Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
(Fifteen Weeks Ago)
“We party like rock stars, we sex like porn stars, I'll take you a million bars…”
Cierra’s taste in music, unsurprisingly, was trash.
The house was full of strangers. “Just some friends from school,” my older sister had promised, before I’d agreed to let her have her birthday party here, at the house. As per usual, Silas was out of town on business, so the only person she had to convince was me.
I should have said no.
‘Just some friends from school,’ actually turned out to be everybody from school.
There were people in here who didn’t even know who this party was for.
But they were all too happy to touch shit they couldn’t afford to break, and lap up as much free alcohol as they could handle.
I turned down the air conditioning four more degrees. All this fuckin’ body heat…
Against the backdrop of yet another Trina song, I heard something glass shatter in the kitchen.
Do you even wanna look?
Drawing in a long, calming breath, I went to inspect the source of the sound.
A group of people had gathered around at least half a dozen shattered wine glasses, picking the shards up from the ground.
I made a mental note to remind myself to buy wine glasses this weekend.
As for right now, as long as Cierra’s drunk guests still had enough sense to clean up after themselves—fuck it…
I needed to loosen up. It was a party.
It was a really shitty party—filled with aggravating strangers, and bad music, but it was a party. I opened up the fridge to see what kind of drinks Cierra had stocked for her birthday.
White spirits.
Not a single bottle of anything brown.
Nice, I thought sarcastically. Cierra’s taste in alcohol is trash, too, I realized, reaching for a bottle of Absolut Elyx, and then grabbing a shot glass. For a buzz, I could do four. I wasn’t trying to get drunk. I was just trying to relax.
The glass was halfway to my face when a hand came up and snatched it out of mine. You have got to be fucking kidding me…
“I know, I know,” the girl cooed at my expression, her eyes apologizing as if she had no choice but to do what she’d just done. “But I really need this shot.”
She sipped at it.
I didn’t think I’d seen someone sip straight vodka since high school. Is she… Is she doing this for the first time?
“Ugh, this is terrible,” she grumbled between chugs. Yep. I let out a short, inaudible laugh. Unbelievable. I had every reason to be irritated, but I was just…amused. “People drink that for fun?” she asked no one in particular after she’d finished. “I could barely get that down.”
“That’s why they usually just toss it back,” I replied, surprising her—and myself.
Her eyebrows came together skeptically. “Like… all in one go?” she asked.
I certainly didn’t imagine I’d be spending my Friday night explaining the logistics of taking shots to a girl who couldn’t have been a day under eighteen. Shouldn’t she know this by now?
It was then that I got a look at what she had on. Her red dress, although kind of working for her, was so out of place. She was dressed like she was getting ready to tell me about all the great things God has done in her life.
My head tilted to the side, confused at first. Is she in the wrong house?
“Okay, I’m ready for my second try,” she announced, shaking the glass expectantly as though I was some bartender.
It would have been very like me to simply leave the bottle on the counter and tell her to pour her own shot, but one look at her dark eyes—shining with an almost child-like na?veté—and I was suddenly unsure of myself.
In a place like this, with eyes like that, she could get herself into a lot of trouble.
It wasn’t like me to give a shit, to be honest.
And yet…
I poured the second shot, letting the alcohol flow just shy of the glass’s rim. Her eyes grew to the size of quarters upon realizing how much she had to throw back. Despite myself, I cracked a smile. She was kinda cute.
“Ugh, that burns,” she told me after tossing it all down, shaking her shoulders as if to get the alcohol’s warming effect out of her system.
I grimaced at her little dance, my eyes going above her head to Amir coming up behind her. Trying to talk over the music, my friend was shouting when he spoke.
“Yo, you know where Cici is?”
Of course.
Nevermind that I’d literally just arrived in Miami from Tally only four hours ago. Nevermind that I hadn’t seen the nigga since New Year’s. With him, it was Cierra all day, every day. I could just tell by observing Amir’s whack ass that being in love wasn’t for me.
“She’s around here somewhere,” I shrugged, my eyes glancing down at Red Dress absently, as if a small part of me was worried about her walking off.
Evidently, she was really good at minding her own business, choosing to occupy herself with her phone rather than eavesdrop on my conversation with Amir. She didn’t even bother turning around to see who I was talking to. Interesting, I noted, at the same time also noticing she’d yet to walk away.
Amir followed my gaze, his eyes falling on the back of her head.
‘That’s you?’ he mouthed, pointing at her as his eyes traveled down her backside. ‘Damn,’ I read his lips say once his eyes fell to her ass.
Something about the gesture didn’t sit quite well with me.
I tried to rationalize it by telling myself it was because Amir was in a whole ass relationship with my sister, but—come on.
Their relationship was their relationship.
It had never been like me to concern myself with what my sister and my best friend had going on.
That momentary spike in my blood pressure over Amir looking at Red Dress’ ass—that was for something else entirely.
“Go find your girl,” I said with a nod of my head, tone subtly impatient.
When I turned my attention back to Red Dress, she, of course, had her glass out for another drink. “I don’t feel anything yet,” she explained.
Last one, I told myself, giving her what she asked for.
She tossed that one back like it was water, saying something about how she couldn’t taste it anymore.
Her eyes darted across the room, and I watched as her front teeth sunk into her lower lip anxiously.
She watched the other party guests with an almost longing look. As if she craved a sense of belonging.
I shook my head, trying to snap myself out of whatever it was that had me staring so fucking hard.
Catching me off guard, she snapped her head back in my direction and slammed the glass on the counter, practically demanding a fourth shot. A’ight, ma, you gettin’ a lil too comfortable.
I thought it.
But I didn’t say it.
Oddly, all I did was look at her, my eyes scanning her delicate features analytically. Although four shots weren’t nearly enough to get me sauced, it was certainly enough for me to get slightly buzzed. I could only imagine the effect it’d have on a woman her height and weight.
Her eyebrows came up expectantly, an impatience in them. It seemed like she was holding her own pretty well for a first-timer. So it didn’t seem like an all-the-way bad idea as I poured her another. This time, however, I gave her a little less than I’d been giving her for the first three.
She stared at the glass after it was filled, her eyes beginning to get a dreamlike quality to them.
“My sister is such a bitch,” she disclosed randomly, tossing her organized curls back as she tilted backward for her fourth drink. “She’s the selfishest person I know.”
Her speech was a little slurred.
Ah, fuck. I regretted that last shot. She had about fifteen minutes before all those drinks hit her at once, and if she was already slurring… Fuck.
“Most selfish,” she corrected her grammar, seemingly trying to hold onto her sobriety.
Her eyes rose from her glass, looking up at me with something that resembled embarrassment.
Her eyes were dark brown, as was her skin—a perfect clarity in both.
I caught myself not blinking. Damn, she’s really pretty.
I blinked away the thought just as she rose her glass again, asking for a fifth.
Sizing her, I drew the bottle back. Absolutely not.
Her eyebrows shot up. “No, you don’t understand.”
With her hand, she beckoned me to come in closer. When I didn’t budge, she only got more aggressive, shooting me an eager, dimpled smile. Something in my chest jumped—and I promptly ignored it. Playing it off, I gave in to her persuasion, leaning down to hear what was so important.
She cupped her hand around my ear and whispered, “I’m not drunk.”
Well, I hadn’t thought so until now.
Releasing a sigh, I started to put some distance between her and I. A sound like a whimper came out of her and she reached out to grab the front of my shirt. “No, stop. I’m not finished,” she whined.
My eyes dropped to her hand, which had my shirt balled within a fist. My first reaction was to be confused.
Because of my last name, people had their assumptions about what I was like, and treated me accordingly.
The sheer weirdness of her behavior threw me off.
Strangers rarely invaded my personal space like this.
She’s drunk, I reminded myself.
As if reading my mind, she said, “I swear I’m not drunk. Not yet. I need another drink. Fuck being sober. Fuck my sister Morgan.” She stopped to clear her throat, and shouted louder, “Fuck Morgan!”
What the hell…
After prying away her tight grip on my shirt, I finally spoke.
“Ain’t you think you’ve had enough?”
Stunned, her eyebrows rose at my imposing tone, and her posture straightened.
I watched as she took a moment to collect herself before her eyes shot back to me and the brightest smile stretched across her face, trying to play off her initial reaction.
Those fucking dimples again. There was another jump in my chest.
Shit—what is wrong with me?