Page 311 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

Briar

After the fifth pool game, I’m ready to leave. It’s fucking obvious Indi isn’t coming, so there’s no point in me hanging around here. Not unless my only motive tonight is getting fucked up.

I head for the main kitchen in search of water and a clear head, and find Marcus cutting up lines of coke on Dylan’s granite countertop. A few girls stand nearby, waiting patiently for their turn with the rolled-up dollar bill he’s holding. I grab a water and chug down half of it before he realizes I’m nearby.

“Better get some before it’s all gone,” he says, swiping the back of his hand over his nose as he sniffs.

I shake my head. “Not in the mood for that shit tonight.”

“Sure?” Marcus straightens, and one of the girls waiting for her turn at the lines of coke steps up. He grabs her around the waist, spins her around, and starts nuzzling her neck.

I roll my eyes, and I’m about to leave when he calls out, “Dude, she’s not coming. No reason you shouldn’t enjoy yourself.”

I wave at him, shaking my head as I make my way to the front door. Fuck this—I’ve got a shit-ton of studying to do anyway. If I get a good night’s sleep, then I can crack open my textbooks nice and early tomorrow, and get done by latest Sunday afternoon.

I’m trotting downstairs to the main floor when something catches my eye.

A glimmer of silver.

No, platinum.

A slight, yet curvy figure. A mess of dark hair.

Indi.

I stop walking, my hand gripping the railing tight as my phone starts vibrating in my pocket. She has her back to me, and from the expressive hand gestures she’s flailing around, she looks mightily pissed off at the doorman.

My legs feel rusted in place, but I force them to take me downstairs.

Jeremiah flinches when I grab his shoulder. I hear something like, “I tried calling, but…” before I steer him out of the way.

“You came,” I say like a moron.

Indi spins to face me. Her eyes are impossibly wide, gorgeously luster, unsurprisingly fierce.

“He said it’s too late,” she says, tilting her head to the side.

“She’s with me,” I say, my voice dropping several octaves below normal.

I won’t lie—I’ve been spending the past hour and a half drinking in the hopes that I would eventually forget that Indi might show up. I’m more than a little tipsy, and ridiculously glad she’s here.

“Me too, right?”

My eyes skip reluctantly past Indi. Addison’s standing behind her, a head taller and seventy thousand times as arrogant.

If Indi hadn’t grabbed my hand right then, I would have told Addison to fuck off. But when I look down into Indi’s imploring gaze, I’m so off-balance, all I can do is nod.

Indi releases my hand, and the pair of them sweep past me without a second glance. I’m left staring at Jeremiah with a frown and an inexplicable urge to take Marcus up on his offer for a line of coke.

Instead, I follow Indi and Addison inside, feeling for all the world like a sheep who’s only just realized who the fucking sheepdog in this situation was.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Indi

This house is a masterpiece of architectural genius. There’s nothing cozy or open-plan about it—it’s a sprawling collection of intimate lounges and hidey holes that seem custom-made for making out. No wonder Dylan throws these parties on the regular. If this were a club, he’d be making a killing.

Addison has hold of my hand, and I’ll be honest, it’s the only thing keeping me grounded right now. We had two glasses of wine and a fat blunt while I was getting ready at her house, and since my last meal was a sandwich at lunch, I’m flying pretty fucking high.

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