eyond Desire Collection

by JS Scott, M Malone, Marie Hall, et al

  That’s the thing about summer; it brings with it people I don’t necessarily want to see.

  “If Rick is there, I’ll kick his ass,” she assures me.

  “I’m not worried about Rick.” I haven’t given my ex-boyfriend—if I could even call someone I hooked up with a few times over Christmas break a boyfriend—a second thought in months. “I just don’t like the vibe when the university kids come home.”

  “Ignore them. We’ll hang out with our people, and they can hang out with theirs.”

  I nod, not really listening. It’s easy for Ellie to say that—she’s one of the most confident people I’ve ever known. Besides which, she couldn’t give a shit about some stuck-up kids and their precious degrees. Higher education has never been on her radar.

  And it shouldn’t be on yours either, I remind myself. There hasn’t been a point in thinking about it in years, and there certainly isn’t one now.

  “Alton Woods?” I ask, suddenly realizing the houses outside my window are getting much larger. “Since when do we go to parties in this neighborhood?”

  She shrugs again. “I just go where they tell me the booze will be, babe.”

  I rub suddenly damp hands across the knees of my jeans, wishing I could dispel the queasiness in my stomach as easily. I’m not off to a very good start tonight, and I can really use a drink. The parties Ellie and I usually attend seem to take place a world away from this enclave of stately homes and circular drives. Most Friday nights find us in a grotty basement or shared house on the other side of town. Who do we know that would throw a party in this neighborhood?

  Ellie slows the Honda to a crawl. “Do you see any house numbers?” she asks, squinting. “God, are rich people too good for fucking house numbers?”

  “It’s probably an attempt to keep people like us out,” I tell her.

  “Well, it’s working. I have no clue which house it is.”

  I point out the window at a guy carrying a six pack up a sloping lawn toward a monstrous brick mansion at the end of the street. “When in doubt, follow the guy with the beer.”

  “Good point.” She pulls up behind a shiny silver truck and parks. She peers into the rearview mirror as she fluffs her jet black hair, and the street light illuminates the midnight-blue streaks at her temples. Ellie has a thing for crazy color highlights, and she can definitely pull them off.

  I turn my attention to the house. Sure enough, the guy with the beer disappears behind its massive wooden front door. The house is situated at the end of a cul-de-sac, providing it with even more space and privacy than the other behemoths on the block. The neighbors probably aren’t even close enough to hear the music or party noise. When I open my door, I can’t hear a thing though from the amount of cars parked in the circle drive and on the street, I’m betting that the party is packed.

  “I don’t know about this,” I say as Ellie joins me on the pavement. “This really doesn’t look like our scene.”

  “You never know.” She links her arm through mine and pulls me down the street. “Rich kids probably have better liquor. Top shelf, baby.”

  That familiar knot tightens in my stomach.

  “We’ll bounce if it’s lame.” When I don’t respond to her assurances, she tries a different tack. “I thought you wanted a drink? You’ll feel better when you get a beer in you.”

  “True.” I allow myself to be mollified. “Just so long as we can leave if it’s lame.”

  “Cross my heart. We’ll just steal the good booze and start our own party in the park or something.”

  This is one of the reasons I like to hang out with Ellie. She always knows how to make me feel better without patronizing me. She gets me. She’s one of the few people in the world who does.

  The noise of the party hits me when Ellie swings open the front door. I never imagined it would be this crowded—people are crammed together everywhere. “Holy shit,” Ellie mutters, hooking her arm more tightly against mine. “This is crazy.”

  “Let’s find the kitchen. I’m going to need a beer before I start looking for familiar faces in this mess.”

  We can barely make our way down the hallway through the throngs of people who quite obviously have already been hitting the drinks. Someone reaches out and grabs my shoulder. “Where you going in such a hurry, Gorgeous?”

  I turn to find a guy dressed in a thin white t-shirt and a backwards cap. He’s clearly wasted and leering at me.

  “We’re in need of refreshment,” Ellie tells him, smiling. She’s good at handling drunks and overeager boys. I take a step toward her, wanting to get free of him.

  “I’ve got refreshment right here,” he says, grabbing his crotch as he shoots me a nasty grin that makes me want to puke. “Why don’t you stay, and I’ll give you some.”

  Ellie’s expression turns stony. “We’ll pass.” She takes my arm and leads me away.

  “Whores,” he mutters.

  “Nice,” Ellie says, shaking her head. “Did he honestly think we would find that enticing?”

  “What, you’re not turned on by potential date rapists?”

  She snorts. “Definitely pass.”

  I’m relieved when we finally reach the kitchen. Like the hallway, the room is filled with people, but its spaciousness and soaring ceilings help keep that claustrophobic feeling at bay.

  Ellie zeros in on the keg, and I follow, grabbing a red plastic cup from the counter.

  The line for the keg is long, so I take the opportunity to check out the crowd. I have yet to see a single familiar face, which surprises me. Given the sheer number of people in the house I’d expect to know someone. A few feet away, a group of three girls leans against the counter, laughing at something a guy in a football jersey is saying.

  “Oh, God,” Ellie says softly. “That guy has to be at least twenty-five. Is he seriously wearing his high school team jersey?”

  I snort with laughter and, too late, slap a hand over my mouth to cover the noise. The girls turn as one to stare at us. They’re exactly the type of people I would expect to find at a party like this—dressed in tiny miniskirts, tight tanks tops, and towering heels, they are what Ellie refers to as Big Hair Girls: the over-made, underdressed type that we avoid like the plague. But there’s no avoiding them now.

  “What are you looking at, bitch?” the lead Big Hair Girl calls out, her eyes narrowed. One of her sidekicks says something too softly for us to hear, and they all giggle again.

  “I’m not looking at much,” Ellie says, a deceptive sweetness in her voice.

  Lead Big Hair Girl pulls herself up to her full height, her eyes narrowing even further. I shake my head. Clearly, this girl has no idea what she’s in for. If she knew what was good for her, she’d be scared shitless by that fake sweet tone in Ellie’s voice. You simply do not mess with Ellie Canter if you value your beautiful clear skin and wish to keep it that way.

  “Excuse me?” The girl takes a step closer to us. Her friends put their hands on their hips and form a wall behind her.

  “You’re excused.” Ellie’s voice is harder now.

  Drop it, I silently urge Big Hair Girl. I still haven’t gotten my beer yet, and I’m not really in the mood to see Ellie go all apeshit on this chick.

  “Who the fuck do you think you are?” the girl demands, walking straight for us. She stops a step away, her gaze flicking up and down Ellie’s figure before darting over to me. She smirks. “I don’t know why I’m wasting my time even acknowledging this trash.”

  Ellie smiles, and I know the girl is in for it. Should have dropped it. Sorry, Big Hair Girl.

  Ellie slaps the girl across the face so hard her head snaps to the side. One of the girls screams. Ellie’s hand flashes out again and grabs a huge hunk of teased, bleached hair. “What’d you call me?” she asks, her voice low. The entire kitchen has gone silent now.

  “Let go of me, you freak,” the girl yells.

  “You’re all the same,” Ellie says, shaking her head and curling her lip. “
You talk a big game but can’t back it up. Go back to your little friends and leave the big girls alone now.” Ellie releases her grip on the girl’s hair, pushing her away as she does so. Big Hair Girl stumbles, her hip bumping into the counter.

  Big Hair Girl’s eyes are wide and wet, her hand pressed to her cheek. I can’t blame her for the watering eyes. I’ve been on the receiving end of one of Ellie’s slaps only once, but the sting was unforgettable. I watch Big Hair Girl with interest. This is a pivotal moment for her. She could drop it and go back to her friends, bitching about Ellie to anyone who will listen. Or she could be really stupid and try to fight back. That wouldn’t end well for her. Next time, Ellie’s hand will be firmly formed into a fist.

  The arrival of a guy in a white button-down shirt and faded jeans breaks the utter silence in the room. I hope he isn’t the girl’s boyfriend. Not that Ellie is above fighting boys, but it might get messy. I really don’t feel like getting involved.

  “What’s going on?”

  “She hit me,” Big Hair Girl cries, pointing at Ellie with a shaking finger. “That bitch hit me!”

  I sigh. We’re not dealing with a smart one here.

  Ellie holds up her hand again. The girl flinches, but Ellie doesn’t strike her. “I thought we already covered your big mouth. Should I remind you?”

  “You probably deserved it, Stef.”

  I look to the guy in the white button down, but it’s not him who has spoken. Someone has joined him and now leans lazily against the doorway to the main hall. This new guy is taller than his friend and dressed all in black. I can’t make out his face, but I don’t think it’s anyone we know.

  Big Hair Girl—or Stef, apparently—sputters at him, but he only laughs. “Give me a break, Stef. You talk shit all the time. Are you seriously surprised someone finally called you on it?”

  “Preston.” Her voices takes on a whine, and she turns to the guy in the white shirt. “Are you seriously just going to stand there and do nothing?” She points at Ellie again, but she doesn’t make eye contact with her.

  I smile. At least she has the good sense to be scared of my friend.

  “Is this the kind of person you want at your party?” Stef asks Preston.

  “Let’s just drop it,” Preston says. He smiles at one of Stef’s friends, and the girl practically melts. “Jess, babe, why don’t you take Stef into the living room? I’ll have someone bring you girls some beers, okay?”

  Jess flashes him what she must think is her most alluring smile as she comes over to take Stef’s arm. She gives Ellie and me a wide berth. I shake my head, marveling at what kind of girl cowers in the corner while her friend gets slapped. I can’t fathom not having Ellie’s back in that kind of situation—not that either of us ever needs much help. We may be bitches, but we’re pretty capable bitches.

  Stef gives us one last red-rimmed glare but allows herself to be pulled away. The third friend follows them, not looking at us, and Ellie smirks.

  “Well,” she says, turning to me. “This party interesting enough for you?”

  Before I can respond, Preston joins us. “Sorry about that,” he says. “Stef can be a little bratty.”

  “That’s one word for it,” Ellie mutters and turns back to the keg. Now that things have calmed down the line is moving again, and it’s our turn. Ellie reaches for the pump, and holds out her other hand for my plastic cup.

  “Here, let me do that,” Preston says. “Least I can do to make up for my friends being so inhospitable.” He takes the cup from her, smiling in a way that makes it clear that he thinks he’s hot shit. I can tell Ellie isn’t impressed by this, but she lets him draw a beer for each of us.

  “I’m Preston, by the way,” he says, handing over the cups. He barely spares me a glance.

  “Thanks for the beer,” Ellie says and turns away.

  “Hey, wait.” He grabs her elbow and she turns back to glare at him, her eyebrows arched. He must be better at reading dangerous situations than Stef is because he immediately drops Ellie’s arm. “Sorry.” His grin turns somewhat sheepish. “I was just hoping to get your name.”

  Her eyes rake up and down his figure. His blue jeans are artfully faded—they’re the kind I can just tell cost a fortune—and his white button-down shirt is untucked, with the top three buttons undone to reveal a glimpse of his tanned chest. His blond hair is a little long and carefully mussed with about half a gallon of product. I can tell Ellie’s mentally cataloguing all of these things and coming to the same conclusion I already have. Rich snob. Full of himself. Move on.

  “Is this your house?” Ellie asks.

  He blinks, seeming surprised. “It is. I’m Preston Barkley.”

  Ellie holds his gaze for a moment before rolling her eyes and taking my elbow. “Nice to meet you, Preston.” From the emphasis she puts on his name I can pretty much guess what she’s thinking. “But we need to find our friends. Come on, Zoe.”

  “Hey,” he calls, but Ellie ignores him, nudging me toward the door. I peek back and see the guy in black approach him.

  “Burn, man,” the guy says, laughter in his voice. “Sounds like she wasn’t too interested in the Barkley charm.” Before I can get a good look at his face, Ellie pulls me through the kitchen door.

  “I’m thinking maybe you were right about this not being our scene,” she mumbles. “I feel like we’re in some kind of John Hughes movie, and we’re playing the kids from the wrong side of the tracks. Who are these people?”

  “Rich ones. There’s a reason we don’t go to parties like this, Ells.”

  She makes a face. “But Hunter said he’d be here. I thought we’d run into the whole crowd.”

  I look around the packed living room. A few couples are dancing in the middle of the room, but, for the most part, everyone is just standing around with drinks in their hands. “Maybe they showed and decided it was lame. You were pretty late picking me up.”

  Just then, a pair of familiar arms wraps around my waist and Hunter kisses my neck. “Looking for me, gorgeous?”

  I laugh and push him off of me. “We were, actually.”

  “Ellie,” Hunter says, releasing me and turning to Ellie with a stern expression. He crosses his arms. “What is this I hear about you beating the shit out of some sorority girl?”

  Ellie laughs and hugs him. “I would hardly call it beating the shit out of her. I barely grazed her.”

  He snorts. “Yeah, right. I know you better than that.”

  “Where the hell is everyone?” She looks over his shoulder. “We were starting to get worried that you guys bailed.”

  “Nah,” he says, taking my hand. “We’ve just commandeered the basement. It’s a little bit less of a Gap commercial down there. Come on.”

  I follow him, relaxing for the first time since we arrived. I have a beer in my hand, and I’m about to join my friends. Things are looking up.

  As the three of us walk through the basement door, I think I catch a glimpse of the guy in black from the kitchen. He’s leaning against the wall in the living room, steps from where we’d found Hunter, watching me. But then I turn onto the staircase and he disappears from my sight.

  Chapter Two

  Zoe

  “This is more like it,” Ellie says, leaning her head against my knees, her back to the couch where I’m sitting. “I told you it wouldn’t be lame.”

  I look down at her lazy smile and laugh. “You’re baked.”

  She nods. “Yup. Why aren’t you?”

  I hold up the bottle of vodka I had happily received from Hunter. “I’m enjoying my spirits.”

  She laughs. “You’re such a dork.”

  “Hey, pass that over here,” Hunter says from the floor beside Ellie. He’s lying flat on his back, enjoying the effects of the pot they’d just smoked. “I knew I shouldn’t have given it to you. You always hog the vodka.”

  “Shut up, Hunter,” I say and take a swig. The familiar feeling of fire making its way down my throat calms me further
. “You can’t drink lying down like that. You’ll spill.”

  “Will not,” he mutters as he closes his eyes.

  “Sure.” I take another gulp and look around the room. The basement is bigger than my entire house and includes an honest-to-God movie theater, a billiards room, and this rec room, where Hunter led us after finding us upstairs. Shouts and drunken laughter spill out of the billiards room next to us and we can still hear the pounding music and cacophony of voices from upstairs, but this room is much more chill. The lights are dimmed, and most everyone in the room shared that joint with Ellie and Hunter and is now relaxed into fairly quiet conversations. I know many of the people in here, a lot of whom are friends of Ellie’s and Hunter’s that we’ve partied with before.

  Ellie slides her head off my knee and lowers herself to the carpet until she, too, is lying flat on her back. “Zoe, you have to try this.”

  “Try what? Lying down? I know how to lie down, Ells. It’s not exactly rocket science.”

  “No, this carpet, man,” Hunter says, his voice low and relaxed. “You have to try this carpet.”

  “Yeah, the carpet,” Ellie says, nodding her head lazily. “You have to try this carpet. It’s ridiculously soft. Like, better than my bed.”

  Hunter makes a contented sound of agreement. “It’s really…plush.”

  For some reason that makes Ellie giggle, and soon they’re both cackling at my feet. I roll my eyes. “You guys are such lightweights.”

  “In their defense,” says someone right next to me, “that carpet is really fucking comfortable.”

  The guy in black has joined me on the couch and is almost touching me, he’s sitting so close. The tangle of tattoos on his arms distracts me for a moment before I get my first good look at his face.

  I draw in a sharp breath—I can’t help it. I’m staring at the most beautiful man I have ever seen. He has longish brown hair liberally sprinkled with natural gold highlights, and it’s all in a pleasing, tousled mess. I wonder what it would feel like to run my fingers through that hair, to mess it up even further. It looks soft. He has strikingly dark brown eyes framed with the thickest eyelashes I’ve ever seen on a guy. His eyes seem to flash with some kind of dark amusement, and my heart beats faster. A muscle pulses in his jaw when he swallows—God, I love a guy with a strong jawline—and I want to place my lips there, right at that pulse, and kiss him.