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A commotion comes from a huge double door to our right. Male and female voices and laughter filter in all at once.
“We can hide in the kitchen,” Elizabeth whispers, turning my chair.
I clutch her hand, stopping her. I might not want to ruin Old Reina’s lifestyle, but I’m not running away in what’s supposed to be my home.
Sure, I don’t remember it, but it still counts as my home.
My confidence crumbles the moment I make eye contact with the person I never wanted to see again.
Asher.
Isn’t he supposed to be at Oxford? Alex said he studied in England, didn’t he?
He should be in England.
He laughs along at something someone said at his side, but his entire focus is on me.
Like a hunter.
The air ripples with tension and dark intentions. It licks at my skin like rusty knives.
Dark aviators sit on his straight, arrogant nose, so I can’t see his eyes, and it pisses me off.
I can’t get a read on him, and I feel like I always need to predict his moves.
He’s wearing white shorts and a black T-shirt that tightens around his cut abdomen and sculpted biceps.
Since I’m sitting, he appears taller than I initially predicted at the hospital. If anything, the lines of his face are sharper and harder, too.
Shouldn’t assholes be less handsome?
“Oh my Gosh, Reina. Are you okay?” A squeaky feminine voice snatches my attention.
She’s a petite girl with curves highlighted by her bikini top and denim shorts that reveal the crack of her ass. Her long blonde hair falls down her back, the same color as mine—only hers doesn’t appear natural.
Her upper body leans into Asher’s side as if she’s hugging him by the waist. When she notices me watching her movement, she pulls back a little with ‘oops’ written all over her face.
I narrow my eyes but quickly seal that reaction away. For some reason, I don’t think Old Reina showed emotions. If she didn’t show her makeup-free face, she likely didn’t reveal anything else.
“And you are?” I ask in a cool tone.
“Brianna. You call me Bree—we’re, like, best friends!” she squeals, clutching my hands in hers.
I wince as pain shoots up my arm and to my sore shoulders.
She pulls her hand back quickly, and the pain doubles as my arms fall to my lap. “Oops, sorry. I guess what Asher said is true—you don’t remember.” She throws him a look over her shoulder. “You didn’t tell us it was this bad.”
Did he have to? If her so-called best friend was in an accident and was admitted to the hospital for a week, shouldn’t she have visited? Or at least not partied at the pool with said friend’s freaking fiancé?
And why the hell is that fiancé still here anyway?
A tall shirtless man pushes past her and crouches in front of me. He sports a beautiful tan that complements his dark brown eyes. He narrows them on me as if trying to read something in my face. “You really remember nothing?”
“Of course she doesn’t.” Another blond man in a polo shirt, khaki shorts, and mirror sunglasses stands beside Asher. “Or else she wouldn’t look like a zombie in front of us.”
Elizabeth leans over to whisper in my ear. “The polo guy is Sebastian. The one kneeling is Owen. Both are Asher’s friends and play for the Black Devils.”
I nod, trying to associate the names to the faces. It’s not working so well in my head.
