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“Why am I here, Carter?” I whisper, not wanting anyone else in this house to hear me. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because it’s fun,” he whispers back, mocking me.
He leaves me alone then, disappearing through the door without a backward glance.
Once I’ve finished cleaning myself up, I rinse the blood from the towel and ring it out in the sink. I’d rather not get my ass handed to me for making a mess, so I wipe up the water, then find the laundry room off the kitchen and toss the towels into the hamper.
Grabbing my bag, I don’t dare check out any of the other rooms down here on my way back to the entryway. I walk up the staircase and along the hall, stopping outside the third door on the right.
He better not be fucking with me.
Carefully, as if I’m handling a ticking bomb, I twist the handle and peek inside the room, relieved when I find it empty. It would be just like Carter to set me up and make me walk into Nate’s room unannounced.
Stepping inside, I quietly close the door behind me and place my bag down on the floor. The room is huge, just like Katy said it would be. The walls are white up here too, the hard floors a light, dusty gray color. The queen size bed is made up with gray sheets, topped with a fluffy gray throw blanket and matching pillows. There’s a big ass TV on the wall opposite, a ridiculous walk-in closet Katy would have had no problem filling, and an equally big en-suite bathroom in the corner of the room.
Leaving my clothes on, I crawl into bed and lie on my side, folding my arm beneath my head. Then I take out my wallet and stare at the big ass smile on my best friend’s face.
“I told you I’d come, babe,” I whisper to her. “I’m here.”
And I’m fucking miserable without you.
7
NATE
“It stinks of vodka in here.”
My jaw ticks, but I don’t bother opening my eyes, my head tipped back on the couch in the den.
Frankie’s right. It does. I picked up all the broken glass and cleaned it up as much as I could, but I couldn’t get it all out of the carpet. The wall’s ruined as well. Now I have to wait until Monday for the cleaning crew and the painters to come and cover up the mess I made.
“What happened, Nate?”
I ignore her again, cracking one eye open when I realize she’s not gonna take the hint and leave me alone.
It’s only been a few hours since she passed out in my room, but she’s already freshly showered and dressed up for yet another night of partying. Her blonde hair is dead straight, the ends grazing the curve of her ass every time she moves, and she’s wearing a little black skirt with some type of bra for a top, black, spiky heels and a black choker thing around her neck. It looks like a dog leash to me, but I don’t dare point that out to her.
A memory comes back to me then, one of Xavi wearing something like that once while he was watching a movie with Katy. I remember thinking what a punk he looked like at the time, but now I’m imagining him wearing one again. Me hooking my fingers beneath the silk and dragging him closer. Making him my little plaything. My gift—
“You gonna share that?” Frankie asks, tipping her chin at the new bottle of vodka I’ve got wedged between my legs.
I pass it up to her. She grabs a couple glasses from the bar and pours some out into each one, topping them off with some Red Bull from the fridge. She hands me mine, and I take it, eyeing her form over the top as I take a sip. “You goin’ out?”
“We’re going out,” she corrects me. “Go shower and get changed. You look like shit.”
“I’m too hot to look like shit,” I joke, but she’s not buying it.
She breathes out a sigh, her white painted fingernail tapping the edge of her glass. “Who’s the new boy?”
“Don’t.”
“Is he yours?” she asks. “Because if not, I—”
“Damn it, I said don’t,” I bite out, harsher than I meant to. “Stay away from him, Frank. Please,” I add, softer this time.
She stares at me a moment, searching my eyes for fuck knows what. She must see something there, because after a quick glance at my red, swollen knuckles, she nods once and says, “All right.”
All right.
