I SHOULD’VE FUCKED HER.
I wanted to fuck her. Why wouldn’t I? She’s pretty. Gorgeous, spellbinding, and… Finn had a point. Hate-fucks are great, but I wouldn’t be able to look in the mirror tomorrow if I touched Blair.
I wouldn’t be able to look Mia in the eye. Remember the girl who made you cry a thousand times, Bug? I fucked her.
Yeah, not happening, even though getting my dick wet would’ve been so much better than throwing up behind the house every time I head out for a cigarette.
No, I’m not that drunk. I’m just being smart about this, emptying my stomach every three to four shots means I won’t get shitfaced before the end of the bottle.
It’s something Shawn told me years ago—whenever he had too much to drink at a party, he shoved two fingers down his throat when he got home, ejected the alcohol, and woke up fresh as a daisy the next morning.
I think I’d rather suffer a hangover than keep on retching into the bushes with cramping stomach muscles though.
Fuck this. I’m done.
I’m going home.
College is over. If this is how my last night of recklessness is supposed to go, I say to hell with that.
Back in high school, I never turned down a challenge. We all do stupid shit as teenagers. It was fun back then, but I feel nothing more than a fool right now.
So what if I refuse to drink more?
The guys will holler for a while, then get over themselves by tomorrow. Even if they don’t? Who fucking cares?
I won’t see most of those people again after tonight.
With the resolution to flip them a bird, I head inside, pausing in the living room doorway. Colt’s not there. Neither is my drinking buddy but Kelly-Ann’s giggling in Brandon’s lap, and Mikaela’s about to start stripping. I should deal with her, but…
One thing at a time. I have myself to deal with first.
“Is she done?” I ask Brandon, motioning my chin to where Blair sat a moment ago.
If she bailed first, I’m off the hook. I can head home without telling my friends to fuck themselves.
“She decided to play,” he explains with a drunken chuckle.
It takes three heartbeats for his words to sink, then they hit like a bucket of ice-cold water and I’m suddenly sober.
“What?!”
“She picked another watch,” Finn explains like he thinks I didn’t understand. “She’s in the closet with Alan.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind? She’s wasted. What did we say about touching drunk women?”
“She talked sense. She’s just tipsy, man. She knew what she was agreeing to. Leave her be. She didn’t want to drink anymore, so either this or—”
“Or what?!” I boom, getting in his face, my heart racing as the memory of Mia—not drunk, but drugged—stabs my mind. “Or fucking what, Finn?”
“Hey, chill out. What the fuck is your problem?”
To be perfectly honest, I don’t know the answer to that question, but a biblical kind of wrath sweeps me head to toe as I glance around the room at the many familiar, drunken faces.
This is ridiculous.
What the hell was I thinking?
Am I overreacting or do they need some sense knocking into their heads?
I get that this is the last hurrah for all seniors. The last college party ever, time to be stupid, but there’s a line you shouldn’t cross.
Sometime in the past couple of years, I changed. Grew up, and now, standing in Brandon’s living room, watching people I’ve considered friends for years, I realize I won’t miss ninety-five percent of them.
I blame my brothers for this sudden maturity.
I’m three months shy of twenty-two. It’s still okay to be reckless, but I no longer think in those categories.
I think about the hangover tomorrow and whether I’ll have the strength to play with my nephews when we go to Mom’s for the monthly get-together. I think about Cassidy and how she might go into labor any minute, so it’d be nice to be fucking helpful. I already called dibs on babysitting Noah while they’re at the hospital.
What if her water breaks tonight? She’s two weeks from her due date, so it might happen. How the fuck will I help if I’m drunk off my ass?
“Fuck you,” I tell Finn, stomping away.
Blair pops into my head when I spot a freshman manning the coat closet door, his gaze focused on his phone’s stopwatch. It tells me Alan’s been in there with Blair less than two minutes.
I shouldn’t give a shit. I should walk straight past the gathering, but I won’t let the fucker take advantage of Blair when she’s got two glasses of wine and ten shots of Patrón inside her. Leaving her goes against my basic instincts.
I hate her with every fiber in me, I swear, but I won’t let that asshole prey on her.
“Move,” I bark at the kid.
He looks up, scrambling away with a sheepish look. Either he knows I’m unpredictable or sees it in my eyes. My muscles bunch, a biblical kind of wrath searing through my veins.
A few sharp gasps fill the air when, rather than coaxing Alan to open the door, I kick it open.
My temper goes from zero to death row at warp speed. Alan has his dick out already, one hand clasped tightly around the base as he flinches away from me, terror in his eyes.
Blair’s on the floor, gold dress bunched to her waist, eyes closed, chest rising steadily, black panties on display.
She’s unconscious and that motherfucker…
My bones shake. I’m practically fucking levitating with anger. I’ve not felt this unhinged since I pulled Asher off Mia two years ago. A jigsaw of reality and memory sends a shockwave through my mind.
“You piece of shit!” I seethe, steering out the first punch.
My elbow falls back, then shoots forth, my clenched fist landing neatly on target. His nose breaks.
“Cody! What the fuck are you doing?!” Colt booms.
I don’t listen.
I don’t stop, ramming my fist into Alan’s jaw, clutching the prick’s t-shirt in my other hand. “She’s fucking unconscious!” I bellow, hauling him up when he starts slipping from my grasp. “You want to fuck her when she doesn’t even know what’s happening around her?!”
Another whack to his head, powerful enough to give him a contusion.
“Did you touch her?!” I demand, holding him against the wall, my fingers squeezing his throat. “Did you fucking touch her?”
He’ll be hospitalized if he did.
“Cody, calm down,” he sputters blood, trying to cough. “I wasn’t going to fuck her, man, I swear, I—”
“Your dick’s hanging out, man!”
Colt enters the closet and yanks me back hard by the bicep, murder on his mind as he shoves me out.
I don’t say a word. We could argue all day over which of us has a shorter fuse, but we’d never reach a consensus. The wrath dancing in his eyes isn’t for me. It’s aimed at Alan, Finn, Justin, Brandon, and every other person who watched him lock an unconscious girl in the closet to fuck her.
Colt doesn’t wait for explanations. He unpacks a punch that undoubtedly loosens a few of Alan’s teeth. “Be fucking glad you’re getting a kicking instead of handcuffs.”
“Stop! Just stop!” Alan yelps, shielding himself behind his hands. “I was jerking off! Fuck, man! Come on, you know I’d never touch her this drunk! She couldn’t drink any more. She needed an out!”
“You can give a girl an out and keep your dick in your pants,” Rose snaps, stopping at my side. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I’ve got her purse.”
I cock an eyebrow, surprised that Rose is helping Blair. After learning about Mia’s bullying, she conducted her own investigation on campus and discovered more than she bargained for.
Blair became Rose’s enemy number one, so her assistance is a shock.
Not as much as my own actions, though.
Without thinking, I elbow Colt out of the way, tug Blair’s skirt until it covers her ass, then haul her into my arms.
I’ve never touched her. Not once since I’ve known her, but now that I have her safely tucked against me, something shifts inside my chest.
She’s… delicate. Fragile. Weighs nothing at all. A feather in my arms. Her skin is soft, warm, and smells like coconuts.
I always considered her tougher. That godawful attitude, sharp, rude tongue, and sophisticated exterior making her seem more resilient, but now that I hold her, she feels breakable. So vulnerable I automatically curve her into me further. Shield her from everyone’s gaze.
“Come on, I’ll drive.” Colt nudges my shoulder. “I only had one beer.”
I step out of the closet, cradling Blair, her pale cheek nuzzled into my pec. Filling my lungs to the brim, I glance at Rose. “Grab my hoodie, sis.”
She runs to the living room, returning with my hoodie and Brandon in tow.
“What are you doing?” He’s swaying as he glares at me. “She’s staying here.”
“No way in hell,” Rose clips, shoving a finger in his chest. “You’re disgraceful. You should be fucking ashamed.”
“Rose.” Colt takes her arm. “Save your tongue. He won’t remember it tomorrow.”
“I’m not that drunk,” Brandon opposes, taking hasty steps toward me. “Blair’s staying here.”
“Take one more step, and you’ll end up like that,” Colt warns, nodding to Alan in the closet, covered in blood, dick tucked back in his jeans. “Seriously, man. Don’t fucking test me.”
I don’t wait for another challenge. Turning around, I take Blair outside, then deposit her into the back seat of Colt’s Mustang. It’s a two-door car, so it takes effort to arrange us in the back. I mold her small, unconscious frame into my side, draping my hoodie around her.
“This is not happening,” I mutter when Rose gets in and buckles up. “It’s all your fault,” I snap as Colt grabs the wheel.
“How is it my fault?” he says.
“Who told me to put my watch in? You did.”
Colt shakes his head, reversing around the people lingering in the driveway. “How was I supposed to know Blair would pick your watch?”
“Oh fuck off and stay there. It’s your fault.”
Rose laughs first, then Colt, and in the end, I join in.
What a fucking mess.
