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The door squeaks open and the guy who caught me and kept me from falling to the floor enters the room with a can of Sprite. He’s rocked out in those loose jeans, a studded black belt and a black T-shirt. “Olivia says it’s not officially a party until somebody pukes.”
“Glad I added to the fun.”
He perches on the edge of the folding chair across from me and offers the Sprite. “Eli told me to get you this.”
I keep my hands planted in my lap. Nothing today has gone right and I’m not a hundred percent sure I’m done puking.
“It’s Sprite, not crack,” he says.
“Thank you.” I accept the soda and set it on the desk. “Are you my cousin?”
He doesn’t resemble me or Eli with his blue eyes and grown-out black hair. The type of hair that’s not overly long, but long enough that girls would be drawn to him because it’s the correct length for seductive rebellion. The ends lick the collar of his shirt and hide his ears. He has the type of hair Blake Harris was suspended from school over. But that’s not where my eyes linger. What captivates me is the way the sleeves of his T-shirt cling to his muscles. He’s ripped in a very awesome way.
“No blood relation,” he answers.
Good, because he has that alternative-music-band hotness and thinking someone I’m related to is sexy could send me into another meltdown.
“Will you do all of us a favor?” he asks.
I shrug, not exactly in the mood for conversation.
“Play nice with Olivia, then leave.”
“Excuse me? Play nice? With her? She freaked me out.”
He leans back in the chair and sprawls his legs out in a way that makes him appear larger than life and leaves me feeling claustrophobic. “Look, I know you’re going all prodigal daughter, but this ain’t the time or place. This is Olivia’s party and you’re ruining it.”
“Prodigal what?”
“Daughter. Bible. The long-lost son returning home.”
I stare at him, not sure what to say.
He gives a short laugh. “I heard that about your mom. Gave up God and family.”
No one speaks badly about my mom. “I heard you’re all crazy. And guess what? It’s true.”
“Why? Because Olivia’s enjoying her life?”
“Because she plays make-believe in a coffin and all of you are okay with it.”
“Better than screaming like a two-year-old and puking our guts out.”
I was wrong—he’s not hot. He’s evil. Very, very evil. “It’s sick. This whole thing is sick. You people are absolutely insane!”
The guy stands. “You need to leave. You want to see Eli? Wait for him to spend all his money so he can visit you this summer. This party is for Olivia and the people who care for her. You don’t belong here.”
The door opens and Eli and Olivia walk in. Eli had been smiling, but one flickering glance between me and Sprite guy and Eli’s mouth firms into a hard line. “Is there a problem, Oz?”
His crazy name suits this insane day. Oz flashes an easygoing grin and I’m overwhelmed with the urge to slap him. “Nope.”
Eli surveys me and his jaw relaxes. “Are you okay?”
Embarrassed—yes. Mortified—definitely. Okay—not at all. “Yeah.”
“I need to speak to my granddaughter.” Olivia pats Oz’s arm.
He envelops her in a bear of a hug, looks at me over her shoulder and mouths “leave.” He walks out and I’ve never been so happy to see someone go in my life. Hot or otherwise.
