4. I Knew You Were Trouble
I KNEW YOU WERE TROUBLE
PRESENT
What. The. Fuck?
What. The. Fuck?
What the fuck?
What the fuck?
What the actual fuck?!
Jase.
No.
No, no, no, no!
This can’t be him. It can’t be!
The Jase I knew had a painfully perfect face.
Not a pimple, mole, or even a freckle to speak of, let alone a scar.
And his nose was straighter than a number two pencil.
Jase was good-looking in a “pretty boy” sort of way, like a young Jared Leto or Zac Efron.
He wasn’t rugged or battle-scarred—at least he hadn ’ t been the last I saw him.
My gut instinct has my fingers balling into fists, consumed by the overwhelming desire to punch out his lights, but I can’t bring myself to do it, no matter how tempting.
Just as I didn’t recognize him, he clearly doesn’t recognize me either. Not if he’s looking at me like this . In his eyes, the real me amounts to little more than gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe.
A vibration cuts between us, and the sensation has never felt so good in my entire life.
His phone’s going off inside his suit jacket.
It’s my lifeline. My ticket out of here.
“You should answer that,” I blurt, the words clogging my throat even as I paint on a smile. “I’m going to see if I can borrow a you-know-what from a friend so we can both enjoy ourselves. Meet back here in ten?”
His guard must be down, because Michael Jase doesn’t question the excuse or look at me with any degree of suspicion. Still, he groans as he pulls out his cell to look at it, and I catch the name “Martin” on the call screen before disappearing inside.
Let’s see how he likes having to wait for a change.
It’s a miracle I make it down the hallway, let alone back to the engagement party, seeing as how my legs have been reduced to jelly.
Is it possible to die from humiliation?!
Jase.
I kissed Jase!
Every laugh and loud voice from the crowd sends chills racing up my spine, and my building panic attack makes my decision for me.
I bolt to the front of the country club, only to find Sienna Hawthorne and Trent Easton standing not five feet from the door.
They’re talking with Vanessa’s friends, the whole group blocking me from my freedom!
I can’t get past them without being seen, and it’s the only way to the parking lot where I can flag down the valet to get my car back. I make it three steps before spotting my stepmom approaching that very same group.
Shit, shit, shit!
You know what? Fuck it.
I’ll come back for my baby later. I need to get out of here, now!
The side exit to the golf course is off to my right, and I fly out the doors as if the Devil himself is nipping at my heels.
Not until I’ve trudged my way past the eighth hole and down the hill to the roadside can I truly process what the hell just happened.
Shock hits me like a cold shower, sobering me up as I stagger barefoot down the sidewalk. I don’t have a destination. All I want is space. Lots of it.
But after a half hour ticks by with me wandering aimlessly around some suburban streets, I overhear the answer to my prayers. Blaring music carries through the air, and I take notice of the closest street sign to me.
Graceland Avenue.
Since Maggie couldn’t go to the country club, she decided to go to a house party not far from here. Following the sounds of the music, I headed one street over to find partygoers gathering in front of a certain house.
“Ali?” My roommate’s voice carries far enough to catch the attention of everyone congregating around the front porch, because an entire sea of eyeballs suddenly swings my way as I head up the driveway.
Sure enough, it’s preceded by a chorus of catcalls and whistles from a bunch of drunken frat guys as they all look me up and down.
“Damn, girl!” one of them hollers. “Get your sexy ass over here. I’ll show you what a real man’s like!”
“What? Are you taking her upstairs to meet your brother?” Maggie laughs, pushing the idiot out of the way as she climbs down the porch steps.
“Aww, Mag-Pie.” He pins a hand to his chest in the most theatrical fashion, as if wounded. “Why you gotta be so mean, baby?”
Maggie loops her arm around mine and leads me up the porch to face the heckler. “Don’t pretend you don’t like me nasty,” she purrs, giving him a playful smack in the ass. He must be familiar with her banter, because he laughs off the exchange as she guides me through the front door.
“What’re you drinking?” I ask.
“Vodka soda. You want some? I just need to get some lime juice and—”
I grab the plastic Solo cup in her hand and start chugging the contents before she can finish.
Maggie winces. “Ah, babe, I didn’t even mix that with soda water yet…”
Still, I ignore the forewarning and don’t surrender the cup until every last drop is gone.
“I take it that things didn’t go well?”
“Let’s just say it was about as successful as Napoleon’s invasion of Russia.”
“I’m not even going to pretend like I know what you’re talking about, but I’ll take a not-so-wild guess and assume your stepmom was being a bitch?”
“Blythe’s the least of my problems right now,” I cough, feeling my cheeks flush from the sudden rush of alcohol.
I don’t even need to say anything else. Maggie pauses, giving me a thorough once-over before slapping my arm.
“Holy fucking shit!” She gestures up and down at me. “Tousled hair, rumpled skirt, swollen lips; you totally had sex, didn’t you?”
It’s not really a question, and she practically tackles me with a hug as she squeals in delight.
“I’m so proud of you!”
“For what? Being an idiot?” I mutter.
“For having the lady-balls to officially kick off our Hot Girl Summer. Seriously, when was the last time you had a decent lay? I was starting to worry your vagina would calcify or something.” Maggie’s blood alcohol level clearly has her vocal box set on high, because she practically shouts that last part.
Thankfully, the few strange looks we get are from the people directly around us, the rest of the party too riled up by the commotion coming from the living room.
Cheers and shouts drown out most of the conversation, forcing Maggie to damn near rip my arm out of its socket as she drags me through the house to find some place quieter.
As we pass the living room, I see the house party has been turned into an ultimate gamer contest as vampires and hunters battle it out on the television screen.
Admittedly, I’m not into video games, but even I was drawn in by the viral marketing when the cinematic-worthy trailer for Crimson Oaths dropped last month, enough that Maggie and I attended Delta Sigma Phi’s frat house when they hosted a party for the new release.
Since then, my friend here had gained a mild obsession over it, but even the promise of bloodshed and muscular animated men isn’t enough to deter Maggie from her mission.
She refuses to release me from her death grip until we’ve reached the back patio.
“Details, girl. Now. Who decalcified your kitty?”
Oh, dear god.
There’s a pool in the back of the property, so the only other people out on the deck with us are a handful of stoners passing around a bong.
I’m still not nearly as drunk as I need to be to have this conversation, all too happy to follow Maggie’s lead as she goes over to the set of coolers and plucks out a few bottles of some sugary malt liquor.
“Firstly, I’m pretty sure that’s not how calcification works, and even if it is, nobody ‘decalcified’ anything, seeing as how nothing went in my…kitty.”
This only interests her further. “Aaaah, I see. So, Peek-a-boo? Or the Pretzel Dip, maybe?” She gasps. “Or Cheeky Monkey?”
“I have no idea what any of that is, and quite frankly, I’m a little too scared to ask,” I admit. “But if one of those is a more playful way of saying fully clothed Thigh Job, sure. And before you get too excited, we were interrupted.”
God, the very memory of feeling that scar, of realizing who Jase was, makes me want to hurl myself into the pool and not come back up for air.
“Seriously, there’s no shame in hooking up with a stranger—”
I shake my head, rubbing my hand over my face. “Trust me. That’s not the problem.”
If anything, that was exactly what I wanted earlier. Instead, I inherited this complete and utter shitshow.
“Oh god. He was bad, wasn’t he?” Maggie cringes. “ How bad was it? Like on a scale from one to ten. Was it five, as in he was just selfish? Or was it ten, as in he didn’t even know what was supposed to go where?”
I roll my eyes but nevertheless shake my head. “The performance itself wasn’t bad. Not even remotely.”
“Then what’s the issue?”
“It’s the who .”
“Why? Was it some uptight Country Clubber?”
I remove the top from my bottle and down another happy helping of liquid courage. “Not exactly.”
“Bartender? Valet?”
“No.”
“Caddy boy?” She gasps with a laugh. “Did he get you to wash his balls?”
I cut her a glare, holding back my retort as a group of people walks past on the way to the pool.
“Tell me you at least got his name.”
“Oh, I got more than that.”
Maggie’s grin turns into a comically sympathetic smile, batting eyelashes and all.
“Sooo, your big dilemma is that you started to get all hot and heavy with a sexy man but didn’t get your rocks off?
” She pats my head like I’m the silliest thing she’s ever seen.
“You may have heard of a thing called texting. Just pull out that phone of yours and tell Hottie McHotterson that your kitty’s in desperate need of a nice, big scratching post. I guarantee you’ll have this man running like an Olympian up the front porch here in fifteen minutes. ”
I can’t help but laugh. “Please tell me you haven’t used that line on anyone before.”
She winks. “Why do you think Gabe McCuller practically tackled our door when I texted him last month?”
“That may very well be the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard.”