the lake, so I take the path behind my own, the one that leads past the treehouse, through the woods and out to the other end of the neighborhood. At least I know Fucking Jerry can’t get his golf cart through the woods. Not that he wouldn’t try. Fucking Jerry might be stacked as hell, but I’ve got running legs. No way he’d catch me.
At first, I’d begged off, thinking all I wanted was to relax after the game. It’d been a tough one. Those assholes down in Thistle Cove play dirty and we’d sustained a few injuries. Still kicked their asses, though. I guess once their old coach got arrested, the team fell apart, leaving a spot for Preston to slide in and take the championship. Looks like they’re not any better this year.
Once I got home and took a shower, I realized I was tired of sitting at home alone. Dad’s off doing something—or someone—and god only knows when he’ll be back. That’s something else I’m not used to. At Mountain Point, there had always been people around. While you slept, while you shit, while you jerked off. My whole time there, all I wanted was some peace and quiet. But now that I have it, 'round the clock, it’s driving me up the wall, making me restless and overly-vigilant. When things got quiet back at Mountain Point, it meant some serious shit was going down. It’s a hard feeling to shake.
This is why, when I enter the party, squeezing between a cluster of girls by the door, I brace myself for the comfortable lull of voices and too much energy.
“Hey, Reyn.” A girl I don’t recognize touches my arm and I look down at it. “Good game tonight.”
I flick my eyes up to her face. She’s cute. She’s got a Devil sticker on her cheek, left over from the game, and a quick glance downward tells me she definitely isn’t wearing a bra.
I could tap that.
“Thanks.” I don’t know her name, and I don’t ask.
“There’s beer on the patio and punch in the kitchen,” another girl adds helpfully. It’s a sketchy sort of feeling, everyone knowing who I am while being total strangers to me. A few faces are vaguely familiar, and I figure that maybe I knew them when I was a student at Preston the first time around. It doesn’t matter. Everyone has changed a lot.
Especially the girls.
“Great.” I give them a tight smile and work my way to the kitchen, pulling my baseball cap lower in hopes of hiding a little. I might be twenty-four-seven horny, but I’m not stupid. I don’t know how old that girl is, or if she has a boyfriend or an Emory-esque brother, or if she’s going to run around telling everyone about it tomorrow. Party hookups require a hell of a lot more recon that I’ve come equipped with.
Carlton, who is standing over the sink, grins when he sees me. “Dude,” he says, holding out a cup. “Try that.”
I tilt the cup to my lips and feel a caustic burn at the back of my throat. “Jesus Christ,” I mutter, looking at the red punch. “This shit could peel paint.”
Carlton laughs. “It’s nasty but it’ll fuck you up.”
“Well, there is that,” I say, taking the cup and turning around. My feet stick to the floor and I lift one up, looking to see if I stepped in something.
“Oh yeah, watch your step.” Sydney is leaning against the island, hip jutting out. “Vandy spilled punch all over the place.”
My eyes dart down to her tanned legs, tracing up to her thighs. Even I’ve heard the rumors and jokes about her short skirts. She’s an attractive girl. Sexy, if you’re into the overt stuff, which I’m sure many guys are. The warning Emory gave me flashes in my head, but it’s not even necessary. Normally, I’d be all about seeing what it might be like to feel my hands between those legs of hers, but there’s just something about Sydney that’s off-putting. She’s trying just a little too hard, and it takes away a lot of the appeal.
I’m still a guy, though, and it takes me a stretch of silent leg-ogling to register her words.
“Vandy’s here?”
I force myself not to look for her.
“I know, I’m surprised, too. She never wants to come, but she asked for a ride and I was like, yes! Let’s do this!” She lifts her foot, which makes a ripping sound as it separates from the