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“Hm.”
He walked into the kitchen without asking if he could stay, but considering this was the same boy who’d broken into my room in the middle of the night, the fact that he had bothered to knock and use the front door was monumental in and of itself.
I followed him into the tiny kitchen, watching as he strode over to the stove, poking around the pots and breathing in.
“Actually smells good,” he commented, lifting his eyebrows.
I frowned. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to take that as a compliment or not.”
“Take it however you want. It at least looks edible.” He glanced over to me, and the glint in his hazel eyes told me he was teasing. I rolled my eyes.
“Whatever. What are you doing here?” I stepped forward, nudging him away from the pots so I could stir them myself. He leaned against the counter, the small space forcing us to stand way too close, and watched me as he answered.
/> “We’re going to a party later tonight. Me and the guys. You’re coming with us.”
Not a question. A statement. I was starting to learn the difference between the times when Bish meant to give me a choice and when he didn’t, and this was definitely the latter.
I glanced over to him. “It’s a school night.”
“Yeah. What’s your point?”
“Well, I mean—isn’t this a bit different than going to a random warehouse on a Friday after school? I don’t even know what kind of parties people throw… here.”
His brow quirked. “Well, they’re usually lively as fuck, so I bet they’re different than you’re used to. There’s booze, pot, gambling, sex.” He shrugged. “We always go. Means things stay chill, and that’s a good thing for the Slateview kids.”
“Well, if you’re just going to chaperone, then why do I need to come?”
“Because we want you to.”
I stopped stirring the sauce for a moment, letting that statement linger in the air. Because we want you to. What a strange thought. Nothing about this arrangement the four of us were in really made sense to me, and every time I thought I’d found my footing, something came along to knock me off my axis again.
Going to a party actually sounded kind of fun. A little thrill of nerves and excitement skittered up my spine as I thought about it—about seeing what these kinds of parties were really like. Still, I hesitated. My thoughts went once more to the bathroom incident with Kace, dancing with Misael, and then the other night with Bishop.
Hadn’t things gone far enough, gotten confusing enough, already? Wouldn’t going to a party with all of them just be asking for trouble?
That’s when it hit me.
Bishop and I were totally alone here.
My mom was out of the house and wouldn’t be back till God only knew when. I was standing in my kitchen with one of the Lost Boys, and he was so close to me that his arm brushed against mine as I worked. I could feel the heat from his body, smell the woodsy scent of his cologne as it mixed with the aroma of the pasta sauce.
I flushed against my will and tightened my grip on the spoon as I resumed stirring.
God, could he tell I was breathing harder? Could he see the blush spreading across my cheeks?
I wished I could keep my reactions under control around these boys, but with every line we crossed, it seemed to be harder to control them, not easier.
“Fine,” I conceded, partly just because I was desperate to say something. “But I’m finishing this and eating before we go. I want to at least make sure Mom has something to eat when she gets back—we haven’t exactly had a lot of food in the house.”
Bishop shrugged. “Sure. Whatever you want.”
“You can have some too, if you want.”
He actually looked surprised, drawing his head back as he straightened. “You’re offering me a meal?”
“Well, it’s the least I can do. You’ve given me food before and stuff.”
He blinked at me, his brows drawing together over his intense hazel eyes. “You’re so fucking weird for a rich girl.”
