Bad Romeo (7 page)

Holt and I burst into laughter like it’s the most hilarious thing we’ve ever heard.

Elissa looks at us like we’re both insane.

“Okay,” she says as she claps her hands together. “I need to get hammered as soon as possible. See you guys later.”

She brushes past me and walks down the hallway.

“I’m leaving in two hours,” Holt calls after her. “If you want a ride home, find me before then, or else you can fucking walk.”

Wow. If only I had such a charming boyfriend.

I shake my head in disgust.

“What?” he asks.

“You.”

“What about me?”

“Do you always talk to her like that?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s
rude
.”

He shoots me a lopsided grin and shakes his head. “That was me being polite. I say far worse things at home.”

“At home?”

“Yeah.”

“You live with her?”

“Well, I’d prefer not to, but I can’t seem to get rid of her. I locked her out once, but she’s pretty resourceful and managed to pick the lock with a blade of grass and a paperclip.”

“God, Holt, you’re just … so … ugh! Why does she put up with you? You’re officially the world’s suckiest boyfriend.”

His eyes widen. Then he laughs. “Elissa isn’t my girlfriend. Jesus, that’s disgusting. She’s my sister.”

It’s my turn to be surprised. “Your sister?”

“Yes.”

Relief has never felt more odious.

“Don’t worry, Taylor,” he whispers. “I’m single. No need to be jealous.”

I laugh. “I’m not jealous. I’m just glad you’re not inflicting your toxic personality on some poor member of the opposite sex.”

Something dark flashes in his eyes as he looks down, and I get the impression I’ve said something really wrong. I’m about to try and find out when Connor appears and drapes his arm around my shoulders.

“Hey, Cassie, I’ve been looking for you. Glad you could make it.”

He hugs me, and I can feel Holt watching us.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I say and hug him back.

“Hey, Ethan,” he says and claps Holt on the shoulder. “Thanks for coming, man.”

Holt smiles, but it’s tight and forced. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“So,” Connor says. “A lot of our class is in the basement playing drinking games. Wanna join?”

I smile. “Sure.”

Holt shrugs. Connor leads the way.

When we get downstairs, about twenty people from our class are sitting in a circle with a collection of bottles, beer cans, and shot glasses littered across the floor.

“I found two more,” Connor says as he guides us into the circle. The group gives what can only be described as a drunken roar.

Zoe immediately pulls Holt down next to her and hands him a drink. Connor sits next to me. Jack sets us all up with a shot glass of brown liquid. Holt downs the shot and refuses a refill, muttering something about having to drive. It’s ironic that he’s one of the few people in our class who’s twenty-one and yet he’s the only one not drinking.

I drink my shot, then cough like I’ve swallowed acid.

Everyone laughs, and the games begin.

I try to concentrate, but I don’t really know the rules. I end up drinking a lot.

Too much.

After a while, everything’s funny. Everyone’s pretty. I want to hug and kiss them all because they’re just so nice and pretty and funny.

Then there’s music. Loud and pounding.

Someone pulls me to my feet. Connor.

He puts his arms around me, so I put mine around him, and I’m trying to dance, but all I can do is shuffle. Connor doesn’t care. He’s warm and grazes his nose down my throat.

“You smell so good, Cassie.”

I smile, because his nose tickles. Because he’s sweet. Because I like the way he holds me. I’m hanging off him and smiling, but my body feels heavy.

Then his lips are where his nose was, and I’m tingling. But something’s wrong.

The room is tilting. I pull back. I tell myself I’m not looking for Holt, but I am.

Everywhere people are dancing and laughing. Making out.

I see Holt across the room, sitting on a couch sipping a Coke. Zoe is talking to him and touching him in ways that say, “I’ll let you do whatever you want to me.” But he’s not listening to her. He’s looking at me, and now I’m tingling a whole lot more.

I don’t want him to make me feel things, so I turn back to Connor. He’s stroking my back. It feels nice.

His face is close, and he has that look in his eye. The one that says he wants me.

I’ve always craved a boy to look at me like that. Now one is, but all I can think about is the scowling face across the room.

“Cassie, I want to kiss you.”

He seems to search my face, looking for an answer. I want to be kissed, but I think it’s the alcohol.

Ruby’s voice is in my head telling me to stop being a pussy and just do it.

Connor’s gazing at my mouth as his face gets closer and closer, and I’m too hot and too drunk.

Then Connor’s kissing me, and there’s part of me that wants to kiss him back, but I can’t.

I pull away. “Connor…”

He smiles and drops his head.

“I’m sorry,” I say. I think I must be defective for not kissing him, because he’s really handsome and sweet.

He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I want to, I do…” I say, slurring but sincere.

“Yeah, but I get the feeling you want to kiss someone else more.”

He touches my cheek, and I don’t have a chance to tell him he’s wrong before he’s disappearing up the stairs.

The music changes, and it makes the floor shift so much I have to sit down.

I stagger toward the couches. They seem so far away.

Someone grabs my arm and guides me. Without looking, I know it’s Holt.

Jack appears on the other side and laughs. “Taylor, you are sooooo fucked up!”

Hyena giggles all around.

Warm hands are trying to push me onto the couch, but Jack gives me the bottle again, and it would be rude not to drink. I slap at the helpy hands and take the bottle.

I sip it and pull a face. It’s gross but awesome.

Everyone laughs, and so do I. Too loud. Too shrill. Drunk me laughs like an idiot.

“Okay, that’s it, she’s had enough.”

Holt’s voice. Gruff. Sounds like my father.

“Dude, no one’s forcing it down her throat. She’s a big girl.”

“Pass the bottle to someone else, Avery.
Now
.”

I stumble and everyone giggles.

Obviously, drunk-Cassie is hilarious.

They’re all blurry now. I’m blinking way too long. I sway and warm hands are on me again.

“Christ, Taylor, would you sit before you fall down?”

Cranky voice. Doesn’t approve of Drunk Cassie.

Drunk Cassie doesn’t give a flying fuck.

Giggles.

Just said the “F” word. In my brain.

Naughty Drunk Cassie.

I flop down on the sofa. It’s soft, and I’m tired. Seriously tired.

I lean against his body. Hard and warm. Smells good. I turn my face so I can smell better. Cotton shirt. Shoulder. Grab and sniff. Nice.

“Fuck me.” Man-voice. Sexy.

I grab more of him. Tug at his collar so I can get closer. Under the collar is skin. Warm. Tingly under my fingers.

“Jesus, Taylor…” His voice isn’t angry anymore. Different. Begging. “Stop.”

“No. S’nice. Smellsgood.”

Want more warm so I climb onto his lap. Legs either side of hips. Nose in neck. Hands in hair. So good.

“For fuck’s sake.” He pushes me away, and I pout.

I look at his face. So handsome when he frowns.

“Taylor, stop. You’re drunk.”

I flop forward.

“Please,” I say, fitting myself against his body. “Juswanna sleep for a minute.”

Nuzzle into neck again. Breathe in warm boy-skin.

He’s tense underneath me, but I’m comfortable. He smells amazing.

“Hey, check it out!”
Shhh, Jack. Too loud.
“Taylor’s finally found a way to rattle the unflappable Holt. I think he’s blushing!”

More laughter.

I whisper, “Shh,” and my lips touch his neck. He groans, and I want to do it again.

“Avery, you asshole.” He’s talking softly, but it’s still too loud. I try to cover his mouth with my hand, but he pulls it away. “She drank too much and she’s going to be sick.”

“She’s fine, man. Look at that smile. She can’t get enough of you. I wouldn’t be complaining if I was in your shoes.”

I want everyone to stop talking. Just wanna sleep.

I moan and bury my head further into Holt’s neck. He squirms underneath me.

“Get her some water before I kick your fucking ass.” His chest vibrates against my boobs when he talks. Feels nice. Manly.

“Okay, okay. Christ, take a fucking pill.”

I snuggle down. “Stoptalkin. Shh. Need to sleep.”

“Taylor.” His voice is softer, less cranky. “You need to get off me. Please.”

“Donwanna. Feels good.” I put my hand inside his shirt. Nice muscles. So nice.

“Fuck, Taylor. For the love of God, stop, before I do something really fucking stupid.”

His hands are on my hips, trying to move me. I move but not off him. I press down.

I feel him against me. Hard. God. So hard.

He groans again, his face in my neck. “Jesus…”

My whole body burns. Aches. Wants.

I move against him.

He swears, and it’s all sexy. His lips are near my ear.

“Cassie, not like this.” He grabs my hips and stills me. “Not when you’re drunk and won’t remember it tomorrow. Stop.”

I’m burning, but he won’t let me move.

I slump. Defeated.

“Cassie, look at me.”

Eyes open.

Oh, not a good move.

Everything is swaying.

Feel seasick.

“Cassie?”

The world is tilting. He’s watching me. Concerned.

“Cassie?”

“Mnotfeelingsogood.”

Stand. Almost fall over. Hands on me. Strong. Burning.

“Shit, woman. Slow down.”

“Mfine.”

Pull away. Stagger down the hall.

The bathroom. Close door. Toilet too far away. Crawl to it.

Stomach tightens, mouth opens.

Brown liquid and corn chips explode out. It burns coming up like it did going down. Stomach heaves till there’s nothing left, and I’m tired. So tired.

I close my eyes. Swirls of black and gray are there, and I’m on a boat in a storm, swaying and tilting.

When I open my eyes, I’m being lifted out of a car and he’s carrying me. He has my keys, and as soon as the front door opens, I make a groaning sound. Then I’m in front of the toilet, vomiting while he holds my hair and rubs my back. I’m crying and gross while he’s shushing me and wiping my face with a cool washcloth.

Then he puts me in bed. The swirls of black wrap around me, and I’m gone.

I wake up, and everything hurts. The sun is too bright. A stabbing pain shoots straight through my eyeballs into my brain. My stomach is crampy, and my abs feel like I’ve done a thousand crunches.

I groan and pull my pillow over my head, but there are hands pulling it away. I crack open an eye to see Holt next to me, holding out water and Tylenol.

“Take these.” He talks quietly, but even that’s too loud for my pounding head.

I try to sit up, but it hurts too much. I roll onto my side and take the pills with the full glass of water. It does nothing to flush away the horrible taste in my mouth. I slump back onto my pillow.

I must fall asleep again, because when I wake up I can smell bacon cooking and hear someone moving around in the kitchen.

I stumble to the bathroom and pee like I’ve never peed before. The lure of a warm shower is too much to resist, so I peel off my clothes and stand under the spray until I feel more or less human. I wash my hair and scrub my body, then wrap myself in a towel before brushing my teeth and tongue. Twice.

By the time I’m done, I feel a little better. My head’s still pounding and my stomach is unsettled, but I can function.

I open the bathroom door to find Holt standing there. He takes in my wet hair and my towel-covered body before he makes it back up to my face.

He clears his throat. “Uh … hey.”

“Hey,” I say. It’s so bizarre to see him in my apartment, I wonder if I’m still incredibly drunk.

“I … uh … made you something to eat,” he says and shoves his hands in his pockets.

I frown. “We have no food.”

“I went and bought some. You should eat. It’ll make you feel better.”

“Okay.”

He stands there, towering in the doorway, staring and biting the inside of his cheek.

“Uh, Holt?”

“Hmm?”

“You have to move so I can go to my room and put on some clothes.”

“Oh … right.”

He turns and walks back to the kitchen.

I throw on some sweats and run a brush through my hair. Then I’m sitting at our tiny dining table with Holt. He’s cooked eggs, bacon, and hash browns. There’s a cup of coffee in front of me, along with a glass of orange juice. It’s a truly bizarre situation.

“Uh … wow,” I say. “This is … wow. You … you made hash browns? From scratch?”

“Yeah,” he says and pops some egg into his mouth. “It’s not hard.”

“Maybe not for you. I can’t even boil water without a recipe.”

He’s watching me, and even though my stomach is refusing to get excited about food, I eat.

“Hmm,” I mumble around a mouthful of hash browns and bacon. “This is really good.”

“My mom’s a private chef. She’s taught me stuff.” He shrugs and keeps eating. Every now and then he glances up at me, his eyes dark and unreadable.

When we’re done, he clears the plates as I sip my coffee. I don’t mean to, but I stare at his ass as he washes the dishes.

I shouldn’t stare at his ass. No good can come of it. Still, he’s being nice to me, so I decide to be nice to his ass and allow myself to notice how hot it looks in his jeans.

He turns around to lean against the sink and without planning it, my focus is now firmly on his crotch.

He catches me staring. I grab my coffee and take a huge gulp, but it goes down the wrong way. I choke and cough.

“You okay?”

“Yep.”