Blind Spot - Katana Collins Page 0,9
Reagan might be the sort of girl who can pound drinks and get us into any club…but she was more than tight skirts and lip gloss. The girl was smart and intuitive. And she knew me too well.
“Reagan, c’mon…look at the guy. He’s slamming tequila like there’s no tomorrow.” This time I did steal a glance at him. He clinked his shot glass with a group of friends and tipped his head back. “That must be his third shot in the last ten minutes. You’re telling me he’s someone ‘different’?” I made air quotes around the word.
She arched a brow, looking down her perfectly ski-sloped nose. “He only started doing those shots after you turned him down.”
“I think we can all agree that it doesn’t hurt to be careful,” Harrison countered quietly.
“Yeah, but it also doesn’t hurt to let loose a little. You can’t always let your past dictate your future. Just because some asshole—”
“And this is why I love you guys.” I linked my arm with Reagan’s, resting my head on her shoulder. “Thank you for watching out for me. But trust me—that guy? He is not the person to ‘let loose’ with.”
“Why’s that?” she asked.
“Because, he’s only in it for the chase. For one night.”
Reagan smiled and pinched my cheeks. “Then he’s exactly the guy to let loose with.”
The phone rang near the elevators, and Tate rushed over, hopping over the back of his couch to reach it. Buddy barked, chasing him through the house. “Buddy, go play dead,” he shouted, and the dog ran to the living room, dropping onto his back.
“Hello,” he said, picking up the receiver and leaning against the wall. “The wha—? On their way up?” He raked a hand through his hair and hung up the phone. “Shit. Hey,” he called, turning to the apartment. “Police are on their way up. Anyone under twenty-one? Get the fuck out through the stairs in the back!”
A handful of kids ran down the hallway, and the girl dancing on the coffee table stumbled, landing in some guy’s lap with a giggle. “Who the fuck called the police?”
“Who the hell knows?” Tate shrugged and swayed, tossing an empty beer into the bin beside him. My lungs tightened—was he drunk? Tipping the other bottle in his hand back, he finished it off with several glugs and aimed to throw it in the recycle bin. The bottle grazed the side, bouncing off and smashing onto the floor. Glass shattered, a few shards jumping out and landing near his toes. I looked down at my bare feet and gulped. Oh, yeah. He was drunk.
My face burned as I looked over at Reagan. She gave me an uneasy smile, and Harrison squeezed my elbow. “It’s okay. They’ll just tell him to keep it down and it’ll be fine.”
“Maybe we should go?” I whispered.
Reagan shook her head. “That’ll look even more guilty. Tate already knows you were pissed about the noise.”
“So what?” Annoyance lurched in my chest. “I was right about the noise.”
“Yeah,” Reagan offered quietly, “but do you really want to start a war with your new neighbor? Who also goes to our school?”
Harrison moved toward the stereo, turning the volume knob down.
“What’re you doing?” Tate shouted. “Leave it on. It’s a party.” He pressed a button on his phone and the music blasted once more.
“When did he get so drunk?” I said to no one. “He seemed totally sober when we got here.”
“You drove him to the bottle, girl.” Reagan jabbed me in the ribs with an elbow. “Or he’s trying to impress you with his antics.”
I rolled my eyes, hugging my stomach. “Guys are morons.”
Harrison walked over to Tate with his hands out. “Come on, man. My dad’s a police commissioner. Just turn the music down. They’re gonna come up here, give you a warning, and then they’ll lea—”
“I know the drill. We’re just going to have a little fun with them first.” He exhaled and the noise sounded oddly similar to air escaping from a leaky tire. “Bet you a hundred bucks I can have the cops laughing with me in a matter of minutes, golden boy.”
“Golden what?” Harrison repeated and looked back to us. I shrugged, and he turned back to Tate. “All right, man. Whatever. Make your own bed.”
The elevator dinged, and two cops stepped into the foyer. I held my breath, steeling myself for some serious shit to go down. My stomach somersaulted at those blue uniforms. Most cops are good. Just good men trying