his wet towels. I toss mine in next. The room is quiet, dark, and I take a moment to catch my breath. I don’t know why it bothered me so much. I know it’s dumb. I know it’s not as bad as it feels. But for some reason, my body is just not getting with the program.
I feel like I just ran ten laps.
“You okay?” he asks, watching me closely.
“Yeah.” I nod, pressing my palms to my warm cheeks. “I just feel stupid about making such a mess. Way to make an entrance, right?”
He laughs. “Well, you know the saying, ‘it’s not a party until someone spills the punch’.”
I stare at him. “Is that really a saying?”
He laughs again. “No, but it is now.”
I drop my head in my hands. “Oh god, what a disaster. My first party and I’m a punch-line.”
He bursts out laughing, but when he sees my not-so-amused expression, he stops abruptly and frowns. “Wait. That wasn’t a joke? The punch-line thing?”
I grimace. “Unfortunately, no.”
“It’s really not that bad.” George rolls his eyes, leaning back against the counter, next to me. “Jason Floyd puked all over Campbell Clarke’s pool table last year at one of her parties. That was a disaster.”
An image of Jason Floyd, lead in all the Preston Prep musicals, hurling on Campbell’s pool table appears in my mind. Then, a picture of Campbell losing her shit. That makes me smile. “Okay, yeah, that beats me. But still, I think I’ve confirmed the party scene isn’t for me.”
I cross my arms over my stomach, inhaling carefully. My heart has been racing ever since we got here, and the spilled punch only made it all worse. Obviously, I need to find Sydney or Emory and get out of here, cut my losses.
George places a hand on the counter between us and says, “I can hang out with you for a while, if you want.”
“That’s okay—” Another commotion comes from the other room. Someone shouts “Thistle Cove can suck my dick!” which is met with a round of cheers and applause. “I think I should probably just—”
Without warning, George swoops in, eyes falling closed, hand cinching around my waist. I throw up two hands and shove him back before our mouths connect. “Dude, what the hell?”
“What?” George blinks at me, gesturing at the space between us. “I thought there was some chemistry.”
“You thought wrong, dumbass.” The words come out fierce, but inside I’m crumbling. I push past him to get out of the small, secluded room, and reenter the kitchen. At least two dozen more people showed up while I was with George and I skim the crowd for Sydney or Emory. I can’t find either of them.
Too many people. There are arms everywhere, and it’s loud—so loud—and the air feels thick with smoke and sweat, and is it just me, or does this room seem smaller than it had ten minutes ago?
Spinning on my heel, I make for the front door but slam into a hard body. I look up into Ben Shackleford’s surprised face. Peeking out of the top of his shirt is the black cord. Now, all I can think about is how he knows the truth about me—my secret. The feeling of being exposed is so overwhelming, it’s like I’ve been flayed open.
Fuck. I need to get the hell out of here. Now.
“Vandy?” Ben frowns down at me. “What’s—”
I shove him aside and weave through the crowd. I end up in a back hallway, passing a line outside the bathroom, and turning the corner. There’s no one back here, and I can finally take a breath, trying to choke down some air. I press my back against a closed door, and it gives, dumping me into the room.
Immediately, I realize I’m in an office, or maybe a library due to the rows of books on the wall. But it’s quiet here, so I shut the door behind me, blocking out the noise from the party. I shudder out an exhale, willing my lungs to contract, and start to take a step into the room.
I freeze when I realize I’m not alone.
Sitting behind the desk, flicking a cigar lighter in his hand, is the last person I want to see me like this.
12
Reyn
I hear the music before I can see the house. The slow thump of bass bouncing off the tall pine trees is a nice change from the oppressive nothingness going on at my place. Elana’s house is on the far end of