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Alec whirls around. “You think I give a shit what Mom said? I’m not leaving. Fuck off, Gemma.”
I grit my teeth.
A few people nearby watch with interest. High school kids are vultures for drama. They scent it like blood in the water.
My family issues don’t need an audience.
I keep my voice level as I follow Alec. “It doesn’t seem like you’re unhappy here. You fit right in.”
The ice in Alec’s eyes twists my insides. I don’t want to fight with my brother. It’s my fault we had to move, which I hate.
I was ripped from my friends, too.
The ones I had left, that is.
Forcing out a sigh, I change tactics.
“Mom doesn’t leave for her shift for another hour. If I text her to say we’re stopping for burgers on our way home, can we go soon?”
Alec’s expression shifts enough to tell me he’s considering it. He can’t resist food. We haven’t kept up with our old after school ritual, so maybe I’m getting through to him at last.
“Strawberry milkshakes?”
The corners of my mouth quirk up. “Strawberry milkshakes and fries.”
For a brief moment, we’re not at odds.
Then a pair of strong hands yank me away from Alec by my hips. I’m whipped around and tugged against a wall of hard muscle.
Before I can react, the stranger’s lips cover mine in a demanding kiss.
And just like that, there goes my first fucking kiss.
Two
Lucas
A cheer of coyote howls rises over the heavy beat of the music when I step off the stairs.
My house is packed. I grant people a happy grin that I don’t feel, accepting the fist bumps, half-hugs, and slaps on the back with birthday wishes.
Smoke wafts in from outside when the contemporary glass panels are folded open to enter and exit. In the hall by the bathroom a couple of people lift their hands to their noses and snort bumps. All around me, people revel in the wild bacchanalia of a Lucas Saint party.
The old me would slide into the party vibe without any problem. But can I fake it so everyone believes I’m enjoying my birthday party?
Hiding a frown, I weave through friends and allow the atmosphere to drag me under and bounce me around for a while.
When I come up for air, Carter’s there.
“Yo, dude.”
I bump my fist against Carter’s and accept the shot he offers. “Burns.”
“What’s the count?”
Carter passes me a fresh beer after we down our shots. He’s one of my closest friends and my teammate. We met in middle school when we tackled each other during football tryouts and from the first hit we’d stuck together.
I wipe the back of my hand against my mouth and swallow a sip of beer to chase the whiskey. “The count?”
