It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since Ava and I split up. There is no fucking way I can go through with this. It doesn’t matter how drunk I am. “Gonna have to take a rain check.”
“What?” Those pouty lips turn into a frown. “You’re a fucking tease, you know that?”
Josie hops off my lap and yanks her dress down, glaring at me. I can only watch her with amusement in return.
“I don’t mean to tease you.”
“Well, you do. I don’t know how many times I’ve thrown myself at you, yet you always turn me down,” Josie says.
“Stop doing it then. I don’t deserve your attention.” And that’s the damn truth.
She stalks off in a huff, steam practically pouring from her ears, and I shake my head. Laugh. Hiccup. Burp again.
I’m fucked up.
Glancing around, the party is still in full swing. There are people in the kitchen. There are probably people in the bedrooms, random hookups happening behind closed doors. Brenden is sitting at the table nearby, locked in an intense conversation with Kayla, the bitch. She doesn’t look happy. Neither does he.
He should’ve already broken up with her.
Kayla suddenly leaps to her feet and storms off.
“Kayla!” Brenden calls as he stands, glancing over at me. I send him a look. One that says, don’t do it.
But the bastard doesn’t listen to me, or decipher my look, because he goes chasing after her, straight into the house.
Great. Those two will probably fight and eventually fuck in one of the bedrooms.
No one talks to me. We’re at my house and not one motherfucker is saying a word to me. How’s that for friends? How’s that for people trying to get to know me better? Granted, most of my friends here are currently talking to girls, so I suppose I can’t blame them. Even Cory is talking to some chick—wait a minute, is that Josie he’s with?
Yep. Now she’s gyrating and grinding on his junk. And the look on Cory’s face is one that should be documented. He appears stunned. And happier than a pig in shit.
I yank my phone out of my back pocket and open up Instagram, then unblock Ava so I can see her profile. I’m an idiot for overreacting like I did. I blocked her ass everywhere. I didn’t want her to have access to me. More like I didn’t want to see her. I click on her story to find an image of her posing with her friend, Ellie. She’s in a simple black dress that clings to her in all the right places, plus she’s wearing her homecoming royalty sash and the tiara. The caption below it says, “Homecoming dance!”
It’s freakin’ painful to witness her like that. Smiling and looking normal. Posing with her friend. Her life is just fine, when mine is falling apart. I zoom in on her face, and while she’s smiling, I can also see sadness in her green gaze.
That makes me feel a little more satisfied.
I start looking through other IG stories, oblivious to what’s going on around me. I follow a lot of people who go to Ava’s school, so I’m seeing a lot of footage from tonight’s dance preparations and arrivals. There’s even video of Ava and motherfuckin’ Wyatt dancing together. At least it’s not a slow dance. And the guy can’t dance for shit.
Seeing them together burns my gut. Burns my ass. Is that what Ava really wants? I doubt it. No one else can make her feel like I do. I remember what she looked like in my bed, her naked body flushed, her eyes sparkling when she curled her finger around my necklace and tugged me down for a kiss. I remember the way she tasted, the sounds she made when I made her feel good.
When I made her come.
Groaning, I slide out of IG and go into my text messages, not giving a damn. I’m weak. Weak like Brenden is with Kayla. He should break up with her, yet he’s probably boning her right now.
I should cut off all contact with Ava, but here I am, texting her.
Hope you have fun at your stupid dance with that asshole who probably wouldn’t know where your clit is, even if you drew him a map with a giant lit-up arrow pointing to it.
I send the text before I can overthink it. The moment I hear the swoosh noise indicating it’s gone, I have mad regret. I shouldn’t talk to her. I should leave her alone. She lied to me. She blabbed all my business to her asshole brother and then that asshole threw it in my face. Made me look and feel like a fool. In front of their parents, no less.
I hate him.
Ava doesn’t respond. I’m sure she’s too busy trying to help Wyatt find her love button.
Another groan leaves me. I can’t even believe I thought the words love button. I know my Ava. She’s not fucking around with that guy. Not when only last night she was ready to jump me in her hot tub. My girl doesn’t move that fast. Even though I blocked her on social media. Even though I told her we were through.
Even though I said all sorts of things I shouldn’t have…
I rise to my feet and make my way across the patio and into the house, passing by people who call my name, though I don’t stop for them. I stagger through the kitchen then head down the hall that leads to the bedrooms. Throwing open my bedroom door, I find my good friend Brenden, sitting on the edge of the mattress, his jeans bunched around his ankles and Kayla kneeling in front of him. I don’t need to see it all to know that she’s got her lips wrapped around the tip of his dick.
“God damnit, couldn’t you have at least got a blow job in the spare bedroom?” I yell at Brenden.
Kayla jumps to her feet with a guilty expression on her face, swiping at her mouth with shaky fingers. Brenden stands and yanks his jeans up, wincing when he stuffs his semi-erect cock back inside. “Sorry,” he mutters, his gaze focused on the floor. “The other room was taken.”
“At least you didn’t fuck on my bed.” I see the covers are all messed up. Can’t remember if I made it today or not. For all I know, they—or someone else—already fucked there.
Great.
“You shouldn’t just barge into rooms unannounced,” Kayla says with a sneer.
“Uh, this is my bedroom so you can go fuck the hell off,” I tell her, as I enter the room fully. “Now get out.”
Kayla turns to Brenden. “Are you really going to let him talk to me like that?”
He shrugs. “Well, he is right. It is his bedroom.”
Her mouth drops open. I cross my arms, watching her. Wobble over a little to the left before I right myself. Brenden finishes buttoning up his jeans, looking put out.
Probably pissed I interrupted his BJ, but that’s on him.
“You’re an asshole,” Kayla says directly to me.
“Right back at you,” I tell her, earning a huff from her before she storms out.
She pauses in the hallway, glancing over her shoulder. “Are you coming?” she asks Brenden.
“Unfortunately no, thanks to me,” I say, just before I crack up.
Brenden glares at me for a moment before he exhales loudly. “Give me a minute, okay baby?”
“Don’t you baby me,” she whisper-hisses before she leaves the room.
“Damn it.” He rubs the back of his neck, turning toward me. “Sorry about that.”
“I don’t think I’d care if it was anyone else who had their lips wrapped around your dick. But that chick?” I point at my empty doorway. “I can’t stand her.”
“I should break up with her, huh.” He doesn’t even ask it like a question. This dude knows he should get rid of her.
“She’s toxic as fuck. But if she gives good head, maybe she’s a keeper,” I tell him with a shrug.
“I need to go talk to her. I’m sure she’s pissed. She’s always pissed.” He sends me a look. “You crashing or what? Want me to get rid of people?”
“Yes. All of them. Thank you. I’m definitely gonna crash. I can barely keep my eyes open,” I tell him, as I yank my hoodie off and throw it on the floor, then promptly trip over it as I head for my bed.
I need sleep.
“No problem. I’ll have Jackson help me round everyone up and out of here.”
Once Bren
den’s gone, I stumble around my room like an idiot. Shedding the rest of my clothes. Tripping over more shit on the floor before I collapse onto the bed. I lean over the mattress and grab my phone out of my jeans’ pocket to see if I have any notifications.
Nothing.
I hate my life. I hate that I pushed the only good thing out of it. I always just act and not think. So what if she told her brother about my parents? Pretty sure lots of people know we’re a mess. It doesn’t matter anyway.
All that matters is I pushed Ava away. I want to pull her back in.
Opening up our texts, I send her another one.
I’m a stupid fucker who knows exactly where your clit is, and how much you like it when I touch it. Don’t ever forget that. And don’t give Wyatt the map. Or your heart. That belongs to me.
“Oh my God! ELI!”
That’s what I wake up to on a fine Sunday morn—oops, it’s past one o’clock—afternoon. I crack my eyes open, wincing at the pain in my head. I smoked too much smoke and drank too much drink and now I am paying the price.
Like hallucinating my mother’s screeching coming from downstairs.
Rubbing a hand over my face, I turn over on my side, so I’m facing the wall, letting my eyes fall back closed. The pounding in my head is real. It’s intense and it’s awful. Swear to God, I hear shitty Muffin Top barking her head off. The sound of my mother’s feet stomping in the hallway at a breakneck speed. My bedroom door slamming open. The sickening scent of my mother’s perfume.
“What the hell, Eli! You had a party here? Just how many people were in my house last night?”
I roll back over so I’m facing her. The look on her face—she would kill me with it if she could. I close my eyes so I don’t have to see her. God, why did she even bother coming back? “Maybe.”
“And you weren’t courteous enough to clean up after yourselves?”
Cracking my eyes back open, I see that she’s standing there waiting for an answer, her hands resting on her hips.
“I thought you weren’t coming back until later tonight.” More like I thought I had plenty of time.
She looks around my bedroom, her nose crinkled in disgust. “This place is a pigsty. My entire house looks like a pigsty, and it’s all your fault.” She marches over to my bed and drags the blanket off of me, then takes a step back. “Get up.”
“Give me a minute.” Glad I wasn’t naked under the blanket.
“Get. Up.” Mom kicks out her foot and nudges my calf with her toes. She has high heeled sandals on and I swear the pointy heel scrapes against my skin and leaves a mark. “And start cleaning the house. Tackle the kitchen first. Now.”
I glare at her. She glares at me in return. I don’t say a word. Neither does she.
Finally, she stomps out of my room, Muffin chasing after her down the hall. I had no idea the stupid dog followed her to my room, but didn’t actually come inside. The little bitch is scared of me.
Good.
Sitting up, I hold my head in my hands, leaning over so I can rest my elbows on my knees. I close my eyes and try to ignore the roiling in my stomach. I don’t feel good. I need pain reliever. And food. I’m hungry, but I’m also nauseated.
Getting drunk and high immediately after a big breakup isn’t the smartest move I’ve ever made.
Speaking of my breakup…
I grab my phone and check my notifications.
There’s a text from Ava.
My heart pounding, I open and read it.
I haven’t forgotten.
That’s all it says.
What the fuck is she talking about?
I toss my phone onto the bed and get up and stretch. Then go to the bathroom and piss. Scrub a hand through my hair and glare at my reflection before I brush my teeth. I can hear Mom banging around downstairs, throwing stuff away while she curses up a storm. So glad she’s home. Can’t wait to help her.
I change into fresh clothes and collapse on the bed once more, re-reading what I sent her last night. Focusing on the last things I said.
I’m a stupid fucker who knows exactly where your clit is, and how much you like it when I touch it. Don’t ever forget that. And don’t give Wyatt the map. Or your heart. That belongs to me.
Now her response makes more sense. She hasn’t forgotten that I own her heart.
Good.
She owns mine too.
Six
Ava
I wake up Sunday full of hope. Seeing Eli’s text after the dance last night sent my heart into complete overdrive. It wouldn’t stop pounding. I pondered over what to say to him for what felt like hours.
Of course, it was a typical Eli text. Talking about my clit and how Wyatt would never find it.
I wouldn’t let him anyway so no worries there.
Then the second text where he basically claimed me—sometimes that rubs me the wrong way. Last night? I was all about it.
This morning, I’m still about it.
Once I got home and calmed down last night, I finally came up with a simple response. Something true. I haven’t forgotten anything. I am still his if he’ll still be mine. I can’t shut off my feelings like a faucet. I’m not a complete psycho.
The dance was fun at first, but that was me faking it. Faking smiles, faking laughter, faking having fun while dancing with Wyatt. My issues with my brother aren’t resolved. Nothing is. I’m half a person who feels like a piece of myself is missing. I’m hollow inside.
Wyatt kept wanting to dance with me and I danced a few songs with him, before I finally begged off and Ellie took over. They danced and danced while I sat alone at a table, watching everyone have fun. Dakota and Lindsey were dancing with guys from the football team. Jake and Hannah snuck off somewhere. Cami and Diego made a big entrance, causing the room to ripple with gossip. Jocelyn, Diego’s very recent, very long-term ex, didn’t bother making an appearance.
Word on the street is she’s pregnant. I really hope that’s not the case.
Marty and his new boyfriend showed up about halfway through the night, and they sat with me for a while. But I was such a sad sack, they took off, so they could go dance, and I couldn’t blame them. I wouldn’t want to be around me either.
They make a cute couple.
The drive home was uneventful. I know Jake resented me telling Mom when the dance got out. He didn’t have much time to be with Hannah before we had to head back to the house. He didn’t talk to me the entire ride, and I didn’t either. It was only then that I checked my phone and spotted the texts from Eli.
Talk about giving me hope. And now I sit here, waiting.
Because he still hasn’t responded. And it’s killing me. Where is he? What’s going on? I have no idea how long everyone stayed at his house and partied. Maybe he’s still sleeping it off. He looked really drunk in one story I watched.
I scroll through all the Instagram stories, hoping to catch a glimpse of Eli. There are a lot of photos and videos from last night, both from our dance and the party at Eli’s house. There’s a video of Wyatt and I dancing, which I hope Eli didn’t see. We look awkward anyway, though there’s a caption on the video that says: I predict this is the new couple of the year.
Um no.
There’s a story on Snapchat that makes me sit up in bed and re-watch it. There’s something happening in the background and I bring my phone up closer, squinting at it. Eli is sitting in a chair all by himself. And this gorgeous girl, wearing a really short dress, is literally grinding her butt against his crotch.
He’s watching her shifting ass with an amazed expression on his stupidly handsome face like he’s in a trance. Raised eyebrows, lips slightly parted, gaze locked on her swiveling hips. Perhaps he likes what he sees?
My heart cracks. Like, my chest literally hurts. I press my palm against it, as if that could put my heart back together, but it’s no use. The pain radiates, streaming through my blood, into my bones, and I close my eyes for a moment, trying to catch my breath.
Th
e pain mixes with anger too. It’s a powerful surge of emotion that leaves me shaking.
I want to kill Eli Bennett with my bare hands.
Rage filling me, I exit out of the story and go to my text messages, my fingers flying as I type out my message to Eli.
Too busy with that girl you were with last night to respond to me? I hope she fu—
Pausing, I backspace on every single word I just wrote, until there’s nothing. Just a blinking cursor. I can’t respond to him. Not like this. Not right now. Not while I’m so freaking angry. Is he really with that girl?
Maybe not.
Should I care?
Absolutely. He ended it with me less than two days ago and sent me texts last night that basically said he still wants me. Then he gets a lap dance from some girl who probably ended up in his bed. Or maybe with her lips wrapped around his…
No. I can’t even imagine it. Let alone think the words.
God. Eli Bennett is beyond infuriating.
“Ava! Breakfast is ready!” my mom calls from downstairs.
With a sigh, I grab a velvet scrunchie from my bedside table, twisting my hair into a messy bun, before I exit my room and head down the stairs. Dad and Beck are already sitting at the table. Jake is grabbing a glass of orange juice from the refrigerator. Mom is currently piling a bunch of French toast slices on a platter.
Hmm. My favorite breakfast. This feels like a setup. At the very least, vaguely suspicious.
“Sit, sit,” Mom commands when she sees me standing there, contemplating if I should stay or go. “I made your favorites.”
“I see that,” I say, as I go to the table and settle into my usual seat. “Why?”
“Can’t I make my daughter her favorite breakfast?” Mom asks, as she brings over a plate with freshly cooked bacon piled on it to the table.
“You sleep well?” Dad asks me, his gaze glued to his phone.
“You want coffee, Ava?” Mom asks.
“Sure,” I tell her before I glance over at my father. He’s watching me now, and I see wariness in his expression. He’s probably still upset with me. I suppose I can’t blame him. All illusions of his sweet baby girl are shattered, thanks to me sneaking the rival bad boy into our backyard. “And yes, I slept great. Like a baby.”
Meant To Be (The Callahans Book 4) Page 5
