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When we were young, Crew and Leighton were at each other's throats like sworn enemies. For some reason unbeknownst to the rest of us, they considered themselves archnemeses. Though, truth be told, I always suspected they both felt quite different—not that either of them would ever admit it. Insults were basically their love language.
“You two are still pretending to hate each other, then?” I chuckle.
“What?” She’s speaking to me, but her glare doesn't break from Crew.
“Six years later and the farce is still going.”
“What farce?” Finally, she looks my way, angry flames burning in her irises. “My hatred for Crew fucking Mesaric ain't no farce.”
“Mmhmm.”
“Seriously.” She huffs. “That asshole could drop dead tomorrow for all I care.”
“Now, now, Little James, that's not very nice.” The sound of Crew's cocky lilt surprises us both.
I try and fail to smother my smirk as Leighton fluffs her hair and swings a look of absolute contempt toward the man who has just snuck up on us.
“Go away, Crew.”
“Nice to see your Southern manners are as shitty as always.”
He reaches out to run his index finger down the bridge of her nose in a patronizing and somewhat offbeat gesture. Leighton is quick to slap his hand away but not before a hiss of breath escapes from between her teeth at the contact. She tries to hide the sound with a cough, but the look of utter victory on Crew's face is indication enough that he heard it.
“Maybe I'd be nicer if you weren't such a giant fuckface.”
I'd assumed that Leighton and Crew had grown out of their bickering over the years. Clearly, I was wrong.
“Hey,” he laughs, holding his hands in the air, “it ain't my fault your mama didn't raise you right.”
Leighton blinks. Then blinks again.
She's so furious she's vibrating with it. In fact, if I looked closely enough, I'm sure I'd be able to see steam billowing from her ears. And though watching the two of them engage in what can only be described as a synchronized toddler tantrum, the tension in the air is so thick that I fear I'll suffocate if I'm forced to breathe it in much longer.
“Leigh?” I say softly, edging slowly backward. “I'm gonna go. I'll text you about that coffee, okay?”
But she can't hear me. The smoke of her rage has grown too thick for her to be aware of anyone other than the grinning man in front of her.
I watch with my hand on my chest as she launches herself at him, fingers gnarled into claws as she reaches for his face. He catches her easily and the two of them grapple like siblings who are a little too close for comfort on the floor of the old wood barn.
“I'm gonna fuck you so hard in your dickhole, you fucking piece of shit.”Leighton's frenzied screeching draws the attention of most of the party, but it's only a moment or two before everyone turns back to whatever they were doing with a roll of their eyes. They're used to it, it seems.
While they're distracted, I take the opportunity to slink away, find Mama Belle and thank her for having me. Then, I step out into the freezing night air and start the long walk home with Cole’s flannel wrapped tight around my shoulders. Briefly, I find myself wishing that it could be his arms keeping me warm instead.
It’s a thought I regret the instant Cole pulls up alongside me and tells me gruffly to get in the car. I assume it's chance that led him to find me stumbling along alone in the dark. Not once do I consider that it could be anything other than coincidence. But then, I guess I've always been a little naïve.
When India hada tantrum tonight and told me she was leaving the party, I was the person to call her a cab. Offering to give her a ride home myself was a thought that didn't even cross my mind once. Why is it, then, that the moment I lose sight of Thea, I find myself making a beeline for Leighton with something akin to panic buzzing in my veins?
“Where is she?”
Leighton blinks up at me from her position on the floor, cross-legged and panting after yet another public wrestling match with my younger brother. Every day, I pray that they'll pull their heads out their asses and realize that the reason for their ridiculous behavior is the mutual desire to fuck. But they're both too damn dumb to see it.
“Who?”
“Thea.”
“Oh.” Curiosity sparkles in her eyes as she tilts her head to one side, assessing me. “She left.”
“Is she driving?”
