One of them catches me staring and walks over. She looks familiar. “Hey, I haven’t seen you at any of these parties before. I’m Vanessa.”
“Hi, Vanessa. I’m Charlie. Yeah, it’s my first time here.”
“Are you a freshman?”
“Oh no, I’m a junior. And you?”
“Sophomore. Did you go to the game?”
“Which one?”
She smiles. “The football game, obviously. No one here would ever go to one of our games.”
Finally, it dawns on me where I know her from. Ludwig has a major crush on her and keeps her picture by his desk. “You’re on the soccer team.”
“Yeah.”
Someone shrieks, drawing our attention to the noise. It’s one of the cheerleaders losing her shit over a spilled drink.
“Oh crap. Better see what my evil twin is crying about now.”
“That’s your sister?” The question slips from my mouth before I can stop it.
Vanessa gives me a pitiful smile. “Yep. Heather Castro, the Ice Queen of Rushmore, is my twin. There are worse fates; we could be identical.”
She pushes her way through the crowd to get to her sister.
I search for Troy and see he’s still busy socializing with his friends. It’d be fine to wait for him, but my bladder has other ideas. I shouldn’t have guzzled down all that beer before coming here. I go in search of a bathroom, but the house is so crowded, it’s impossible to get to anything. Finally, I ask a girl next to me.
“Oh, you don’t want to use the bathroom downstairs,” she tells me. “It’s disgusting.” She staggers forward, tripping over nothing.
Great. Drunk as a skunk.
“Use the one upstairs,” a different girl chimes in. She looks more lucid, so I follow her advice.
I head for the stairs, and I’m actually surprised it’s not off-limits. In fact, traffic is pretty heavy going up and down. Soon I find out that there’s a second party going on in some of the rooms. Yeah, this is definitely party central. I’m about to ask again where the damn bathroom is when I see two girls stumble out of a room. They leave the door ajar, and with a quick peek inside, I spot the door to a bathroom. This is someone’s bedroom, but my bladder is about to fail.
Fuck it. If they wanted to keep people out, they should have kept it locked.
I walk in, closing the door behind me, and then hurry to the bathroom. I try not to look at anything too closely; this is a guy’s bathroom, after all, and it’s also been turned into a Grand Central Station restroom. I pee standing up, even though it takes me ages to get it going in this position. Guys are so fucking lucky. In moments like this, I have serious penis envy. After a minute in a squat position that has my thighs burning, relief comes, but also the knowledge that after this first piss, I’ll need to go every fifteen minutes. Oh joy. I should have gone straight to tequila.
I’m washing my hands when I hear a noise outside the bathroom—a drunk girl, judging by her slurred speech, and someone else. My hand is on the door handle when I hear Troy’s voice.
What the fucking hell?
33
TROY
I lose track of time goofing around with the guys, and when I look for Charlie, she’s no longer chatting with Vanessa Castro, the midfielder of the girls’ soccer team. Afraid she got upset that I ignored her and left the party, I text her. When she doesn’t answer, I go looking for her.
There seems to be more people now than fifteen minutes ago, and getting anywhere in the house takes a lot of shoving and pushing. I stretch my neck, trying to find her on the makeshift dance floor. I do find Vanessa with her teammates, but no sign of Charlie. I decide to talk to Vanessa and ask if she knows where Charlie went when I’m intercepted by Brooke, who pretty much throws herself into my arms.
Her makeup is smeared, and her eyes are bloodshot. Even if those weren’t clues enough, she’s wasted; her breath smells like tequila.
“Troy, the person I’ve been looking for the whole night.” She hiccups.
I straighten her and then push her back. “What’s the matter with you?”
“What’s the matter with me? I’ll tell you what’s the matter with me. I shouldn’t have ever let my parents convince me to go to New York. If I had stayed, we’d still be together.”
Fuck me. I knew it. She came back because of me. I wasn’t crazy when I got that vibe from her at the diner.
“Come on, Brooke. Don’t do this now. You’re drunk.”
“I know I’m drunk. I had to. It’s the only way I can tell you the truth. Liquid courage, right?”
I sense the crowd around us is staring. Not everyone is shitfaced out of their minds yet, and I’m sure some are hanging on to every word we say. I have to get Brooke out of here.
“Come on. Let’s talk somewhere in private.”
As much as I’m pissed that she’s causing a scene, I can’t leave her alone in this current state. For starters, it’s not safe. There are a lot of weirdos on campus. Plus, I do owe it to our shared past to hear her out and explain that I’m with Charlie, and that’s not going to change. There isn’t any chance Brooke and I will ever get back together.
I steer her toward the stairs. There must be a quiet room where we can talk. In the back of my mind, I know this will look bad. I hope Charlie doesn’t believe the gossip when she hears about it. Once on the second floor, I try every door until I find an unoccupied room.
“I’m such an idiot. I hate New York. Always have. Why did I go?” she whines.
“Come on, Brooke. Sit down.” I push her onto the bed, stepping back quickly before she drags me with her.
I don’t want this situation to get more awkward than it already is.
“You were right, Troy. I did come back because of you. Seeing you during the holidays made me realize I missed you terribly. Every single guy I dated after you didn’t compare.”
I listen to Brooke pour her heart out, but the only feeling she can summon from me is pity. There isn’t a single spark left of what we had before.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” she asks.
“What do you want me to say?”
Her shoulders sag forward as she laughs without humor. “That you feel the same way.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why? Because of Charlie?”
“No. She has nothing to do with this.”
Brooke sits up straighter, and a new glimmer of hope shines in her bloodshot eyes. “So you’re not in love with her?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Fuck, Troy. You’re not making any sense.”
I run a hand over my hair. “I don’t want you to think that if Charlie wasn’t in the picture, then I’d be with you. That’s what I’m getting at. I care about you, Brooke, as a friend. Nothing more.”
Her face twists in agony, and more tears gather in her eyes. “It would have been kinder if you told me we couldn’t be together because you were madly in love with your roommate.”
“That wouldn’t be fair. I can’t compare what we had with what Charlie and I have.”
“What do you mean?” She wipes her face with the back of her hand.
“You were my first girlfriend, Brooke, and that’s something no one can take away. You’ll always be a cherished memory. Well, besides this one.”
She snorts. “Gee, thanks.”
“But Charlie is….” I struggle to put into words what she means to me. She drives me insane, whether with desire or grievance. She pushes my buttons like no other, but she also makes me feel alive. She’s a high I never want to come down from.
“She’s what?” Brooke asks.
“She’s endgame,” I say, not knowing it to be true until the words come out of my mouth.
Brooke’s eyes turn rounder. “Oh my God. You are in love with her.”
Maybe she’s right, but I don’t want to admit that out loud.
Like saying Charlie is endgame wasn’t a big enough declaration of love, Troy.
I pass a hand over my face, giving my back to Brooke. “I have to find her. Do you need me to call you an Uber?”
“No, Troy. I can find my own way home. I’m not as hopeless as you think I am.” She walks around me and out of the bedroom with her chin raised high.
Fuck. This conversation could have gone a million times better.
I pull my cell phone out of my pocket, and seeing Charlie hasn’t texted me back, I call her. A second later, I hear her ringtone coming from nearby.
I whirl on the spot, noticing then that the light in the bathroom is on. When Charlie pushes the door open, holding her phone in her hand, I’m slammed by a wave of anger and disappointment.
“You’ve been there the whole time?” My question is rhetorical. Obviously, she didn’t fly into the bathroom through the window.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”
“Really? Could have fooled me. You had plenty of time to make yourself known. Why didn’t you, Charlie?” I raise my voice, expecting her to get riled up immediately. She’s a firecracker, after all. But instead, she winces and stares at me with guilt-ridden eyes.
“I don’t know. As soon as I heard you, I panicked and froze. Then she started spilling her guts out, and I had to see where it was going.”
“You mean, you had to find out what I would do,” I retort, still angry as hell, but at least I didn’t shout.
She nods, crossing her arms over her chest. I’ve never seen her so subdued and small. I’m filled with the impulse to engulf her into a hug and tell her everything will be fine, but I’m still riding on the anger. I don’t know what I resent the most, the fact that she felt the need to spy on me or that she overheard my heartfelt confession.
Fuck!
“I don’t expect you to forgive me. What I did was pretty shitty.”
“Yeah, it was.”
I catch a quiver of her lips, but she clamps her jaw tight, then lowers her gaze to her phone and begins to type.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Ordering an Uber. I don’t expect you to come home with me. You should stay and party with your friends.”
“The hell I’m going to let you go home alone,” I shout again, but this time, I’m frustrated with myself and I don’t know why.
“It’s fine, Troy.” She won’t meet my gaze.
Ah hell. I walk over and cave, bringing her close. “It’s not fine. We came together, and we’ll go home together.” I kiss her forehead before I step back, lacing my hand with hers. “Come on. We have to brave a sea of drunk people to get to the front door.”
* * *
CHARLIE
I’ve never felt more wretched in my entire life, not even when I accidentally set Blake’s five-hundred-dollar costume on fire two years ago. I knew eavesdropping on Troy’s conversation was wrong, but jealousy and insecurity clouded my judgment for a moment. I had to know what he would do upon hearing his ex’s confession. I had no idea he would say what he did in the end. And now I don’t know what I’m going to do with that information.
He said I’m endgame. How does he know? It hasn’t been that long since we were at each other’s throats. It’s too soon for him to be making those types of declarations—at least that’s what my mind is telling me. My heart, on the other hand, skipped a beat when he said that.
The ride back home is quiet. Troy is sitting as far away from me as possible. The distance feels like a chasm. We both thank the driver when he drops us off, but no words are exchanged between us as we walk side by side to the front door.
The urge to cry returns. I messed up royally, and my heart is now twisted in agony. I don’t want him to see me like this. I’m too full of pride for that, so as soon as he opens the door, I say good night and make a beeline for the stairs without looking back.
I’m two steps shy from it when Troy circles his free arm around my waist and pins my back to his chiseled chest. “Don’t go,” he whispers in my ear.
Butterflies flutter in my stomach as I melt against his body. I close my eyes for a second and allow myself to get lost in the feel of his arm keeping me in place, on the way his warm breath turns my already overheated skin into molten lava.
“I don’t want to go, but….”
He turns me around, keeping me trapped against him. “I didn’t mean to get so angry.”
“You had every right to. I broke your trust.”
“You didn’t break my trust, not exactly. You didn’t hide in that bathroom on purpose with the intent of spying on me.”
“No. It was a matter of too many beers and a too small bladder.”
He chuckles. “I can’t stay mad at you when you say stuff like that, babe.”
His eyes drop to my lips and stay there. He doesn’t make a move, maybe because he’s still gung ho on not losing the bet. I couldn’t care less about that anymore.
“You win,” I breathe.
He brings his eyes back to mine. “What?”
Oh for fuck’s sake. Lack of sex has clearly addled his brain.
I rise on my tiptoes and kiss him hard and deep, leaving no room for doubt.
This is my surrender.
34
CHARLIE
Troy responds in kind, matching my passionate tempo stroke for stroke. I don’t know what to do with my hands; I want to touch him everywhere, but I also want him to touch me everywhere.
The arm in a sling is a hindrance. I reach behind his neck and open the clasp. His response is a deep groan that I can feel all the way down to my core. He makes quick use of both hands; they disappear underneath my skirt to grab my ass. I’d jump in his arms if it weren’t for his injured shoulder. I’m sure he could lift me, but I won’t be responsible for prolonging his recovery.
I hold his face between my hands and tilt my head to the side, trying to deepen the kiss. His tongue darts into my mouth, fiery, possessive, and then he does what I wanted him to do all along—he picks me up, lifting me off the floor. I wrap my legs around his hips, hooking them at the ankles and trying my best to be as light as a feather—if that’s even possible. I half expect Troy to bring me to the couch. He did say he was going to bend me over it and fuck me into oblivion. But instead, he veers for the stairs, going up two at a time.
Our mouths stay fused together, trying to compensate for all the days we denied ourselves the taste of the other. We did make out, but always with restraint, never with this mind-numbing abandon.
Troy takes me to his room, even though my bedroom is closer to the stairs. The door is semi shut, so he kicks it open with a bang before almost running across the room, aiming for his king-size bed.
He tries to break the kiss to put me down at the edge of the mattress, but I’m not having any of it. We fall together on the bed, and our limbs quickly twist together. We stay in that lovers’ embrace for a while, exploring each other with our tongues and hands. With each passing second, my body burns for him brighter, and the overwhelming yearning is agony, but the sweetest kind. I don’t know how long we stay like that, but eventually, he slides off me, keeping one leg firmly between mine.
“What’s wrong?” I ask against his mouth.
“Tired of getting poked by your belt.”
Oh shit. The spikes. I completely forgot about them.
“Sorry.”
I have to move away from his mouth to rotate the belt until I find the clasp, but Troy is intent on distracting me. His mouth strays to my neck, peppering my skin with delicious open-mouthed kisses that leave me panting like I’ve just run a marathon.
I finally locate the damn clasp and manage to pull my belt off just in time before Troy rolls over me again and nestles between my legs. His erection pushes against me through our layers of clothing, and now I want nothing more than to see them gone. I reach for the back of his shirt and yank the fabric until he finally decides to cooperate. He leans back, sitting on the balls of his feet, and finishes the job, pulling the T-shirt off fast like a ninja and mussing his ha
ir in the process. The sexy look combined with the lust in his eyes makes my clit throb so hard that if he wasn’t blocking access, I’d take care of the problem myself.
“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he says.
I know I should say thank you, or at least return the compliment, but I’m suddenly consumed with a voracious need that can only be satiated by Troy on top of me, fulfilling the promise he made earlier before we left for the party. I want him inside me, pounding into me so hard that I leave an imprint on the mattress.
“Yeah, yeah, clothes off.” I reach for his jeans’ button and then the zipper. But I can’t do more while he’s sitting in that position, watching me with a Cheshire cat smile. “Troy, help here.”
“What’s the matter, babe? Are you in a hurry?”
“Yes,” I hiss. “Don’t tell me you aren’t. These past few days have been torture.”
“Oh, but the torture is only about to begin, sweetheart.”
He jumps off me—finally—and removes his jeans and boxers. I forget about his ominous comment in an instant at the sight of all his naked glory. Damn it, he looks like a golden Greek god. Every. Single. Part. Of. Him. I could spend all eternity staring at him and never get my fill.
He returns to the mattress and runs his fingers over one of my boots. “You know, I think we should keep these on.” He continues his exploration, and now his fingers are running over my skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake.
I open my mouth to protest, but he silences me by pressing his index finger over my lips. Undeterred, I grab his wrist and suck that offending finger into my mouth. Troy hisses, narrowing his eyes. If he wants to torture me, well, two can play that game.
With his free hand, he lifts my skirt and pauses, his eyes widening a fraction.
Heart Stopper: Rebels of Rushmore Book One Page 19
