“Dude, whatever,” I said, waving him off.
A notch appeared between his brows. “I’m serious. My game, my house, my rules. The chicks-to-dudes ratio is way off, so we need more girls. It’s either both of you or neither.”
Grinding my teeth, I shot an exasperated look at my friend, whose cheeks had turned cherry red. How could she possibly like this guy?
Lindsay seemed undeterred by his behavior. She mouthed “please” at me, her eyes begging.
For fuck’s sake.I suppose there was no point in ruining her night just because mine was in the dumpster. “Fine. One round.”
Brock wrapped his meaty hands around each of our wrists and pulled us forward. “Good call.”
I seriously doubted that, but there seemed to be no point in arguing. Casting my gaze around the quickly growing circle, I scanned the faces of the participants. Giggling girls I didn’t recognize, a couple of guys from my marketing class, the hipster who got famous for a legendary dick pic a few months ago, and the master degenerate himself.
Kazimir Mikhailovich Nabokov.
How someone like him had a name that distinguished was honestly beyond me. There was absolutely nothing distinguished about the guy currently scowling at the entire room, his tatted-up arms crossed at this chest. Well, maybe with the exception of his cheekbones. They cut through his smooth, pale skin like sharp knives and gave him an aristocratic look that was at complete odds with everything I knew about him.
“Wowza,” Lindsay whispered in my ear. “Kaz looks extra delicious tonight.”
I rolled my eyes at her. She knew I disliked the guy. I’d told her all about the breaking and entering story, but it didn’t seem to turn her off him. Lindsay was the reason I knew his full name in the first place. She had a career waiting for her as a private investigator if she ever decided to go for it. This girl could find out anything about anyone on the Internet.
“There are like ten guys here I wouldn’t mind kissing,” she said. “Brock is at the top of the list, obvi, but I’d settle for Noah or Kaz.”
I was too annoyed at the entire world to reply with something non-catty. It wasn’t Lindsay’s fault Mason was an idiot, or that calculating gender ratios was probably the only math Brock was capable of doing.
Kaz’s gaze landed on me, all cold and detached. I sneered at him. He always had this air about him, like he was cooler than everyone else, yet he clearly wasn’t too cool for this dumb game. When he registered my expression, his lips curled into an infuriating smirk. I couldn’t help but think he was reveling in the fact that he was stealing Mason from me.
Not that I ever had Mason in the first place.
Mason wasn’t here, I realized. Relief surged through me. I had no desire to see him locking lips with someone right after he’d kissed me.
Brock hollered at everyone and kneeled at the center of the circle to set the bottle in motion. I was fairly sure Lindsay was muttering a prayer.
Unfortunately for her, the bottle pointed to some redhead I didn’t know. I watched in disgust as Brock grabbed her shoulders, joined their mouths, and exchanged what looked like far too much saliva. The redhead didn’t seem to mind, giving him a wink once they were done.
“Dang it,” Lindsay said into my ear, sounding upset. “Kaz’s next. You better be praying for me.”
I did no such thing as I watched the spawn of Satan bring his hand to the bottle. People erupted into cheers when he entered the circle, as if he was some kind of celebrity. Honestly, what was wrong with everyone? As far as I could tell, Mason was the only person Kaz had ever been nice to, so I couldn’t imagine what he’d done to earn this kind of reception. Did everyone at this party think he was cool for dropping out? That didn’t bode well for my generation.
The bottle blurred as it spun and spun on the dirty floor. Kaz was watching it on his haunches, one elbow perched on his knee. He had a couple of inches of pitch-black hair that was just starting to hang over his eyes. Someone once told me he was from Russia. He must have moved to the United States, a long time ago because he didn’t have a noticeable accent. There was a certain foreignness about him, though. He just didn’t seem to fit in.
I pulled my eyes back to the bottle just as it ground to a halt.
Oh, come on.
It was pointing directly at me.
Slowly, Kaz lifted his gaze. I clenched my fists so tight my nails dug into my palms. How was this happening? This day was quickly becoming one of the worst days of my life.
When our eyes met, a shiver ran down my spine. Kaz had deep, forest-green eyes, not too dissimilar from mine. The color reminded me of the woods behind my old home in the summer—lush, enchanting, and teeming with danger. Nearly every year, there were bear sightings. One time, a hiker nearly got mauled to death.
Kaz rocked on his heels and stood up. He was so tall, somehow even taller than Mason, and all I could think was in this scenario, he was the big bad bear.
He stopped right in front of me, frowning as he took me in. My face must have been screaming my distress. Lowering his head, he brushed his lips against my ear. I prepared myself for whatever nasty thing he was about to say.
“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he whispered.
Wait, what?
