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“And you came?”
“Nothing gets past you, Stevens.” Her brunette friend laughs. “Come on, let’s go.”
“I don’t want to leave yet. I’m having fun.” She giggles, as if to emphasize just how much fun she’s having.
“No, you’re not. You’re wasted. Let’s go, I’m supposed to be somewhere else right now,” I urge impatiently. I can feel stares boring into my back, and I’m anxious to get out of here.
Ire flashes across Maeve’s features. “I don’t need you to babysit me, Wes.”
“Well, I don’t see anyone else volunteering to help you sober up.”
“I don’t need anyone’s help! I’m having fun, okay? I’m just trying to have some fun.”
“This isn’t how you have fun, Maeve. This isn’t you.”
“It isn’t? You already decided I’m a slut; might as well be a lush now too, right?” Spite dances in her green eyes.
Fuck. I close my eyes and count to ten. “We’re not having this conversation right now.”
“Why? Because we’re in Glenmont? On my home turf? They all know already, anyway. I even told my English class we’ve had sex because Matt said you would dump me once you got in my pants.”
I hear a few gasps behind me, and I rake my fingers through my hair, tempted to just toss Maeve over my shoulder. Of course she’d be a belligerent drunk.
“I said we’renothaving this conversation right now, Maeve Elizabeth Stevens.” I level her with a hard look, and she finally shuts her mouth.
“That was your only one,” she reminds me.
“I know.”
She studies me, and then asks, “Did you win?”
For one moment, I think she’s asking about the staring match we’re locked in. Then I realize she’s finally noticed what I’m wearing. I hate that she remembered.
“Yeah, I won.”
“I knew you would,” she says softly, and the tender expression on her face is worse than when she was talking about our sex life in front of half of Glenmont’s senior class. “I’m proud of you, Wes.” Something shifts in her expression. “I’m really mad at you, but I’m proud of you, too.”
“Not exactly thrilled with you at the moment either, Stevens,” I respond. Turning toward the fridge she’s standing next to, I open the door and pull a bottle of water out. I unscrew the cap and hand it to Maeve. “Drink this; we’re leaving.”
“I don’t want to leave,” she replies petulantly.
“We’ve covered that. But you’re drunk, and I’m not leaving you here like this.”
“So you’re the only one who’s allowed to get drunk and kiss other people?”
At this point, you could hear a pin drop in the kitchen, and it’s ironic, really, how we’ve gone from no one knowing anything about our relationship to acting as live entertainment for dozens.
“We’re not discussing this here, Maeve. I didn’t come to fight with you. I came because I was worried. Please, just let me take you home.”
Some of the confrontation finally drains from her posture.
“What the hell is going o—oh. What are you doing here, Cole?” Liam Stevens chooses this moment to enter the silent kitchen. His voice is carefully measured, but there’s a slight edge to it. Liam’s eyes shift to Maeve, giving away the answer to his own question. He knows. Either she told him, or Glenmont’s gossip mill did.
“I’m taking Maeve home,” I state, copying his emotionless tone.
“I’ll make sure she gets home, or one of her friends will. Maeve can leave whenever she wants to. She doesn’t need you bossing her around.”
“Well, seeing as you didn’t even notice she’s wasted, I don’t have a whole lot of confidence in your ability to do that,” I retort.
