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Becca widened her eyes, delighted. “You brought your dog!”
Quinn was just as wide-eyed. “He ... brought his dog.”
He reached up and rubbed the dog’s ears. “I never really bring Casper anywhere. He gets out of the yard and finds me all the time. I’m always worried he’ll end up under some guy’s tires.” He grimaced. “It’s easier to let him hop in the car.”
This was awesome. The dog could be her bodyguard. She imagined Casper tearing into Drew the way he’d done to Tyler.
But then Hunter said, “He’ll just sleep in the back of the jeep.” As if on cue, the dog lay down and rested his head on the tailgate.
Damn it.
Hunter pushed off the car and stepped closer, and suddenly she remembered this wasn’t a chance meeting on the side of the road. “You didn’t want me to drive.”
She looked up at him, tightening her grip on the strap of her purse. He smelled good, like woods and fresh air and confidence. “Is that a problem?”
“I thought you might be planning to stand me up.” His eyes were bright, his voice gently chiding. He glanced at Quinn. “Make New Kid walk in alone.”
Quinn rolled her eyes. “She just wanted a getaway—” Becca elbowed her in the side. “Have you been waiting long?”
He shook his head. “Shall we?”
The music pouring from the house seemed to move the sidewalk, and the front door stood wide open. It wasn’t like those high school parties in the movies, where everyone was hot and well dressed and straight sober despite having a drink in hand. In front of Drew McKay’s house, three guys were sitting on the front step, smoking. A girl wearing a fleece tracksuit was already puking in the front shrubbery. The word Juicy was plastered across her ass, and most of the vomit ended up in her hair. She staggered like she might pass out.
One of the smokers jeered and flicked ash her way.
Becca hesitated on the front walk.
“Leave it,” hissed Quinn. “Come on.”
Maybe she had too much of her mother in her, but Becca couldn’t just blow right past that kind of train wreck.
“Hey. Are you okay?” she asked.
The girl looked up, rings of mascara under her eyes. Taylor Morrissey, varsity cheerleader. She swiped at her mouth with the end of her sleeve.
“Becca Chandler?” she whispered.
“Yeah.” Becca tucked her hair behind her ear, very aware of the weight of Hunter’s presence at her side. “You want me to get you a towel—or a washcloth—”
“Why are you here? Did someone pay you to strip on tables or something?”
One of the guys on the stoop snorted with laughter, blowing smoke through his nose.
Becca jerked back. Despite hearing comments like that on a daily basis, it was still a surprise.
“Drunk bitch,” muttered Quinn.
Then Taylor was laughing, almost hysterically, until she fell on her side in the grass. She narrowly missed rolling in her own vomit. “Or—wait—you just do it for free, right?”
“Ignore her,” said Hunter, his voice low and close to her ear. “She’s hammered.”
But Taylor’s words had punched her in the gut, and now Becca couldn’t get enough air. She shook off Quinn’s arm and spun for the sidewalk.
Two of Drew’s soccer team buddies were coming up the walk. One had a case of beer under his arm. She couldn’t remember his name, but his eyes didn’t get as far as her face—he was staring at her chest. “Hey, baby, where you going?”
The smoke, the laughter, the sheer number of people surrounding her—it was all suffocating. She needed to get away. Quinn had her keys, so she bolted through the open door, into the foyer.
Music slapped her in the face, something with a loud, driving beat pounding from the bass speakers in the living room. Some guy she didn’t recognize had shot glasses lined up on the hall table, and he held one out to her.
