Chapter 24
Kit
My initial reaction to the sweet, yet bitter and kind of awful drink was nothing but a gag that made Brett snicker from beside me. I contemplated why anyone would put themselves through drinking one, let alone enough to get drunk.
Then I was subjected to watching Delaney, dressed as a fallen angel, dance around the bonfire clad in a short, black dress that hugs her every curve, sexy fishnets, and heeled boots. Her eyeliner is perfect, and her smile is a sultry tilt of the lips that has the attention of several guys here.
One of those guys is none other than Bowen. Of course.
They claim they’re done, though. And this time, it’s “for real.” But the way he’s watching her?
It’s enough for me to give the drink another try.
And another.
Another.
Until all of a sudden, I’ve stolen three of them from the cooler, and everything feels way less serious.
“Does he think he’s being stealthy?” I scoff, throwing my thumb in Bowen’s direction. “He’s probably picturing her boobs right n—” I glance over at my best friend, but his chair is empty. I find him several chairs away, smirking down at a brunette.
He’s got his charming smile on. The one reserved for the female population.
Judging by how the chick tucks her hair behind her ear, biting at her own smile and glancing away shyly…
whatever he’s doing is working. Even though he’s dressed like the little girl from Despicable Me—black hair up in a pony, his curls straightened so it would stick straight up like hers does.
I groan, sinking further down in the chair and finishing off what’s left in my bottle.
The only positive? I’m feeling much more mellow. I hardly care that I was dragged here, practically against my will, tricked into a fucking unicorn onesie so Brett could squeeze me every five minutes and squeal about me being so fluffy.
I hardly care that Bowen climbed into the back seat with me when Tucker took the passenger seat up front because I was being a baby and procrastinated leaving the house.
Don’t care even a smidgen that Bowen hasn’t looked at me all night.
Hasn’t looked at me since last weekend when he touched my bruised face.
Climbed into bed with me and tried to talk…
Nope. Don’t go there.
Hardly fucking care.
The party isn’t as wild as I feared it would be. Maybe twenty-five people, most from school, from what I can tell. It’s Halloween, so everyone is dressed up. Except for Bowen.
There’s drinking, laughing, and dancing. It’s exactly the type of party I had wanted to go to just last weekend.
By the time the fourth bottle is empty, I’m feeling way better than just mellow. I’m feeling…
Delaney tilts her head back, a smile for the moon shining down on us. Its silvery light makes her glow as she twirls and sways her hips, the streamers on her black wings following behind her every move.
Can’t be that hard.
I snort to myself, climbing to my feet. The music isn’t blasting, but it’s loud enough that when I close my eyes, I can drown out most of the rest of the noise. And I move.
Slow at first, then I find the beat and dance like no one is watching. Because there probably isn’t. Who would watch the drunk unicorn when there is a sexy angel?
The sudden heat on my back has nothing to do with the fire and everything to do with the body that’s moved up behind me.
“What are you doing?”
His breath tickles my skin and sends a bolt of electricity down my spine. I suck in a shaky breath.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” I murmur.
Is that my voice? Why is it so breathy?
“Impersonating a rabid horse?” Bowen teases into my ear, and holy fucking shit, were those his lips that grazed me?
My heart jolts in my chest, and I turn—too fast, apparently, because I nearly trip over my feet and tip sideways. Bowen steadies me with hands on my sides.
“I’m a unicorn, you dick. And also, don’t talk to me.
” I stomp away, stopping only long enough to grab another bottle of the hard lemonade from the cooler.
I make it to the side of the house—it belongs to some Andrew guy who’s on the football team or something—and pop the top, about to take a drink when the bottle is snatched from my hand.
“Don’t talk to you? What are you, twelve?”
I glare, or I try to glare. “No. I liked you when I was twelve. Give that back.” I try to grab it, but Bowen holds it high above his head.
“And you don’t like me now?”
“Right now? No.” I try uselessly, holding a fistful of his t-shirt for balance and going up on tiptoes. So close, yet so far.
“Why?”
I bark a laugh, such a harsh sound after his softly spoken question, and glance from my drink he’s holding up in air jail to his eyes that are…right there.
So, so close.
“Why?” he asks again. My body, our surroundings. Everything crashes back into me right then. Chest to chest, face to face. I can feel his warmth against my knuckles. His eyes look back and forth between mine, and I realize this is the first time I’ve voluntarily touched Bowen in... a long time.
Feels like years.
I’ve avoided contact, cringed away from his touches enough that he eventually stopped reaching for me at all.
But he’s holding me now.
No.
No, that can’t be right.
His hand is on my side, probably to stop me from drunkenly climbing him like a tree.
Jesus.
I scramble away, heart in my throat.
Bowen looks pissed. But what else is new?
“I’ll just get another one,” I snap, twirling back towards the party. But I don’t make it more than a couple of steps before a warm hand grabs onto mine and stops me.
“Why don’t you like me, Kit? Stop being a little baby and answer me.”
My mouth falls open, and I spin right back around to the big bastard. “Fuck off, Bowen.”
“I’ve tried,” he grits out. Then he snorts and takes a swig from my drink. He cringes and swipes the back of his hand over his mouth.
“Oh, please. You haven’t given a shit about me in a while. Don’t pretend like it’s hard now.”
Bowen tosses the bottle in the grass and stalks towards me. “It’s what you fucking wanted, Kit.”
“Is it? Is that what I wanted? Weird. I don’t remember ever telling you to ignore me.
” My heart races in my chest, in my head.
I hear the wild thump in my ears as he follows me.
I step back towards the house. “You never even checked on me this week. The Bowen that cared about me would have been sleeping on my bedroom floor every night, just so I knew I wasn’t alone. ”
I may as well have waved a red flag at a bull; he narrows his eyes and snatches me up by the front of my stupid costume.
“We both know I wouldn’t have been on your floor, kitten. I would have crawled into bed with you every single fucking night. But you said last weekend we can’t go back. So, what do you want?”
He pulls me so close our noses practically touch. I’ve been in fight and flight mode for so long, I don’t know how to shut it off.
“Put me down.” The alcohol must be fucking with my mind. Must be. Because in no world would Bowen be looking at me the way he is right now.
Like he’s contemplating…
“Boe…”
He makes a noise, a deep sound that I can’t even begin to decipher. He brushes a thumb over the healing bruise under my eye, and I hear him swallow.
“Why can’t you just tell me what you want from me? Tell me, kitten,” he says low and rough. His blue eyes are looking straight into me.
What I want?
Tell him what I want?
You!
My heart stutters, and I struggle. “I want you to let me go,” I gasp out, and suddenly it's impossible to breathe. I struggle, but it's unnecessary because Bowen lets me go immediately. He’s breathing rough and looks ready to snatch me up again.
He clenches his fists at his sides instead.
“I don’t want… I can’t…” I stutter over my words. Maybe a part of him misses our closeness, too. But it’s all so damn complicated now. “Go back to Delaney, Bowen,” I say instead.
As much as I hate it, it’s probably best this way.
“When you’re ready to tell me what you actually want, Kit, you know where to find me.”
And with that, Bowen walks back towards the party. All the alcohol churns in my stomach when Brett seems to materialize out of nowhere, helping me up from where I must have fallen in the grass.
“Kit, you should have just told him…” Brett is saying softly, walking me back to the fire. But I’m too busy seeing the look Delaney is giving Bowen, like she feels sorry for him.
I can’t process what’s happening.
I’m never drinking again.