs, mascara smudged under one eye. We’ve been here less than thirty seconds.
“Stay near me,” I tell Laura firmly, leaning close so she at least has a chance to hear me. She nods quickly, her grip on my leather jacket cutting off my circulation.
We make it into the living room, which is somehow worse.
The furniture has been shoved to the walls to make space for a writhing mass of bodies moving in no real rhythm to a DJ booth against the obnoxious fireplace.
A strobe light flashes intermittently, turning everything into fragmented snapshots.
Faces, hands, hair, open mouths laughing.
I spot at least two phones filming, both of which turn to me as I step inside. Yeah, no thanks.
Backtracking, I head for the kitchen instead. The press of bodies briefly tightens in the narrow hallway, the walls practically sweating from condensation and heat. Framed photos of Everest are slightly askew from the beat of the music, although the star of the show is yet to be seen.
Someone barrels past, a man on a mission it seems, and Laura stumbles, almost dragging me down with her.
My arm tightens, my focus distracted as the gin bottle in my hand is swiped by an apparent accomplice.
Bastard. There’s no time to react as he disappears into the crowd, a gap opening up before us.
Without thinking, I plant Laura in front of me and use her as a human shield, shoving her forward until we stagger into the kitchen.
Finally, we have room to move and I exhale with relief.
“Are you okay?” I ask, steadying Laura and checking her over with my eyes. She’s shaken, but she’s still smiling like this is the best thing to ever happen to her.
“Yeah,” she breathes. I shake my head, flexing my hand that’s now sorely missing a drink.
The kitchen island is covered with options, not to mention the enormous bowl of red punch sitting in the center.
I turn my back on that, heading to the refrigerator instead.
Pulling out two beers, I hand one to Laura with as serious a face as I can manage right now.
“Remember. Do not take a drink from anyone,” I state harshly.
She nods, oblivious to the guy attempting to pass her a cup with a lazy grin.
I groan to myself. This girl is going to be eaten alive if I let my guard down, but I’m also so fucking desperate to let my guard down.
I’ve been back at Hollowbrook for a week.
One. Week. And all I’ve managed to do is make enemies, embarrass myself incessantly, and cement that I have lost all of the power and respect I used to thrive on.
Sighing, I realize Laura is still staring up at me, the beer clutched in her hand still sealed shut.
Oh right, we need a bottle opener. Turning towards the display of pebble gray cupboards and drawers, a flash of white blonde hair catches my eye.
I almost lose the grip on my beer, but instead, it’s just my jaw that drops.
“What the,” I hiss, pushing my hand towards Laura.
“Hold this and don’t move.” As soon as the weight in my palm is relieved, my feet are moving.
I appear right in front of him, my heart kicking up a beat against my ribs.
He’s leaning against the counter, ankles crossed in navy slacks and pristine white sneakers.
I didn’t know he was capable of owning clothes that weren’t coated in paint smears.
Lowering the cup in his hand, his sharp eyes latch onto me, pools of gray twined with the haze of alcohol.
“How the fuck did you get an invite?” I blurt out. Heat rushes to my cheeks but I stand my ground, my boots putting me merely an inch shorter than him.
“I didn’t.” Reid’s pierced brow rises, slowly assessing me in the way that makes me feel completely naked before him.
I suck in air, my bravado withdrawing. This is the first time I’ve looked him in the eye since the day I snuck into his room, since his paintings triggered the nightmares I’ve been working to bury.
A shudder rolls through my spine, the images of my contorted body appearing before my eyes.
Is he seeing me like that now? Is he wondering how I can bend and break? Is he the one who wants to do it to me?
Slowly, I come to my senses and take a step back from Reid. His gray eyes track me, narrowing slightly. I reach my hand back, hoping Laura will see me floundering and come to my aid. She doesn’t, and neither does Reid let me slip away with any of my dignity intact.
“You’re looking at me differently,” Reid tilts his head slightly.
“No, I’m not,” I shoot back too quickly. My cheeks heat further. I hate that he affects me without saying more than a handful of words at a time. In an effort to regain control, I take the cup out of his hand. “I’m absolutely not.” Shrugging, I down the rest of his drink. Holy crap, that burns.
“Yes. Since you snooped in my room.”
It takes everything in me not to choke and cough all over his pristine white shirt.
The black outline of his tattoos press against the materials, images merging as I try not to splutter against the heat scorching my throat.
Not while he’s watching, steadily maintaining my eye contact and hunting for any sign of weakness.
“How did you know?”