You're the Reason - J. Nathan Page 0,14

him. “See, Maine? We’re fitting in.”

I draped my arms over Ryan’s shoulders and only then did I pull my attention from Chase. My mind whirled and my heart did crazy flips inside my chest. It was completely irrational to feel this way. I knew that. But I couldn’t control it. Once Ryan turned us half a rotation, I could see across the room and Chase’s eyes were again locked on mine.

My stomach dipped in a way I hated. Chase’s gaze elicited so many unwanted feelings. There was something to be said for having a staring contest with a hot guy who seemed hell bent on proving he was tougher than me. I just wished his eyes weren’t so damn hypnotic.

Then, as if it were happening in slow motion, he broke eye contact. He lifted his hands and cupped Chantel’s cheeks. He leaned in and kissed her—all lips and tongue—for the entire room to see.

I heard distant catcalls. People around them smiled. And a guy yelled, “Get a room.”

My stomach roiled, embarrassment grasping hold of my body. I’d been played. I’d walked right into the lion’s den.

Dammit.

I tore my attention away from the uncomfortable scene, cursing my own stupidity. What the hell was I doing there? I walked right into his screwed-up world, and I wanted no part of it. I stepped away from Ryan. “Thanks for the dance, but I’ve gotta go.”

Without giving him a chance to respond, I ducked through the people surrounding the dance floor, climbed the stairs, and rushed through the crowded hallway. Once I stepped outside, I inhaled deeply, hating myself for even showing up.

I knew better.

I looked out at the road, noticing my Uber still sitting at the curb.

What the hell?

I walked over to it, ducking my head once again to speak to the driver through the open window. “Why are you still here?”

“I was told to wait.”

I closed my eyes and a humorless laugh cut out of me like a shard of broken glass.

Mission accomplished.

As much as I prided myself on being a strong independent woman, in that moment, I was nothing but a fool.

CHAPTER SEVEN

I was watching football and doing homework Sunday night when I heard the click of my door unlocking.

Chantel walked in wearing what appeared to be a guy’s shirt, since it hung to her knees, and the jeans she’d worn to the party last night. I wondered if Chase had kept her with him to drive the point home that they were together, and I’d been a toy used solely for his amusement.

“Hi,” she said, as she entered the room and went right to her dresser to grab clothes. “Heard you stopped by the party last night.”

My stomach dropped. “Oh, I—”

“Ryan said you didn’t stay long.”

I released a quiet breath. “Yeah. I wasn’t feeling too good.”

She nodded as she moved to the closet and picked up her toiletries. “Are you feeling better now?”

I nodded, pretending to write something important in my notebook so she’d stop asking questions.

She took the hint and moved to the door. “I’m going to shower.”

Once she stepped into the hallway, I released another breath. Why did I feel so guilty? I hadn’t done anything wrong. Her hook-up buddy had reached out to me. He’d gone out of his way to get me to his party. Gone out of his way to prove to me that he and Chantel were solid.

I turned off the television, put my books away, set the alarm on my phone, and settled into bed, hoping to be asleep by the time Chantel returned.

I heard the door unlock a little while later, opening and closing quietly.

“Sophia?” Chantel whispered.

I contemplated answering, but my guilt and embarrassment over the previous night, wouldn’t allow it.

“Stay away from Chase,” she whispered.

I pinched my eyes together tightly, wishing I could crawl into a hole and disappear in that moment.

“He doesn’t want you.”

The door opened and closed again, and silence filled the room.

Had she left?

Did she just want me to think she’d left?

I didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare speak.

Why did she think I wanted Chase?

Had he said something?

Had she actually seen me there and my reaction to their PDA?

Oh, hell.

***

I awoke to the sound of my alarm the next morning. I silenced it and glanced to Chantel’s side of the room, relieved to see that her bed was still made. I hopped out of bed, pulled on jeans and a vintage Nirvana T-shirt, grabbed my backpack, and ducked out of my room. My relief would undoubtedly be short-lived since