Page 7 of Ecstasy
He turns and fucking runs as fast as he can through the mass of people in the living room, some pointing and laughing as he goes.
“Thanks, man,” Alex says behind me, and slowly, Eli turns back around, his expression neutral. His eyes lock on mine and I wish he’d step closer. I wish he’d put his hands on me like that.
I wish he’d…
“Yeah.” That’s all he says before he turns around and threads his way through the crowd, which seems to part for him like he’s fucking Moses or some shit.
I want to go after him.
I want him back here with me and Alex.
Alex leans down close to me. “Let’s get a drink, yeah?” he whispers in my ear, and before I can answer, he shifts his arm around my shoulder and leads me through the living room. He’s so damn big, all I have to do is stick close to him and there’s no fighting or squeezing through people. They just move.
Just like they did with Eli.
So many thoughts are whirring in my brain—About my mom seeing a video of my tits. How she’ll put me back in rehab so fast I’ll be there by sunrise. What the fuck Alex just did. How this might mean we’re really over.
And about Eli Addison, grabbing that dude by the throat.
But when Alex leads me into the kitchen and Eli is nowhere to be found, I try to push him from my mind and spin around to face Alex, shrugging his arm off my shoulder.
He grabs my wrist, yanking me closer to him. He knows if he lets go of me right now, I’m going to bolt.
“What thefuckwas that?” I hiss.
Some dude comes up beside us and I glance over at him, recognizing Dwight Morris. He’s the running back at CU, and he has two drinks in his hand. He looks from me to Alex then back to me, offering me the drink.
I stare at him like he’s stupid.Did he not just see what the fuck happened there?
“Looks like you could use this,” he tells me, and he’s not smiling, which makes me feel marginally better. His golden eyes go to Alex, but he still holds the cup out to me. “That wasn’t cool, man.”
That was the wrong thing to say.
I can see Alex’s jaw clench, his expression stormy as he turns to his friend. “Do you not fucking remember what this bitch did last week?” he asks, like I’m not even standing here.
I take the drink from Dwight’s outstretched hand. Without hesitating, I throw it in Alex’s fucking face.
Alex drops my hand, taking an instinctive step back, liquor and soda all over him, running down the front of his chest.
Silence—save for the music in the living room—seems to descend in the kitchen from the few people in here.
Beyond the sliding glass doors, I hear people splashing in the pool, and in the living room, the party is still raging on.
But right here, in this kitchen, the only thing raging is Alex.
His mouth is open as he blinks rapidly, wipes his hand over his face and through his light brown hair. He shakes his hands out, sending drops of liquid splattering on me and Dwight, who takes a step back, his eyes flitting from me to Alex and back again.
I watch him swallow and take another step back.
“I’m just gonna—” And then he walks away, giving me a lingering look.
I turn to face Alex, cross my arms over my chest. “That’s the fucking least of what you deserve, you dick.”
He reaches behind him, to the sink, and grabs a hand towel, wipes his face and his chest, then throws the towel past me, on the marble island of the kitchen.
Finally, his dark brown eyes connect with mine. “You fucking bitch.” Then he moves so fast, I don’t have time to react as he picks me up, slams me against the island, bottles and cups rattling and rolling in every direction. His hand cups my head, cushioning the blow before it slams against the marble. Then he yanks his hand out from under me, plants it on my chest, grabs a bottle of tequila, twists off the lid with his teeth and spits it out. I thrash against his hand, kicking, and scratching at his forearm, but he brings the bottle to my mouth.
“Open your fucking mouth or I’ll break your goddamn teeth,” he growls at me.
