AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Hell, no.She'snotgoing to use my doing something completely normal as an excuse to skip.
"It's a pool party, and it's like a billion degrees. You'll be dry in a second."I'm right and she knows it, judging by her glare. Before she can find another excuse, I add, "And Violet can lend you some clothes if you insist on getting changed in the minutes it'd take for your sack to dry."
"That's so fucking rude!" Violet snaps.
"And accurate. What, I'm not allowed to call a sack a sack? Saying ‘dress’ would be an insult to every actual dress in the world. Keller's dad might sue me if I called it that."
My friend snorts next to Rom. "How about you leave my dad out of it if you don't want to get sued, huh?"
His father owns one of the trendiest up-and-coming fashion brands. I'd pay to see Sarah dressed in one of their tight, sexy little numbers instead of her usual rags. Maybe I should offer to take her shopping as an apology for tossing her in the pool. It’d be self-serving. But fuck that. I'm not apologizing. I'm notsorry. I did it because she seemed lonely and desperate to join in for the whole fucking party. I've looked at her, like, twenty times, and no matter how I think about it, I saw longing. She wanted to belong, to join in. She just didn't really see how.
Violet thinks she's helping her, but she's not. She's isolating her by treating her with kid gloves and trying to make us do the same. I'm not blind. The girl has trauma. So what? Violet shouldn't stop her from living.
"I can lend you something, Sarah," Violet says.
For the third time, the girl repeats, "I'm fine. Besides, I don't think anything you own would fit me."
She's right. Sarah might be mostly built in the same way as my friend, give or take a few inches, but that butt? It'll likely never squeeze into anything of Violet’s. No wonder I never see her in pants. I doubt she can find a pair of jeans that match the tiny waist and generous, bite-worthy ass.
I'm staring again. It's not my fault. She's gotten out of the water and given me a brand-new angle to cross my eyes over.
That’s it. Somehow, my subconscious must have known what was hidden underneath the potato bag. That’s why I kept looking.
"But I really should get going,” Sarah is quick to say. “It's getting late.”
Violet glares at me and I sigh.
"Your phone," I tell Sarah, handing her the dry device.
She snatches it and hobbles away without another word.
"You have to—" Violet starts.
"No,youhave to stop treating her like she's a fucking child. Yeah, I tossed her in the pool at one point or another. Every girl and most of the guys got tossed in the pool at some point. That's the point of a pool party.You'rewrapping her in bubble wrap and stopping her from having fun, kitten."
Violet sucks in a breath, looking like I've slapped her. Rhys immediately steps between us, eyes narrowed.
"Take a breath, yes?" he tells me.
I don't need to. I'm not worked up. I'm just stating facts. People simply tend to dislike hearing truths that put them on the spot.
"Do what you want. But I'm going to keep treating the chick as I see fit—which in my case means, like she's a normal person. You do you, my friends."
I kiss Violet's cheek, so she gets I'm truly not bothered before heading to back to one of my housemates.
I don't stop thinking about my intriguing, hot as fuck little wallflower as I sit with Damian. He's trying to talk Roman into moving in with us.
Little chance of that.
The Shark House is a full, hectic dorm, to say the least. Coming here to the Hunt—slash Voss slash Greene slash Rothford—private residence is a nice change of pace. Even with three dozen guests, it's quieter.Peaceful. Maybe I should have bought a house like them.
Or not. My father would likely have been pissy about it.
"Marius, help me convince him!"
"Why would he want to move in with forty smelly dudes and fifteen girls with bigger balls than ours?” I snort. "He has a sweet setup here. Not to mention, a delicious warm hole to fill daily."
Roman raises his glass high, not denying he fucks Violet as often as he can. He isn't the only one.
