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Life’s a Party
Greer
“You know?”
No, I don’t know, because I haven’t been paying attention. Tristan’s friends aren’t nearly as bad as him, but they definitely register high on the self-obsessed scale. The shit is next level.
Tearing my eyes away from the fire, I check out the cutie sitting beside me on a log that’s been turned on its side. He might be self-absorbed and incredibly arrogant, but that doesn’t mean he’s not pretty to look at.
“Sure,” I say with more confidence than I’m really feeling. That’s all he needs, and he’s off again, prattling on about how glorious he thinks he is and all of the conquests he’s made. I can’t even remember this one’s name.
Vincent? Victor? Bryce?
Dear Lord.
Help me.
I swish around the beer in my red plastic cup as I debate whether or not I should drink it. I’ve been pretending to sip from it for the last half an hour now. After dinner, Tristan wasted no time in grabbing me by the hand and dragging me along down to the beach with him and his friends. And, of course, with Chelsea trailing behind.
The party had already started by then, and the booze had been flowing freely. In his short time here, Tristan had been busy getting friendly with the other guests—at least when he wasn’t busy shoving his tongue down my throat—and we’ve been welcomed with open arms.
I thought if I sat over here by myself, pretending to be drinking the cheap beer, that maybe I’d be forgotten about and left alone.
Wrong.
This peach latched onto me like a sucker fish, and I’ve been bored to tears ever since.
At least he’s not Tristan though. There’s that. And I almost feel bad for Tristan at the moment—almost, but not quite. My sister has her claws hooked in him so deep he almost looks as if he’s in pain. Karma is a bitch, Tristan. I have to hide my amusement as he keeps looking over at Rupert beside me and glaring while Chelsea looks ready to climb into his lap and flash some cheek to the rest of us when she does. She’s already practically dry humping his leg. Tristan shoots me a desperate look. Nope, help isn’t coming from here, dude. One lecture from Chelsea about cockblocking is enough, thank you very much. I’m staying away from her and her dirty summer plans. Plus I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t relieved not to have to fend off Tristan’s advances.
“So, Tristan says he’s going to teach you how to surf. I bet you look hot in a bathing suit,” what’s his name says.
I choke on air and cough. I can’t even look at him after that. In an effort to avoid him, I put the plastic cup to my lips and actually drink from it this time—and spit it right out, spraying beer all over our sandal-clad feet.
Whoa. That was terrible. I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth and shake the plastic cup at the guy next to me. “Is this beer or horse piss?”
He laughs in my face, loud and obnoxiously, sounding similar to a donkey.
Cringing away from him, I drop my cup to the sand and climb to my feet. Half an hour is more than enough of my time for them to have wasted my night. Since Tristan is entertained, there’s nothing keeping me from the book that’s waiting for me in my room.
“Listen, Brock, you’re nice and all.” Total lie, but whatever. “But I’m tired.” Another lie. I’m really on a roll here, so why quit now? “So I’m going to head back to my room now.”
His mouth drops open. “What the hell?” he sputters. “You can’t leave yet, the party’s barely even started.”
That’s what he’s concerned with? Does he not even care that I have no clue what the hell his name is? Or is he already too drunk to care? Of course I might have gotten it right…
“Let her go, Victor,” Chelsea calls out loudly. “It’s past Greer’s bedtime. Run along home, baby sister. Mommy and Daddy will tuck you in. Sweet dreams.”
My hands ball into fists at my sides as the people around us snicker. For the very first time in my life, I want to punch someone, and it’s unbelievable that it’s my sister who I want to take a swing at. I thought she couldn’t shock me more than she already has, but here we are.
“Don’t be a bitch, Chel,” Tristan snaps as he shoves her hands off his thighs and stands. “Nobody likes a pretty girl with a bitchy attitude. You could really learn a thing or two from your sister.” I’m grateful that the only light here is provided by the bonfire, because I’m pretty sure there’s shock etched all over my face. Of all the people who could defend me from my sister’s put-downs, I wouldn’t have put my money on Tristan.
Chelsea’s face twists with rage, and I’m sure she’ll take it out on me, not Tristan, but she doesn’t get the chance to, not right now, because Tristan takes me by the hand and pulls me away.
A look over his shoulder as we walk away tells me there’s no way in hell Chelsea’s going to be letting this go any time soon. It’s something to look forward to when she gets back to our rooms tonight, and with the way she’s going, she’ll likely be wasted by that time.
I’ve been attempting to avoid Tristan like he’s diseased, and yet here he is acting like my hero for the night. Was I wrong about him? Hmm... I don’t think so. He’s still a douche, but there’s a heart in there underneath all the asshole.
Good to know.
