We Don't Talk Anymore (The Don't Duet #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,52
to a kegger with people I’m not sure I have anything in common with anymore.
The party’s pounding bass is audible two full blocks before we turn onto Chris Tomlinson’s street. There are at least ten cars already outside, spilling out of the driveway onto the lawn. The second we’re parked, the twins bolt for the house, disappearing inside in a cloud of smoke and perfume. Clearly, they’re eager to locate cold beverages and cute boys as soon as humanly possible.
For a while, I hover on the front porch, staring at the door like a little kid mustering the courage to enter a haunted house. People arrive in an endless stream, carrying cases of beer brazenly across the lawn. No one is worried about underage drinking tonight. Chris’ father is the Chief of Police; his parties never get busted.
I don’t see Archer’s truck anywhere. I suppose it’s possible he caught a lift with one of his teammates and is already inside chugging beer with the rest of them… but I doubt it. I know him too well. Archer Reyes enjoys being in control. He doesn’t like to rely on anyone, for anything.
Not even me.
My lungs feel so tight, I can barely pull in air. I’m overcome with the desperate urge to run — away from this party, away from the complications of my own life. I’m about to turn and bolt down the stairs when a voice startles me into stillness.
“Not thinking of bailing on me, are you?”
I flinch in surprise as an arm slides around my waist. “Ryan! You scared me.”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
He grins and takes a long sip of the beer in his hand. His long blond hair is still damp from a locker-room shower. He’s ditched his muddy uniform in favor of a white button down and a pair of navy shorts. He looks like he’s on his way to a casting call seeking an ‘All-American boy-next-door.’
“What are you doing out here by yourself?” he asks. “I’ve been looking for you inside.”
“Just getting a little fresh air, I guess.”
His brows arch doubtfully. “Hiding is more like it.”
“Fine, so, maybe I was hiding.” I make a small gap between my thumb and pointer finger. “Just a little bit.”
“No more of that. We’re celebrating!” He pounds his chest with his free hand. “WOLFPACK! Ah-wooo! Undefeated, baby!”
I laugh. “A momentous occasion.”
“I’m rolling on shrooms right now, so I can’t tell if you’re teasing me or not.” He grins wider. “But I’ve decided I don’t really care. Get your ass inside the house, girl. We have beer pong to play and memories to make.”
Before I can protest, he grabs my hand, laces his fingers with mine, and tugs me through the front door.
Forty minutes later, my buzz has completely worn off and I’m ready to go home. Ryan, on the other hand, has gone from tipsy to trashed in a remarkably short span of time thanks to the six beers he chugged during our singular game of pong. Either that, or the mushrooms are taking full effect.
It’s hard to say for sure.
“You’re so hot,” he breathes against the shell of my ear as he steers me down a short hallway, deeper into the house. With his chest pressed to my back, his steps weave a jagged course. He keeps is hands tight on my hips. “So hot.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, looking around for the twins. They’re nowhere to be seen. Probably off somewhere, flirting with cute boys. I wish they’d resurface. I want to leave. Though, at this point, even if Ophelia would agree to drive me, I’m not sure she’s sober enough to get behind the wheel.
I could always walk. It’s only five miles…
At the end of the hallway, we pass the bathroom. There’s a line of six girls waiting to use it — fixing their lipstick, taking selfies, scrolling social media. One of them is wiping tears, her mascara pooling in muddy streaks at the corners of her eyes. The sound of someone throwing up reverberates beneath the gap in the door.
I grimace and keep moving. Behind me, Ryan’s body presses closer. His fingers stroke the denim of my cut-off shorts.
“Where are we going, Ryan?”
“Shhh. You’ll see.”
His hands grip my hipbones tighter as he guides me across a threshold, into the sunroom on the side of the house. It’s all glass walls and wicker furniture, designed to overlook the terraced yard and topiary. This time of night, the lawn outside is pure black — an ebony