Page 10 of Don't Let Me Fall (Don't Let Me 1)

“Thanks.” Mia’s shoulders relax, and she points to the kitchen. “I’m gonna get a drink.”

The white granite island is littered with cups, bottles of liquor, and soda cans. Mia reaches for the Sprite and adds a generous splash of gin with shaky hands.

I frown, hating how much Shorty’s presence has affected her.

“You okay?” I ask.

“You said he wouldn’t be here.”

“I didn’t know he would be. Logan said––”

“Logan’s an asshole.”

I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. “He isn’t an asshole.”

Or at least, he usually isn’t. I’m not naive enough to wonder whether or not he lied about Shorty attending the party just to get me here, though. And if that’s the case? I kind of want to smack him.

It’s annoying. And frustrating. And makes my hands clench at my sides. I take the gin and Sprite from Mia’s hand, swallow a mouthful, and sputter as the liquid burns my throat.

“Damn, Mia,” I choke out, handing the cup back to her.

She laughs and takes a sip. “Sorry.”

“I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll meet you in a few.”

She nods, and I head toward the dark hall where the bathroom on the main floor is located.

I screech to a halt.

There’s a girl with her back pressed to the closed bathroom door, and her head is angled up toward the ceiling. She’s blocking my way. Her eyes are closed, and her sleek ponytail is a mess as she whimpers, tangling her fingers in a dark mop of hair belonging to the guy nibbling on her neck. He tilts his head further to the side, slipping his hand beneath her black crop top. He’s feeling her up. In public. Okay, maybe not entirely, since we’re in the only dim hall on the main floor. But he’s most definitely massaging her breast, and I’m most definitely staring.

My breath hitches, and I take a small step back, too surprised to actually turn around even when I know I should. I’m used to seeing people getting busy in the Taylor House. It’s one of the reasons I rarely come to these parties. But this? This is different. More heated. More lustful. Like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. They’re too caught up in each other to notice anything else.

And it’s weird, but I miss it.

The need that should accompany sex. But I guess when you’ve only been with one person, it shouldn’t be surprising when the need dissipates into a comfortable routine.

With another soft moan and her eyes still pressed closed, the girl pushes at his chest and twists the guy around until his back is to the door and he’s facing me in the dark hallway.

Shit.

It’s the guy from the truck. The one who’d airdropped me his number.

His smirk shoots straight to my core as his gaze flicks up and down my body while his partner––who’s oblivious I’m here––pushes his shirt up and palms his killer abs. Seriously. The guy’s ripped. He must be on the team or something. Other than the lack of missing teeth, he screams confidence and arrogance like every other hockey player I've ever met. It doesn’t stop my curiosity from taking in every inch of him, though. If anything, it fans it.

Who is this guy?

Her hands look so pale against his tan skin and the fine dusting of hair leading to his––

“Wanna join?” he asks. His invitation is nothing but an amused growl as he watches me.

I blink and clear my throat before shaking my head. “I was just…” I lick my lips, avoiding his gaze.

Oh my hell.

Did he catch me staring at his crotch?

I need to get the hell out of here.

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