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Maybe I’m too old for house parties—twenty-five going on ninety.
Jolene leans her head back and laughs. “I can’t believe they’re playing this song again.”
Yep. That call to the cops might be happening. “They should force prisoners to listen to this song on repeat. Guaranteed no one would break the law again.”
“Such a grump,” Jo teases.
I make a grumbly sound.
She nudges me with her elbow. “We should dance.”
“Hard pass.”
“You used to dance with me.”
“Katy Perry and I don’t mesh.”
Jolene’s shoulders slump, and I immediately feel like a dick.
I used to dance with her at parties. We’d people watch and laugh and make out in dark corners. At the drive-in, she’d drape herself over me. If we went for burgers—Jo’s favorite food—our legs would always be twined together under the table. Tonight, the only times we’ve touched are when Jo has poked me with her elbow.
I fold my arms, trying to figure out what’s wrong with me. Or with us.
Jo bounces her knee to the music and sips her beer. Abruptly, she says, “I’m gonna go chat with Tvisha.” She kisses my cheek and heads over to her friend.
I mentally picture myself anywhere but here.
Callahan joins me and awkwardly bobs his head to this painful song. “You’re sober, right?”
Thanks to him, I am. “Since you told me I’m the DD before we left, I think you know the answer to that question.”
“Right, cool.” Cal twitches awkwardly and nearly drops his drink. Drunkandclumsy. “So, yeah, Larkin is a mess, and I told her you’d take her home.”
I search out Jo first. She’s laughing with Tvisha and another friend, looking way happier than she did standing next to me. “Jo’s not ready to go, and I barely know Larkin.”
“I don’t think Larkin should be here any longer,” Cal pushes, gesturing to the blonde sprawled on the couch.
I don’t think I’ve exchanged more than a few words with Larkin, but I remember her from high school—two years below me and ostracized for hooking up with random guys. A double standard that’s always bothered me.Girls who like sex are sluts. Guys are high-fived.I’ve seen her at the odd Windfall festival, usually with her much-younger brother, holding his hand protectively.
I look harder at her, notice a sheen in her eyes.
I may barely know Larkin, but I’d say that glassiness is only partly due to alcohol. She looks sad. Still, I don’t answer Cal. I’m supposed to be here for Jo.
“Seriously,” he saysagain. “You should take Larkin home before some guy decides to drag her upstairs. I’ll walk Jo home later.”
Imagining a woman being taken advantage of has my shoulders bunching. And he’s right—guys are casting glances at Larkin. I don’t know all of those dudes, but I know those predatory leers. Like Larkin is theirs to play with if they choose, all because she has some bullshit reputation.
“Tell Jo I’ll call her later,” I say, already walking over to Larkin. If something bad happened to her, I’d never forgive myself.
When I’m in front of her, her sad eyes flick to me. “What do you want?”
I crouch and force a smile. “I’m Jake Bower. I’m gonna take you home.”
She blinks, that sadness morphing into something sharper. “Why would I get into a stranger’s car?”
“I’m not a stranger. We went to school together.”
“Right. Mr. Perfect Football Player. Too cool for the likes of me.”
