you, but I didn’t invite him here. I had no idea he’d show up the way he did.”
“Yeah? Well, I guess it doesn’t matter what you do or don’t do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He flicked a hand, forcing a smile to someone behind me, then gave his attention back to me, his voice rough and low. “That means you don’t care enough to stop him, and I’m starting to wonder who or what you want. Me? Or him.”
With his loaded plate, he stalked off to talk to some of his teammates.
I wanted to scream at him that trying to stop Dash from doing anything was a one-way trip to insanity, but that wasn’t entirely correct, and there was little point.
I spent most of the night sitting on the outer edge of the room, wondering what to do. Wondering about all the ways I should’ve done so many things differently.
Willa and Daphne pressed me for information about Dash, but I just shook my head. They tried to coax me into dancing with them, but I wasn’t interested. My eyes kept skating over the dance floor, but whether I was looking for Dash or looking for Byron, I wasn’t sure. Dash was nowhere to be seen, and Byron was busy stealing shots out of a flask he’d tucked inside his jacket pocket while stomping on balloons with his friends and talking to some of the cheerleaders.
It was far from over when everyone was kicked out and told to head home. I rode with Daphne, Willa, Byron, and some of his teammates to a party two streets away from school at an old warehouse someone’s parents had rented.
Only, we didn’t make it inside.
After everyone else got out, Byron shut the door, then told the driver to circle the block until he said otherwise.
“What’s going on?”
He poured me a glass of champagne, and I took it, taking a greedy sip as he scooted over to sit next to me. “I was being a dick earlier. I think we should talk.”
My brows furrowed, and I lowered my glass to my lap.
Byron’s eyes swam with remorse, but his next words had me deflating. “Kayla really screwed me; you know that.” He puffed out a laugh. “Everyone knows that. And then there’s the shit with my mom and dad.” He took a long sip of champagne, his throat rippling as he swallowed, then swiped his hand over his hair. “I guess I’m just afraid of being fucked over again.”
Unsure of what to say, I drank a little more, then set my glass down. My fingers curled, and I met his eyes, confusion enfolding me like a tsunami when I tried to think of what to say or do. “I get that.”
I picked the glass back up, draining it. Slumping back against the seat, I exhaled slowly, my limbs and heart heavy. Where was Dash? I pictured him waiting for me at the party, if he was even going. Maybe he and his friends went to the skate park to drink and get high.
“Byron,” I said when I looked up and found his eyes on me. My breath hitched as he took my empty glass and set it with his on the small table before sliding close.
“Maybe we can talk later.” His hand rose, caressing my cheek with his fingers. “Maybe I just need to feel that you want this too.” Then he was kissing me, his body leaning into mine and forcing it backward over the seat. I could hardly feel the leather beneath my skin as he tugged my dress up to my hips with one hand and used the other to tug the straps down. It wouldn’t budge, and being old, the strap snapped as his tongue plundered my mouth.
“It’s about fucking time, Peggy Newland. Open those pretty thighs for me,” he rasped into my mouth.
His fingers found my panties, and I shut my eyes as cracks formed like fissures in my chest. I waited for the heat, for the electricity I’d felt with Dash, or even the flutters I’d encountered with Byron.
They never came. Perhaps that was for the best. You can’t get burned if you don’t ignite. Byron was good. Byron was safe. Byron wouldn’t destroy years of friendship.
It was nothing like it should’ve been. Nothing like I’d dreamed it’d be. Fear and despair warred to keep me chained beneath him as his fingers met my skin. Memories of Dash’s being there infiltrated, and all my fake reassurances folded like wet cards. I