It’s all his fault.
My fault.
Swallowing, I duck my head like the coward I am and go back inside. Easton’s still standing in the same place, surrounded by double the amount of people who were here a few minutes ago. He takes the empty solo cup I’m holding and replaces it with a full one. “Don’t worry,” he says, leaning over sideways to shout over the music. “I made sure no one spiked it.”
“Thanks,” I mumble into the cup, not missing the eyes burning a hole into the back of my head.
Just then, Carter appears at my side with a drink in hand, shamelessly eye-fucking the good-looking guy standing a few feet away from us. The guy eye-fucks him right back, and I shake my head with a barely there smile. Carter makes it look so easy, being out. He might be an asshole, but I can’t deny I respect the way he’s happy to just be who he is. Nate’s never really advertised the fact that he likes to hook up with guys as well as girls—his dad wouldn’t allow it—but Carter genuinely couldn’t care less what his parents, his coach, or anyone else has to say about him. He’s always been that way.
“Having fun, Xav?”
“What do you want, Carter?”
“Nate’s avoiding me.” He feigns a pout, and I roll my eyes at his stupidity.
“That’s probably because as soon as he comes near you, he’s gonna kick your ass.”
He laughs at that, glancing at something over my head as he moves toward his entertainment for tonight. “Funny, ’cause it looks to me like he wants your ass a hell of a lot more than he wants mine.”
I ignore the way that fills me with both dread and heat all at once. He didn’t mean it like that. He’s just trying to mess with me. Trying to fuck with my head and make me hope for something I have no business hoping for.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up when I realize Nate’s right behind me. His hand comes into view as he rests it on the island next to my hip. “Why are you here?”
“I already told you—”
“I mean here, at this party,” he grits out, his mouth near my ear as he uncaps a bottle of something and pours himself a drink.
“Easton brought me.”
“Did he?” he asks casually enough, but I’m not stupid. He’s pissed and he wants me to know about it. “And why would he do that after we told him to ignore you and leave your ass at the house?”
“Maybe he likes me better than you,” I mutter. I know it’s not wise to provoke him, but I guess old habits really do die hard. “Katy always did.”
As soon as her name leaves my lips, he makes me regret it. He doesn’t seem to care who might be watching as he grabs a fistful of my hair and drags me outside, throwing me around like a rag doll. My back hits the marble wall I was leaning against before, the cup of water slipping from my hand and soaking us both. He doesn’t seem to care about that either, his huge body crowding mine as he forces me to meet his eyes.
He’s so close.
Too close.
What the fuck is he doing?
“Don’t act surprised, party boy,” he taunts. “You just asked me for this. Plain and fucking simple.”
Maybe he’s right.
I’ve earned his wrath, after all. It’s only fair he gives it to me.
I don’t even try to fight him when he digs his fingers into my throat, making it hard to breathe. He doesn’t let me look away from his eyes, and now that the initial shock of seeing him again has worn off, I…
Fuck, I forgot how much it hurts to look at him.
His thumb grazes the edge of my jaw beneath my ear, and I try not to make a sound as he finds the small scar I got the day he found me sleeping next to Katy’s grave on her birthday a couple years ago. I don’t remember much about that fight. I was too out of it, but I do know that was the last time he saw me in person before today.
“Did I give you this?” he asks, still thumbing that same spot on my jaw.
I nod once, and a hint of a smirk touches his lips.
He likes that.
He’s still holding me in place, but he’s not hurting me anymore. Somehow this is worse, especially when I see the flash of amusement in his eyes, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking right now.
It’s never mattered how hard I try to hide it. He’s always been able to see me for what I am.
Broken. Pathetic. Gay.
My dick is hard for him, and I know he can feel it through our clothes. My breath quickens when he pushes his thigh between my legs, his mouth lowering until it’s just an inch away from mine, giving me a taste of something I’ll never have.
“You want more?” he whispers.
More scars or more…him?
Whatever it is, I’ll take it.
When I nod, he keeps hold of my face and slowly wedges his free hand down between us, boldly palming my cock through my jeans. He strokes me through the material, and a shocked sound leaves my throat before I can stop it, my hips automatically bucking into his.
“Fuck,” I breathe against his lips. “Fuck—”
Something happens then, and he turns to stone against me. His head pulls back and he stares at my mouth, down at the fallen cup next to my feet, then back up to my face, his jaw locked as he studies every inch of me. I blink at him in confusion, my brows lowering at the sudden return of his anger. Not that it ever left, but this feels different. He looks like he’s in pain, his light brown eyes glassing up as he searches mine.
“What…” he trails off.
My eyes start to water too, the realization of what he’s thinking carving off yet another piece of my broken heart.
“What was in that drink?”
“Nate.”
“Fuck you, Xavi,” he spits out, his nostrils flaring as he backs away from me. “Fuck you.”
“Yeah,” I whisper to myself, closing my eyes so I don’t have to watch him walk away. “Fuck me.”
“I think I’m drunk.”
“You think?” I laugh, following behind Easton as he walks upstairs, bumping into the railing as he goes.
“Are you drunk?” he asks.
“Nah, man, I’m good.”
He hums and wraps his arm around my neck, pulling me into him and smushing his cheek against mine. Not for the first time tonight, I find myself wondering whether he’s just super friendly or if he’s into guys. I know he had a girlfriend, but he could be bi.
Maybe he’s hooked up with Nate before…
“How old are you?”
“Nineteen,” I answer.
“Shit. I’m a bad influence, aren’t I?”
I smile and shake my head. I don’t tell him he’s nothing compared to the real bad influences I’m used to. The shitty people who got me hooked on drugs when I was barely fourteen.
“You’re underage,” he teases, his lips against my temple, and I swear I’m not imagining it this time.
I think he might actually be into me.
“How old are you?” I ask.
“Twenty-one.”
Same as Nate, I think to myself. Every thought I have tonight seems to roll right back around to him. I can’t stop thinking about the way he was watching my every move at the party. The way it felt to be trapped between his body and the wall.