Page 72 of A Little Complicated

“I do care.”

“I know you do,” I rush out. “I just…” I clench my hands at my sides, attempting to stop the word vomit from spewing from my mouth. I shouldn’t be talking about this. It’s stupid. But Maverick got in my head at the fundraiser, and now I'm genuinely questioning things. I’m questioning everything when I have no right to. “Griffin sent you the video of me with Maverick, right? With his arms wrapped around me? Me in nothing but my thong and his T-shirt? Did you care about that?”

His eyes say it all. He saw it. The video. And he isn’t pissed at me. He isn’t pissed at Mav. No, his emotions are locked up tight right now. Like I’m talking to a statue instead of my own freaking boyfriend. And if he doesn’t feel anger, what does he feel?

“It didn’t bother you?” I push.

He takes a step toward me, but I back away.

“Lia, he’s my brother.”

“And I’m your girlfriend,” I argue.

“What’s going on with you?” Like a rubberband, his patience snaps and stings all at once. “Look, obviously, you’re feeling heated, and I just got home from my trip. Let’s take a break—”

“A break?” I scoff, basking in my frustration. And it isn’t even directed at Archer. It’s directed at me. Because I should feel sad or anxious to fix this. To talk to Archer. To apologize for acting like a crazy person, and Iamacting like a crazy person. Instead, all I feel is confirmation. That I’m not even worth the energy of a heated conversation. He’d rather brush it aside than get his hands messy trying to figure out why I’m hurting and why I need to know if he cares about me. Even when it isn’t logical. Even when it doesn’t make sense. “Actually, I think it’s a great idea. A break is exactly what I need.” With a shake of my head, I put more distance between us. “I’m going to grab a drink.”

“Ophelia,” Archer calls, but I weave between a few people, barely dodging one of the chairs set up in a large circle while blindly waving behind me as I find the kitchen.

An array of drinks is spread out on the granite island like the last Game Night. The drinks range from two-liter sodas to beer to hard liquor. Reaching for the gin, I pour a shot and swallow it back. My expression pinches from the burn, but I pour a second shot, then a third, and do the same thing. Warmth spreads through my chest as I splash some more clear liquor into a cup and add Sprite, giving it a swirl with my wrist. Satisfied, I drink it while moseying into the family room. A bunch of faceless people hang out in the main area with Archer’s roommates.

Griff stands on the coffee table with the same stupid gold medallion wrapped around his neck Reeves wore during The Floor is Lava. Griff must’ve won last time. Now, he’s explaining the rules for Musical Chairs, surrounded by already-wasted peers. Or at least, I think it’s what he’s doing. I’m not exactly paying attention. I’m too distracted by the lack of twins in the vicinity. Archer probably went to his room to cool down, but Maverick? I would expect him to be in the center of the room, helping coordinate tonight’s game or, at the least, participating. But he’s gone. I shouldn’t care he isn’t here—and I don’t—but a small part of me? Well, it hates how I noticed. How I was reminded of exactly how different Archer and Maverick are. And how stupid I am for comparing them in the first place. It’s what they hate most. Being compared to each other or feeling interchangeable with one another. And here I am, weighing their differences and how easy it would be to cherry-pick my favorite characteristics between the two of them.

But what’s worse? It’s the knowledge Maverick cared I was kissing some random guy at the kissing booth. He isn’t even mine anymore and hestillcared. And it isn’t because he doesn’t trust me or thinks I’d cheat on him. It's because the idea of anyone else’s lips other than his being on mine is more than he can stomach. But if that’s the case, why’d he throw me away?

And the way Maverick wrenched me away from the kissing booth? It should bother me. How he’s bossy and forceful. It should repulse me. But I can’t help feeling jealous. Because after being on the other side of the coin, I feel expendable. Meaningless. Inconsequential. Which is insane, I know, but I can’t help it.

Why doesn’t Archer care? Or if he does, why isn’t he telling me?

Is it normal not to care?

Would I care if Archer was asked to kiss random girls under the guise of fundraising?

A ball of lead falls in my gut. Right now? I don’t even know.

They must’ve started the game because the music keeps turning on and cutting off every minute or two. It’s kind of jarring but entertaining too. Watching the chaos unfold. Sliding onto my ass at the edge of the room, I nurse the rest of my drink, letting the warmth from the alcohol spread over my limbs. There are so many people here. So. Many. People. A gorgeous woman with dark skin and black braids falls into Everett’s lap as the music cuts off. They both laugh when Griffin calls her out, and she makes her way to the center of the room with the rest of the losers. She doesn’t look too disappointed. No, she’s now flirting with Cameron and having a ball. Reeves scoots in behind her as the music comes back with a vengeance. Meanwhile, Griffin continues walking in circles around the room, playing referee. I’m not sure how much time has passed, but he’s checked on me a thousand times. Okay, maybe not a thousand. Honestly, I have no idea how long I’ve been sitting on my ass, but it looks like he’s about to add another tally to the checklist when he rounds the corner and squats beside me.

“Hey, pretty girl,” Griffin murmurs as the rest of the people either walk in a circle waiting for the music to cut off so they can snatch an open seat, or they’re grinding against each other in the center of the room.

I give Griffin a dopey smile. “Hello again.”

“You sure you don’t want to play?”

“And potentially be yelled at for breaking the rules?” I chuckle into my almost empty cup, swallow the last drop, and set it on the ground by my hip. “I think I’m okay. Thanks, though. Now help me up.” I lift my hand into the air, and he takes it, pulling me to my feet. Vertigo nearly knocks me on my ass again, and I grab hold of his arms, closing my eyes to stop the world from spinning.

“You feeling okay?” he asks.

Nope.

“Yup,” I answer. “I’m gonna dance.” I shake out of his grasp and head to the dance floor. Griff says something else—a warning, maybe?—but I don’t pay attention. With my hands in the air, I sway my hips, letting the heavy rhythm wash over me. It’s faster than the last one. More upbeat. I like it. Losing myself in the music, I block the rest of the world out and simply…feel. My eyelids are heavy. Then again, so are my arms. So is every inch of me. But I’m too tired to stop. Too tired to go home and sleep it off, knowing I’ll be right back to square one in the morning. Or maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll still be pissed. But is that any better? Any less depressing? The music continues cutting in and out every few minutes, and the makeshift dance floor in the center of the room is becoming more and more crowded. But I kind of like this too. The warm bodies pressed around me. The way it makes me feel invisible, but in a good way this time. Like I can do whatever I want. Be who I want to be. Without worrying about anything else in the world.

“Come on, Lia,” a low voice mutters as warm hands find my waist and pull me into a heated body. Seriously, I could wrap myself up in it. The warmth.

Keeping my eyes closed, I twist in Archer’s grasp but continue swaying my hips as I relish the song. It’s slow and sexy.

“You jealous yet?” I slur.

“You have no fucking clue,” he grumbles. “But you shouldn’t be dancing like this.”

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