Page 67 of Teacher's Pet

I whip my head toward him as he stumbles out of one of the bedrooms, his blonde sleaze, Erica, practically glued to his side.

Lipstick smears her mouth.

His pants are barely buttoned.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what we interrupted.

Walker shoves his wet sleeves up, shaking beer from his clothes, fuming.

"Your ex’s fucking friends came in here to start shit," he seethes, turning to Cole. "I should’ve listened to you about that whore."

Elijah moves before I do, his jaw tightening, as his hands curl into fists.

"I know you two are not the ones shit-talking Ana when she’s not here to defend herself," Elijah snaps, his voice edged with rage.

The tension snaps, the room teetering on the edge of something bad.

Please don’t have liquid courage now.

My fingers fly across my phone screen, firing off text after text to Ana, begging her to show up before Elijah’s temper gets him into a fight he won’t win.

The pulse of the party feels suffocating, bodies pressing in, the room spinning slightly from too much alcohol and far too much adrenaline. Backed into a wall, as far from the front door as possible, nausea claws its way up, threatening to bring back every drink from the night.

Across the room, Cole steps forward, voice laced with venom.

"Yeah? And what do you know about Ana?"

Walker stands beside him like a fucking guard dog.

Then, it clicks.

A sharp breath punches through my tight lungs.

"You two plotted this." The realization slams into place. Stepping in front of Elijah, the accusation comes out louder than intended. "You planned a way to fuck with Ana. That whole act, pretending you weren’t close? Bullshit."

Their smirks confirm everything.

Fucking pigs.

Cole scoffs, shaking his head. "You think someone would go for her willingly?" His tone drips with mockery. "That whore deserves nothing but what we’ve given her-"

A sharp voice cuts through the room like a blade.

"Now, boys, don’t you know it’s rude to talk behind someone’s back?"

The air shifts.

Ana leans into the doorway, hip against the frame, eyes cold, makeup streaked, hair slightly disheveled.

Something dark lingers in her expression, something dangerous.

Cole’s smirk falters for a split second.

"Glad you could make it, Anastasia," he sneers.

Without missing a beat, Ana’s eyes flicker downward before she scoffs.

"Glad to see you still don’t know how to button your fly. Your little friend’s making an entrance."

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