“You can call me D,” he says, pulling me from my thoughts, and I can’t control my face fast enough.
“D?”
“Yeah, it’s a nickname.” He shrugs, and again I don’t feel like I’m going to get much more from him.
“So, why is a pretty girl like you out here alone, crying, Wren?” The way he says my name gives me goosebumps, as if it’s a physical caress.
Maybe I need to make use of this time without Jordan around to be overprotective and finally get rid of my virginity.
Not that I think a guy like D would be interested in that; no, he seems like the kind of guy that would run at the very mention of the word.
I feel his gaze and turn to find him watching me, a brow cocked, and I remember he asked me a question.
“My brother usually comes with me, but he couldn’t make it…” Just saying it makes my throat feel thick.
It’s silly, really, but here we are. Whoever said emotions were rational?
“Your brother?” A question I’m all too familiar with, yet it doesn’t have the same disapproval I’m used to, and when I meet his gaze, I find only curiosity.
Maybe that’s what makes me answer him honestly. “Our parents died when we were little.”
I watch him closely, but still I see no judgment.
He flicks the butt of his cigarette, and I can’t stop the frown that pulls at my lips.
I turn back to tell him to go clean that up but find him no longer sitting boneless against the step.
Instead, he’s standing, his back to me as he moves toward the door, a sexy smile on his lips when he glances back at me over his shoulder that makes the words die in my throat before I can ask where he’s going.
And then he’s gone, and I’m alone again, somehow feeling even more pathetic than I did before he came out here. I pull myknees up to my chest, hugging them close as my eyes begin to sting again.
He’d clearly been out here to smoke. Why would he ever find an interest in me? Nobody else ever did.
Shit.
I’m pretty sure this would be classified as a pity party, something I shouldn’t be doing considering we won tonight… I won.
The sound of the door hardly even registers, and when someone walks down the steps, I keep my eyes carefully trained on the ground. After this person is gone, I’ll head back to my room and pass out. The faster I fall asleep, the faster I get home.
No, not home but back to Jordan, and he’s home.
“Hey.”
I let out a high-pitched squeal as I flinch back, the concrete step behind me digging into my ribs hard enough that I’m sure it will be a bruise come morning.
I’ve always bruised easily.
“Come on,” he nods toward the trail, the one that leads toward the woods, and even with the lights that guide it, I’m not sure that’s a great idea.
What had I just been saying about if this were a murder film?
His lips pull down in a slight frown, his brows pulling together as he holds a hand out in offering to me, his other hand moving from behind his back to show me a large glass bottle.
Vodka, according to the bottle.
“Had to go and get us something to celebrate with.” He wiggles his brows at me with that smirk again, and I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t seem to stop myself from reaching for him.
He tugs me to my feet with a smile that steals the air from my lungs.
