SEVEN
KIERAN
How long was I gone? Five minutes in the bathroom, and the crowd of people around Amelie had doubled, like a wall of bodies blocking her from my view. I could see my traitor sister standing a few feet away with Jordan, so thankfully, she hadn’t completely abandoned her post.
The sheer number of boys circling the now animated new girl made my fingers flex before curling into fists. What was she even saying? I’d lived with Amelie for weeks, and she clammed up whenever I walked into the room.
Go figure, Rook, you’ve been hostile from the start and about as welcoming as a paper cut.
My blood started to boil as I stepped through the patio doors of the kitchen and glanced around.
The garden was now packed, and the pool area was even more crowded.
Weston’s pool was heated, which meant pool parties were possible in all weathers.
Looking at the water, there was a group of guys with girls on their shoulders, playing Shoulder Wars, and the general, excitable atmosphere had heightened.
I checked my phone—nearly ten. The party had shifted.
The alcohol had finally worked its magic, and the air was thick with that dangerous edge of unruliness.
On the far side of the patio on a decked area, people were now dancing to the shit pop music blaring from Rafe Cavendish’s outdoor speaker system.
Lifting my chin, I slid my phone into my jeans and glanced back at where Amelie was still standing on the grass. My eyes snagged on my best friend, who had been partially hidden when I’d first looked over. He was the one she had been talking to.
My attention turned into a glare as I watched them. Weston was leaning towards Amelie, touching her arm every five seconds, like they were well acquainted. My knuckles itched; his actions fuelled that strong urge I felt to dislocate his fucking jaw.
You wouldn’t look so smug then, would you, dickwad?
From where I stood, I couldn’t tell whether my little stray appreciated him getting handsy.
She didn’t flinch or pull away, but that ghost of a smile she was wearing was paper-thin, and her shoulders looked stiff.
Lifting my feet, I made my move with a purposeful stride, ignoring the kids who were trying to get my attention.
“West. A word.”
I didn’t need to yell. The command easily carried across the patio as I strutted over. It caught the attention of a handful of year elevens who clearly didn’t get the memo that staring at me—or mine—was dangerous.
Wait? Me and mine? Where the hell did that come from?
I cast a disappointed look at two of the younger kids I recognised from school, Sam Jacobs and Robert Fulton.
Fucking gate crashers, Weston never invited the kids we saw as juniors.
That’s what happened when you put shit on Instagram: too many freeloaders turned up.
I hated the unpredictability of social media invites; it messed with my OCD.
Amelie’s focus landed on my face, and I sensed her relief as she beamed up at me with a slightly unnerving smile.
I hadn’t expected such a warm reception.
“Kieran?” she breathed, her voice like warm honey. “It’s a great party.” Was it? I was confused. The girl was genuinely pleased to see me; I could read that on every inch of her beautiful face.
“We were just talking about my dress,” Amelie explained cheerfully, causing my eyes to dart around the group, the accusation in them clear, thinking, ‘They are more interested in what’s in the dress, sunshine.
’ I gritted my teeth as her next words knocked me for six, considering all the shitty things I had said to her.
“What do you think? It’s new. Do you like it?” she asked, twisting this way and that to display herself for me with a hopeful expression.
Clamping my mouth, my jaw ticked as our part of the patio fell silent. Half a dozen sets of eyes pivoted from her to me, waiting for my reaction. I felt heat crawl up my neck, my heart hammering a rhythm. It was like I was on display and not in a good way.
My brain appeared to have frozen.
What the hell was I to say to that? ‘Yes, but it would look better on my bedroom floor?’ Christ, no. I didn’t try to deny the hypocrisy that I was thinking the same thing as the horny kids around us.
Glancing swiftly over her frame, I replied, my voice clipped and awkward. “Yes, it’s fine.” I managed to stop myself from adding what there is of it.
It was more than fine; the girl looked sensational, and yet I couldn’t tell her that. I was tongue-tied in front of my friends and those who looked up to me. Telling her the truth almost felt like I’d be revealing a weakness. The hypocrisy tasted bitter, but I swallowed it whole.
The disappointment that flashed across her pretty, hurt features almost broke me. I wanted to drop to my knees and beg for forgiveness.
From the squaring of his shoulders, I knew Weston was going to tear into me for my dick response to such an insanely normal female question.
Playing the hero, he contradicted me. “You look stunning, Amelie, don’t let that prick tell you otherwise.
” Throwing a look my way, West thought he was doing me a favour. He thought wrong.
“Amelie, Jessa’s looking for you,” I punctuated that comment with a sharp jerk of my chin towards the house where my sister was now standing with the sappy ex.
“Oh, OK,” she replied, glancing behind me.
“Yeah. I need to talk to West, guy stuff. You understand,” I added with a go-away glare.
Amelie got my message, turning to mutter her excuses to the clowns who still hadn’t had the sense to do one.
“Stay with Jessa and don’t wander off.” She gave me a small nod, and heat flooded my groin, fierce and needy.
I liked that she followed instructions. As Amelie brushed past me, excusing herself so politely, I imagined fleetingly how good she would look on her knees, peering up at me with that same frantic need to please.
You’re a dirty-minded fucker and a rude bastard, my internal monologue scolded. Tell me something I didn’t know. You could have just said she looked nice!
Weston and I both tracked Amelie’s movements as she threaded herself in between the clusters of half-inebriated kids, oblivious to the boys who gawked at her.
Once she arrived at Jessa’s side, my sister smiled and automatically included her in whatever crap they were talking about. Hopefully, nothing too personal.
My buddy peered at me with an inquisitive eyebrow.
Feeling pissed, I called him out on the name-calling.
“That prick?” At my tone, the crowd dispersed, and murmurs of needing a drink or the bathroom ensued.
I dead-eyed Sam and Robert as they left, relieved when they gave Amelie, Jessa, and Jordan a wide berth.
The big guy remaining beside me snickered, grabbing my attention back. “You should see your face,” Weston chuckled, offering me a swig of his beer. I declined with a harassed wave of one hand. I had just handled the situation with Amelie like an immature child. And we both knew it.
The vein in my temple throbbed. It wasn't just annoyance I felt: it was a black, territorial jealousy that made my blood burn like acid.
“What about my face?” I echoed with a huff, trying to appear casual, even though my body was itching to lash out.
“First of all. Have you forgotten how to talk to chicks or something? That wasn’t the nicest response when she asked what you thought about her dress.”
“We both know, I’m not nice.”
“No shit,” West muttered under his breath.
My temper kicked in. “I said it was fine, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, you did. Well done, you. What a crappy, bland as fuck reply,” he snorted.
“And don’t pretend like you don’t wanna hit that,” West said with a God give me strength air, motioning toward Amelie with the rim of his beer bottle.
I didn’t look over; it would show weakness; I kept my focus on my annoying buddy.
‘How about I hit you? In the face, several times?’ I almost blurted, chewing the inside of my cheek. Instead, I smacked him up the side of the head, hard. “I said, she’s off limits.”
“Maybe you should tell yourself that,” the idiot moaned, rubbing the spot I had struck him.
“I mean it, Weston.”
After a second glance at my face, he relaxed and held his hands up in mock surrender. “OK, chill your tits. I get it, real fucking subtle, Kieran,” West added with a pained expression.
My face contorted in annoyance. “What are you harping on about?”
The big, stupid oaf didn’t come up for air. “You, calling dibs on your stepmom’s niece. Is that even allowed? Talk about marking your territory. You should have just peed all over her, man,” he stated, watching me down his nose.
I dashed a hand across my chin, stating, “You're confusing me with Tanner. He’s the one with the water sports fetishes.” Another reason I didn’t want him near my sister.
The last track booming through the speakers faded out just as a loud, wet belch came from behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, there he was, Tanner McCoy, almost like saying his name had made him appear out of thin air.
“Did I hear my name?” the delinquent who was Tanner piped up from behind us with a toothy grin. He held a beer and a burger, clinking the bottle with Weston’s as he joined us.
At least he was more himself recently. For the first three weeks of school, he had been behaving like a mopey bastard, ever since his old man bought him a top-of-the-range Audi Q5 for his birthday.
And what’s the issue, you may ask? It was last year’s model, and so had the wrong grille.
Tanner McCoy had not been happy. Boo-fucking-hoo!
His Daddy bought him a fifty-thousand-pound car for nothing, and it still wasn’t good enough.
It appeared we all had our problems, didn’t we?
Rich, spoiled little git. He was still my boy, irrespective of being an ungrateful dick.
Weston clearly appreciated the interruption as his face lit up. “You’re just in time, Tan. Kieran here was explaining the terms of his new ownership policy.”