EIGHT #2
Usually, students moved the fuck out of the way when I was on a mission, but everyone was too pissed to notice me. Being ignored was not something I was used to. And it’s not bragging if it’s true.
A few basketball teammates caught my eye and acknowledged me with a thumbs up; I returned a couple of half-hearted fist bumps and bro-hugs, chest to chest, but my focus never wavered.
Adrenaline rushed through my veins as I finally caught sight of my sister. She was still standing, thank fuck. As I shifted my gaze, my eyes fell on my little stray. She still looked beautiful, her long hair damp with sweat and her face flushed from exertion.
Jessa and Amelie were dancing in the middle of a smaller group of around six kids; if you can call what some of those people were doing dancing. Andrea Wilson was practically stapled to Anthony Crosby with her legs wrapped around his waist whilst they sucked face.
Get a room.
Amelie was oblivious to her surroundings and the danger lurking by.
The girl looked so innocent and completely exposed.
I could feel the gazes of a dozen predators tracking her every move.
I watched Amelie Thorn with an intensity I hadn’t realised I was capable of; her eyes were closed as she swayed to the music.
My sister, Jessa, was dancing alongside her, arms raised to the sky, pumping in time to the tunes.
I kept my distance for as long as possible; muscling in would have to be a last resort.
I’d already made it blatantly obvious that the new girl was getting under my skin, storming over there like a jealous boyfriend would only make that worse.
And I was supposed to be keeping our association as low-profile as possible.
To protect myself and my family from the fallout when they all learned that the girl's father had almost killed one of our students.
And then the ground almost dropped out from under me as Aaron Blake himself slid in behind Amelie and took her hips in his hands.
Her eyes shot open, and she glanced over her shoulder, clearly surprised.
I waited for her to pull away, but she didn’t.
And then, to make that shit worse, she smiled; that glazed expression telling me all I needed to know.
She’d been drinking.
Gently shouldering through the group of kids dancing on their makeshift floor, I made my way towards Jessa, who had danced herself out of the group and into a corner.
“How much has she had?” I shouted in her ear, jerking my head towards Amelie and her ‘suitor’.
My sister turned with a frown to check out the gyrating couple.
I told myself I was concerned because of who she was dancing with, rather than any jealousy; our very own hit-and-run victim, Rebecca Blake’s fucking brother.
Jessa’s nose wrinkled as if she’d just stepped in something rank.
“Not that much, two, three beers at the most—oh, and a couple of mojitos,” she replied with a hiccup, pointing her finger at me with a goofy grin.
“Remember that night Vanessa hosted a cocktail party and made you a mojito? You told her it tasted like shit in front of all her friends.” Her cackle at the memory and the way she slapped my chest made me roll my eyes in despair. Jessa was not a good drunk.
Placing a hand on my irresponsible twin's shoulder, I turned her to face me. Weston must have turned the music down, as I could hear myself think. “A couple of mojitos?” Amelie’s head was now leaning against the top half of Aaron’s torso.
I hated his smug fucking expression, like he thought he’d scored big time.
Not going to happen.
Call me a fun sponge, but that whole scene annoyed the shit out of me.
Why was he even there? Shouldn’t he have been by his sister’s bedside instead of out on the prowl?
I knew my thoughts were unfair, as rumour had it the guy spent most of his time at the hospital.
I tuned back into what Jessa was slurring.
“There isn’t that much booze in a mojito, you know.
That’s why you didn’t like Vanessa’s version.
” That wasn’t quite true. During those days, my stepmother could have made me the best drink on the planet, and I still would have turned my nose up.
“It’s a lightweight cocktail,” Jessa added.
“Lightweight? It still contains white rum, Jessa, and the percentage of alcohol depends on who’s making it.”
Realisation dawned, and she gave me another stupid toothy grin. I noted she had lipstick on her teeth. “Oh, yeah, good point. I bought it ready-made from Tommo the other night.”
I exhaled, casting another glance at Amelie to make sure she was still close by. Her eyes were closed again as she rested her back against Aaron’s chest. Jessa’s confession triggered my temper. “Tommo? Free-Pourer Parker? For Christ's sake, Jess.”
The vein in my temple started to throb as I pointed out. “I gave you one job tonight. And you blew it.” Jessa stuck her bottom lip out.
I looked back at Amelie. Her dress had ridden up, revealing the pale, silky curve of her thighs, and my stomach did a slow, heavy roll. As if she felt the weight of my stare, her eyes drifted open.
And again, Amelie stole the breath from my entire body. As she recognised me, her entire sweet face transformed—a brilliant, sun-bright smile, meant for me and me alone. It was like a punch through the chest.
As she turned to say something over her shoulder to Aaron, I grabbed Jessa’s hand and tugged her behind me. I could see that Amelie was trying to move away, but Aaron drew her back. A flare of worry hit her face, and that was the only green light I needed.
“How was I supposed to know she couldn’t take her drink. She’s seventeen.” Jessa shouted as I dragged her with me.
“You’re the one who said she’s been fucking sheltered!” I boomed back.
“Ah, good point.”
Aaron’s head lifted as I came to stand in front of him.
“Blake,” I said, second-naming him with Jessa by my side, rubbing her wrist like a pussy. My grip hadn’t been that tight, at least I didn’t think so.
“Rook,” he returned cordially, placing his chin on Amelie’s shoulder blade, studying me with hooded eyes. I glanced down at his hands, which were now wrapped around her middle. I wondered how easy it would be to break his fingers.
“Sup, man, you good?” he added in a casual tone that didn’t reach his guarded expression.
“Yeah, not bad,” I said, my voice steady, dangerously calm. “Do you mind if I cut in?”
Amelie was watching me with a look that was hard to read, and she wasn’t dancing anymore; just standing there with a guy who didn’t realise how close he was to death.
I could see that Aaron minded massively, as he blatantly ignored me. Pretending he hadn’t heard, even though the music was quieter at that end of the decking.
I didn't waste another word on the dick. I lowered my head and crooked a single finger at Amelie. The command was silent and absolute. She grinned—that dizzy, mojito-fuelled smile—and managed to slip out of his arms, stumbling toward me.
“Hey, you,” she chirped, oblivious to the trouble she was in. Jessa tried to move around me to help, but I held out an arm to stop her.
“It’s home time,” I said, my lips against the cuff of Amelie’s ear.
“What?” she shouted, holding her hand to her ear.
“Home time, the party’s over.” The crowds around us were in clusters, talking and laughing now that the music was less intrusive.
As my comment registered, she took a step back with a small, rebellious shake of her head. That was all the invitation Aaron needed. He stepped to Amelie’s side, puffing out his chest like he thought he could take me. “I don’t think she wants to go with you, man.”
Gently pushing Amelie away from the tower of shit in front of me, I stepped up to him and straightened to my full height.
I had three inches on him, and the difference was noticeable.
The tension surrounding us crackled in time to the music as I got in his face.
“She’s drunk, man,” I replied, over-emphasising his ‘man’ comment from earlier.
“And I don’t give a shit. She’s coming home with me right now. ”
His nose wrinkled. “Why would she do that? Amelie told me she was single earlier. So, you can stop the pissing contest—she’s not your girl,” he rallied back, liquid courage making him brave. I was surprised, as no one challenged me. I could feel Jessa and Amelie’s eyes drilling into my cheek.
“No, she’s not my girl,” I admitted carefully, clenching my jaw, hating how disappointed I felt that that was the case.
Aaron’s gaze yo-yoed back and forth. “Then she’s fair game,” he stated, jutting out his chin and jamming his hands on his hips.
He was a big fucker, but I also had at least another twenty pounds of muscle.
“Problem here?”
That voice was like a bucket of ice water. I twisted my neck toward Anderson Richards. The captain of the basketball team and Aaron’s shadow. Fucking great.
Before I could reply, shit-for-brains beat me to it, “No. Rook’s got his dick in a twist because he was late to the party.”
“In what way?”
“He’s trying to call dibs on this girl I’m with,” Aaron stated, throwing me under the bus to my teammate.
Anderson’s greedy gaze ran over Amelie. “I can see why.”
“That’s not the point. I got in first.”
“Fair play. So, what’s the issue, Rook? There’s plenty more fish in the sea.”
“What?” Jessa suddenly yelled out, her phone held against her head. She turned, jamming a hand over her other ear to block out the music, oblivious to the ticking time bomb I was standing in the middle of.
I ignored her, locking eyes with Anderson. The 'agree to disagree' truce we’d held since primary school was disintegrating fast. “I don't give a shit, Anderson. I’m telling him to walk away. Now.”
“Or what?” Anderson stepped closer, his chest skimming mine. “You planning on punching your captain? Over a girl who doesn’t even want you?”