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“Babe, I’m just kidding. I’ll have a talk with Big Bro. Let him know that wasn’t cool.” He goes back to sipping his beer, clearly not in a rush to set Khaos straight about putting his freaking hands on me.

What the hell is Khaos’s problem?

Was he really sitting at the bottom of the pool on purpose?

I guess he could’ve been.

Fine. Maybe I overreacted. I thought he was drowning and I panicked. I can admit that.

Except…Khaos had his phone on him. I know he had his phone in his front right pocket because… Because… I saw him put it there after exchanging numbers with Dex Mathews.

I wasn’t watching him or anything, I just happened to look over at that exact moment.

And when he knocked into Scott.

Then again when he got pulled into the pool.

Which is how I know there wasn’t enough time for him to take his phone out before he sank like an anchor.

So, yes, Khaos was drowning. And I saved him.

Even though, I don’t think he wanted me to.

Me in particular? Or anyone?

He wasn’t trying to drown himself, was he? During a party?

It’s not like I haven’t considered doing the same thing countless times. These parties are exhausting. This life even more so.

“I’m really thirsty,” I say to no one in particular.

“Here.” Guy tries handing me his beer.

“No.” I curb a scoff. When has he ever seen me drink alcohol? “I need water.”

“Didn’t you get enough from the pool already?” His chuckle sets off the laughs of others. It’s not even funny. That or his joke about shutting me up.

He’s not funny.

“I’m not a child. I kept my mouth shut,” I reply a little too harshly, but he’s not paying me any attention, already talking to somebody else.

He didn’t see anything. He couldn’t have. He was by the bar when I went into the pool and he was still there when I got out.

I just hope nobody else saw what happened down there. It’s eight feet deep, and everyone was already on their way out when I dove in.

Wrapping myself up, I head toward the kitchen. It’s packed, of course, so I skirt by a group of people to get to the pantry.

I’m met by a partially tatted back as soon as I enter.

“What the hell are you doing in here?”

Khaos slowly turns to face me, then leans against the counter, his hands by his sides gripping the edge until his knuckles turn white. In a dry pair of shorts now, he’s shirtless, with the towel from earlier rolled up and draped over his neck.

“I fucking live here, remember?”

How could I forget?

“Why are you in the pantry?”