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It’d been sweet.
The shower, though brief, had also been nice. Thatcher had washed me like an actual nice guy, and I’d let him. I’d wanted him to. It’d felt good, and before he’d woken up and freaked me out, the cuddling part had been nice as well. Being in his big embrace had been nice.
This wasn’t nice as I watched these guys shove each other back and forth. It was like observing clashing titans, and the blond dude (the one in the combat boots) pulled them apart. I had to give it to the guy with the curly hair. He hadn’t been wanting to fight and had been more so trying to deescalate the situation. The guy who yelled at me, Wells, had made it hard, though. Wells shoved back his hair.
“She’s still doing shit,” Wells said, shooting his finger in my direction. Red crept up his chiseled jawline, and he clenched it before snarling at me. “She broke him, and that shit doesn’t sit well with me.”
I broke Thatcher? How so?
I was so fucking confused and just stood there. “What’s going?—”
“You don’t fucking talk.” Wells stalked up on me again, but with his friends there, he wasn’t getting an inch. The guy with the curls pushed Wells back once more and pointed two fingers at him.
“And again. It’s not her fault,” the curly-haired guy said, and the guy in the combat boots was sighing, his hands on his hips. All these guys were fucking huge.
Combat Boots shook his head. “Don’t do this, Wells. You know Wolf is right. We both are, so take a fucking walk before you do something stupid.”
Wells didn’t want to take a walk, but his friends gave him no choice. He stalked away in a huff, and I could finally breathe again with him up off me.
I didn’t get anything from the other two guys. Absolutely nothing before they followed after him. They didn’t apologize for their friend or anything.
And wouldn’t even look at me before they left.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Aspen
It wasn’t hard to find Thatcher that night. In fact, I wished it would have been harder. I wished it would have taken effort to figure out where the next rave was being held. I wished it would have been laborious to assume that was where he’d go after he went AWOL and his friend came after me on some confusing-as-shit warpath.
But it wasn’t.
As it turned out, it was hella freaking easy to find the guy who’d been dodging me. He had been at another rave once I got the location, and he was chilling just like the rest of the strung-out college students there. The rave was at another warehouse, and though Thatcher wasn’t in the center of the room, he was one of the star attractions. He was in some dodgy corner with a bunch of chicks and dudes around him.
And one of the girls was naked.
Well, mostly. A cute little thing, she pressed her pert little breasts in Thatcher’s face. This was easy to do since he sat in a chair smoking a blunt. The girl was actually on his lap and was completely topless.
My face heated, the girl doing a slow grind on Thatcher’s lap while he virtually ignored her. He had his head back, smoke billowing in the air from his lips. The girl hovered over his cock, doing everything she could to get his attention. He wasn’t really giving it to her. Actually, he wasn’t looking at her at all and seemed more consumed by his smoke. He just sat there, hazy eyed as he stared up at the ceiling, but that didn’t stop the pang in my chest.
I swallowed, watching that cloud of smoke gather above Thatcher’s tousled locks. His hair appeared inky black tonight in the room filled with strobe lights and ass, and eventually, he closed his eyes. Like he was completely unaware of the activity around him and the fact a basically naked girl was on his lap.
I felt unsteady, just standing there with a tight throat and rapidly beating heart.
I mean, what else could I do?
I stood there for a time, staring, wavering. I felt tossed right in the center of some stupid fucking 1980s movie. One where the girl went after the boy only to find him doing dumb shit that had absolutely nothing to do with her. He never cared about her, not really.
I stood in my own version of a 1980s film in an oversize coat and my blonde wig, trying to blend in.
Trying to disappear.
Thatcher turned his head in my general direction, but there were too many people around me. He didn’t even see me when I snapped a picture of the spectacle, that girl on his lap.
Why do you care?
I didn’t. Not really. I mean, what was I to him, but I had been concerned and confused as fuck since his friend came at me earlier tonight.
