Chapter 6
Six
Denise
The Clone House is called that because there seems to be this unspoken rule within the frat that all the guys have to have the same haircut.
A quiff with tapered sides. But the similarities don’t stop at the haircuts.
All the guys have hair in some shade of blond, blue eyes, and are on the football team.
You have a few oddballs and by that, I mean guys who are on a different sports team, but they don’t stray far from this look they’ve got going on.
It’s easy to understand why campus gossip theorizes that there’s probably some cult activities but because The Clones throw some of the best parties, no one dares to ask them.
I move through the crowd of the frat house, bodies hot and sticky against me. The smell of cheap beer and throw-up due to the aftermath of a keg chug gone wrong lingers in the air, almost suffocating but not enough for me to want to leave just yet.
I try to avoid the weird stain on the couch as I lean back against the cushions next to Bethany. I reach for the red solo cup she holds out to me and sigh against the plastic when it’s just ice-cold soda.
I’ve had about a beer or two but I don’t really want to get plastered and leave my car here for the night.
I’ve done that before and it led to me having to slap Ian Lawson in the face for drawing a huge dick on both sides of my car.
I bring the cup up to my face, the condensation doing very little to cool me down.
Bethany and I both groan when Sarah drops her weight on us, sitting on my lap and folding her legs across Bethany’s thighs. “Lover boy is watching you again.” She grins.
Bethany gently pulls the denim of Sarah’s skirt down a little, to cover more of her bare thighs. Then she laughs. “He’s been watching her all night.”
I keep my eyes closed and head tilted back against the couch. “If I pretend he doesn’t exist, he’ll go away.”
Aside from the music that’s surprisingly playing at a decent level—I’m guessing The Clones don’t want the cops called again—it grows quiet between the three of us. Suspiciously quiet.
I open one eye to see Sarah and Bethany making kissy faces toward me. When they realize they’ve been caught, they burst into a fit of laughter.
“If living in delusion helps you get by then we fully support you, D.” Sarah can’t even say the words with a straight face. “I don’t know why you don’t just—”
“No,” I groan, trying to shove her off me but she doesn’t budge. If anything, she settles her weight even further on my lap. “Don’t you dare finish that fucking sentence.”
“We’re not saying to marry the guy but I’m sure the sex would be amazing,” Bethany argues. “Besides, it’s been a minute since you got laid.” She shrugs her shoulders like she’s stating scientific facts.
I take another sip of soda. “And how would you know that?”
Sarah perks up. “You’re bitchier the longer you go without sex.”
“The both of you can go to hell.”
“Oh come on,” Bethany whines, resting her head on my shoulder. “I bet fifty bucks if you walked over there, took him by the hand, and led him up those stairs, he’d follow you around like a puppy dog.”
The thought of that is a little too intriguing. So much so that it has me pressing my thighs together and shifting as best as I can with Sarah’s weight on me.
I dare to steal a glance over at Lucas, who’s standing in a circle with a few other guys—some on the team, others I’ve never meant before.
They’re talking and laughing, and Lucas’s arms are crossed over his chest. He’s standing with his friends but his attention keeps shifting over to me, like it hasn’t only been a few hours since I ran into him at the mall.
I felt his stare the moment I walked into the house about an hour ago.
He never stays in the same spot, never talking to the same people, but he’s always watching me. And not in the way I’ve been used to.
He’s watching my body, sure, but I also notice the way his eyes scan the crowd quicker whenever I move from my own spot. Almost like he’s simply just checking that I’m still here.
I try to avoid the urge to get closer. Try to remind myself that I’ll never be the one to walk up to a guy but as the night goes on, I’m wondering if every rule I’ve ever enforced upon myself is completely stupid.
“Didn’t think I’d still find you with your clothes on.”
My eyes slowly move away from Lucas toward the front of me. I’m not in a hurry to give the owner of that voice much attention.
“Hey, Grace.” I don’t bother to pretend to smile. Especially not when I see her friend, Addison, standing next to her. “Didn’t think I’d see you still sober and not vomiting into your ex’s lap as you beg him to take you back.”
The brunette’s eyes widen, her jaw clenching. I feel a sense of accomplishment when she huffs and crosses her arms over her chest. She looks at me with pure disgust and I’d like to remind her that the feeling is mutual.
I get why she hates me so much but I didn’t know she was dating Chase when I slept with him. He told me they weren’t all that serious, a fling if anything.
Could I have checked with Grace first to see how true that was?
Sure, but at the time I was just an eighteen year old who would do anything for male attention.
I like to think that I’ve grown but no matter how many times I’ve apologized to Grace for the past two years, she’s always had it out for me.
But she’s gonna be disappointed if she thinks I’m going to let her treat me like shit because of it.
“I wasn’t begging,” she argues. Her voice slurs slightly but she’s still sober enough for me not to feel bad if I have to resort to slapping her.
“Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night, babe.”
Sarah takes this as her cue to slide off my lap, hands reaching out to help me and Bethany up as well.
Grace steps right into my path, stopping me from walking away.
I’ll give her about three more seconds before I shove her out of the way and tell her to fuck off.
I like to think this is me being patient.
“You know what I don’t understand?” she asks.
“That could be a lot of things. You’re gonna have to narrow that down.”
We’re both wearing heels, but because we stand at the same height, we meet eye to eye regardless. She steps closer, a smirk on her face.
And I start that internal clock.
“I just don’t get how you’ve ever been deemed talented at anything besides spreading your legs.”
One.
She continues, Addison’s smirk egging her on.
And now me shoving them is going to be the last of their concerns because I’m about to slam both of their faces into the nearest hard surface.
“I mean, I’ve seen your dancing and it’s honestly not surprising why you had to give that up.
I’d be embarrassed if I danced like that too. ”
Two.
I try to remind myself that taking ballet lessons from someone who doesn’t even know what a Croisé Devant is probably isn’t going to do me any good but punching her in the nose probably would.
I take a step closer to her, just enough to let her know that my patience is wearing thin. Bethany and Sarah remain behind me, letting this play out. For now, at least.
“At least I can say I have a semblance of talent,” I bite back. “What’s yours, Grace? Picking men that have the tendency to want to fuck anyone but you?”
“You’re a fucking washed-up bitch, you know that?”
And three.
I shove Grace. Hard. She knocks into Addison, quickly losing her balance.
Unfortunately for me, Addison apparently can handle her liquor because her hands quickly grip Grace’s arms to keep her from hitting the floor like I desperately wanted.
And because I don’t get my desired outcome, I pull my arm back, hand balled into a fist. But large arms wrap around my waist, pulling me away from Grace.
I push against whoever it is but my legs come off the floor, only making me try and push back harder, not caring if I have to fall to the floor as long as I can get my hands on Grace, who’s now staring up at Preston.
She rubs her shoulders where I shoved, bottom lip now sticking out in a pathetic, desperate pout. I look down at the arms around my waist, seeing dark skin and the ring on his index finger. It doesn’t calm me down. In fact, it only makes me more annoyed.
“Get the fuck off me.” I struggle against Lucas’s grip.
Bethany and Sarah give me a thumbs-up, grimace on both of their faces as Lucas carries me away. His steps don’t falter even as I try to kick him with my heels. He sets me back down gently but he keeps his hand around my arm, holding me in place. I try to shove him away.
“Hey.” Lucas rests his other hand on my hip. The gentleness in his voice catches me off guard. So much so that I stop trying to pull away, instead stepping closer to him, my hand moving to hold his forearm—needing something to hold onto.
The back of my throat and chest burns and I can feel tears begin to well in my eyes. I know Grace just wanted a reaction but that didn’t stop me from giving her one.
“You’re a fucking washed-up bitch, you know that?”
A bitch? I’ve been called that since I started middle school and didn’t care what kind of trouble my mouth got me into. I’m sure this isn’t going to be the last time I’m called that.
But being called washed-up snapped something inside me.
The words opened up a wound that I’ve been slapping bandages on for the past eight months.
I’d argue maybe even a year when my accident happened.
Then surgery failed because I didn’t listen to the doctors and thought I was untouchable and started dancing too soon.
I have no one to blame but myself for failing at the one thing I was good at.
She’s right. Grace is right.
I’m washed-up. A has-been. Someone so close to everything she had ever wanted and now is left with nothing.
“Come on.” Lucas softly nudges me, gesturing toward the back door of the house, blocking me from Grace and Addison’s view.