Chapter 36
Logan
The bass from Ellis’ sound system pounds through my chest like a second heartbeat as I weave through the crowd of drunk teenagers, scanning for Brielle’s bright red hair. Or is it blonde this go around? Honestly, I haven’t been paying attention. It might be green for all I know.
The scent of booze and far too many hormones hangs thick in the air, mixed with whatever questionable substances are being passed around behind the pool house.
I spot Bree near the edge of the property, sitting on a decorative rock with her arms wrapped around her knees as if she’s trying to hold herself together.
But she’s not alone. Some guy I don’t recognize has his arm draped over her shoulders, leaning in way too close and talking in an aggressive whisper that screams bad intentions.
Perfect. This is exactly what I need right now—Brielle getting involved with some random idiot when I’m supposed to point her back in Drake’s direction.
I head over, trying not to look like I’m about to throw this guy into next week—which I absolutely am if he doesn’t back off in the next ten seconds.
“Hey, Bree,” I call out, giving the guy a look that says get lost. “How’s it going?”
Brielle looks up, and I can see the relief flooding her face. “Logan! Oh my goodness, thank you.” She immediately scoots away from her unwanted guest, who shoots me a look that could slice my neck, and judging by the knife sticking out of his pocket, he just might.
“Who the hell are you?” the guy asks, standing up with that drunk-aggressive stance that means this is about to get stupid.
He’s got at least three inches and thirty pounds on me, all muscle, and from the way he’s swaying, he’s running on enough of Ellis’ liquid courage to think starting a fight is a great idea.
“I’m Logan,” I say, sliding myself between him and Brielle like a wall. “And you are?”
“Having a private conversation,” he slurs, his breath reeking of expensive vodka and cheap beer—a classic Ellis liquor haul.
The vodka comes from his parents’ reserve, and Ellis picks up the kegs from the liquor store downtown, which gives him a bulk discount.
Ellis is already proving to be responsible with money.
“So why don’t you mind your own business? ” the ornery dude riots in my face.
Brielle stands and smooths her skirt with her hands. “Actually, Logan, I was just about to find you. We have that... um, thing to discuss. You know, about work.”
I nod, playing along. “Right. The work thing. Very important.”
Vodka Breath staggers closer, and I watch him try to work out if he’s drunk enough to take a swing. “What thing?”
“Nothing you need to worry about,” I say, keeping my tone somewhere between conversational and test me and find out. “Thanks for keeping Brielle company, but I’ve got it from here.”
“I don’t think so.” He reaches for Brielle’s arm, and that’s it—we’re done talking.
I close the distance between us until we’re nose-to-nose. “Touch her and I’ll break your arm. That clear enough for you?”
For a moment, I think he might actually take a swing at me.
His face flushes red, and his hands clench into fists.
But by some small miracle, he backs down.
I glance to the left where his gaze has suddenly wandered and spot Carly Foster, a blonde from East, sauntering by with a wave.
The wave may have been directed toward me, but Vodka Breath is taking it as an invite.
“Whatever,” he mutters, stumbling toward his next target. “Your loss, bitch.”
Brielle flinches at the word, and it takes everything I have not to grab him by the collar and introduce his face to the ground. But starting a fight that ends with me in jail won’t help anyone’s timeline.
“Thanks,” she says quietly. “In another five minutes, I would have ended up naked in the pool house with him.” She shrugs. “I’m a sucker for persistence.”
“Speaking of persistence,” I say, steering us back toward the mission. “Drake’s around here somewhere, probably wondering where you went. Last I saw, he was failing to look tough by the pool. He was looking pretty lost.” And that sums up nicely his newfound biker career.
Brielle makes a face. “Drake? The one who’s been acting as if I don’t exist lately? I flashed my boobs at him after second period, and he didn’t even wink at me. You have no idea what that level of rejection could do to a girl. Face it, he’s weird.”
“He’s not weird, he’s just... going through something.” I start heading toward the pool, hoping she’ll take the bait. “Trust me, underneath the leather jacket and the attitude, he’s still Drake.”
“I don’t know, Logan. After tonight, I’m kind of done with guys and their dumb drama.”
I stop and look at her. “That guy was a drunk asshole. Drake is just confused. There’s a difference. He’s actually one of the good ones, even if he’s going through a phase right now.”
Brielle raises an eyebrow. “A phase?”
“People change,” I say, keeping it simple. “Drake’s just... experimenting. The leather jacket thing won’t last forever.” I hope. Unless we’ve completely screwed the timeline, in which case Brielle might end up married to some other idiot entirely.
“I guess that makes sense. I mean, I’ve definitely tried on a few different personalities myself. My favorite is the reverse harem princess. But I’ve sort of passed that baton to Skyla.”
“Thank you, I think. So maybe give him a chance? As a friend, I mean. No pressure. No boobs necessary.”
“My boobs are always necessary, Oliver, and don’t you forget it.”
We push through the crowd toward the pool, where the party has hit that tipping point where bad decisions start looking like great ideas. The underwater lights cast everything in blue and green, making us all feel as if we’re living at the bottom of an aquarium.
We don’t get three steps out before we spot our mark.
Sure enough, Drake is standing by himself near the deep end, leather jacket and all, staring into the water as if he were contemplating a drowning—his own.
There is definitely something different about his posture; he’s far less of a brooding rebel and more of a guy who’s regretting his fashion choices.
“There he is,” I tell Bree.
She follows my gaze and frowns. “He looks like he’s about to jump in and take off all of his clothes.”
“Or he’s having second thoughts about the whole rebel-without-a-cause thing.”
“I like my line of thought better,” she sniffs. “Maybe I should lend him a hand and push him.”
“Let’s not add assault to tonight’s list of bad decisions. Try talking to him first.”
As we get closer, I can see Drake’s reflection in the water. He’s fidgeting with the chains on his jacket like he just realized he looks like an extra from a bad biker movie who didn’t make the cut.
“Drake,” I call out.
He turns, and his face lights up with genuine relief.
“Logan. Dude, thank God. I’ve been standing here forever trying to figure out how to ditch this stupid leather crap without looking like a total moron.
You wouldn’t happen to be in the market for a leather jacket? I’ll let you have it for fifty bucks.”
Brielle snorts with a laugh, and Drake’s eyes snap to her. “Oh. Hey, Bree.”
“Hey, yourself,” she says, and I watch her give him a once-over despite the ridiculous chains. “So, you finally figured out the whole biker thing isn’t working?”
Drake groans, yanking at his jacket like it’s trying to strangle him. “Yeah, turns out, I’m more debate club than motorcycle club. Who knew?”
“I could have told you that,” Brielle says with a grin that makes my chest tight with hope. “Remember when I tried to be all mysterious and wore nothing but black for like a month? You called me Wednesday Addams every day until I gave up.”
“That was different. You actually looked hot in black.”
“Did I?” Brielle gasps at the thought before sticking her boobs out as if they were a peace offering.
“Yeah, you did. You always look—” Drake’s line of vision drops to her nipples. “Geez. You look freaking hot. I mean, whatever.” He yanks his jacket down to cover the obvious situation developing south of his belt. “This leather thing was stupid.”
“It was pretty stupid,” Brielle agrees, but she’s smiling, and her boobs just jutted out another notch. “Though I have to admit, the whole bad boy thing had potential. You just went a little overboard with the accessories.”
And just like that, they’re talking. Really talking, with all the teasing and chemistry that’s been building between them for months. This is exactly what’s supposed to happen. And by the looks of it, Bree’s boobs agree, too.
I watch them for a few minutes, feeling ridiculously proud of myself for making this happen. This is how it’s supposed to be. This is how their story starts.
Then I stay two seconds too long.
“So, Logan,” Drake says, turning to me with an expression that sets off every warning bell in my head. “Have you and Bree been hanging out a lot lately?”
“We’re friends,” I say, already not liking where this is headed.
“Friends,” Drake repeats, and there’s a dangerous edge to his voice. “Right. So, you just happened to rescue her from some dumb bastard, and now you’re what, comforting her? That’s right, I saw the whole thing.”
Brielle looks between us, her mouth rounding out. “Wait, what’s happening?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly. “I should probably go find—”
“Nah, don’t rush off on my account,” Drake cuts me off, moving closer. His chains rattle like a warning. “I’m just trying to figure out when you decided to make a move on my girl.”
I inch back. “That’s not—”
“Isn’t it?” Drake’s voice gets louder, and I can see heads turning our way. “Playing the hero, swooping in when she’s good and drunk? Smooth move, Oliver.”
“Drake, you’re being crazy,” Brielle says with a laugh, and I can tell she’s pleased as hell that he just called her his girl.
“Crazy?” Drake snorts. “Logan Oliver doesn’t do anything without a reason. So what’s the reason, pretty boy? It looks to me, you decided you want what’s mine.”
A dull laugh pumps through me. “Dude, you are way off base here.”
“Am I? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re trying to steal my girlfriend.” Drake gets in my face, close enough that I can smell whatever cheap cologne came with the leather jacket. “And I don’t take that crap from anybody.”
“Dude, she’s not even your girlfriend yet,” I snap before I can stop myself.
Wrong thing to say. Drake’s face goes nuclear.
“The hell she’s not.” His fists come up, ready to start something. “Just because I haven’t asked her out doesn’t mean you get to make a move.”
“Drake, stop it,” Brielle pleads, but we’re well past listening.
“You know what pisses me off most?” Drake continues, puffing up like he’s ready to throw me into the deep end of the pool and hold my head under. “You already got my stepsister wrapped around your finger. That’s not enough for you?”
The mention of Skyla hits like a punch to the gut. “Leave her out of this.”
“Why? Truth hurts?” Drake’s smile turns vicious. “Everyone knows you’re stringing her along while you shop around for backup options.”
“You’re being a moron.”
“Am I?” Drake shoves me, hard enough to make his point. “Stay away from what’s mine, Oliver.”
Brielle breaks out in a shrieking giggle and gives me a thumbs-up behind his back. It’s clear she approves of the possessive aggression going on here.
I shove him back, harder than I meant to, and he stumbles toward the pool’s edge. For a second, I think he’s going in, chains and all, and I’d be lucky enough to watch him sink to the bottom. But he catches himself at the last second, whipping around with murder in his eyes.
“You wanna go?” he asks, spreading his arms wide. “Come on then. Let’s do this.”
Everything goes silent around us. The music’s still playing, but our corner of the party has turned into ground zero for tonight’s main event.
“Drake, stop,” Brielle says, stepping between us. “This is stupid. I’m not anybody’s property.” She looks livid, definitely not flattered. “And Logan was just being nice to me, which is more than I can say for you lately.”
Drake’s face falls for a moment. “Bree, I didn’t mean—”
“Yeah, you did.” She shakes her head, backing away from both of us. “You ignore me for weeks, act like I don’t exist, and then, the second another guy talks to me, you want to fight about it? That’s not how this works!”
She turns and stomps off, taking her boobs with her, and leaving Drake standing there looking like someone just kicked him in the balls.
The crowd starts to disperse, disappointed that the fight fizzled out before it began. Drake stares after Brielle for a long moment, then turns back to me with a newfound rage in his face.
“You’re going to pay for this, Oliver,” he roars before taking off in the opposite direction.
This is not how this was supposed to go.
This is the exact opposite of how it was supposed to go.