Page 5 of Don't Let Me Go (Don't Let Me 2)

With a slow nod, Colt turns back to me, adds, “Don’t puke,” and disappears into the house.

A bout of silence rolls over us while Burrows realizes my not-so-well-hidden secret. His interested gaze makes me twitchy as he looks at me again, this time with a new wave of curiosity. I keep my head held high and quirk my brow, as if to say, Is there a problem?

I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve grown up in Colt’s shadow for as long as I can remember. Between him and my two other brothers, Knox and Garrett, people have always looked at me this way. Like they’re curious what the youngest Thorne can bring to the table or if her vagina makes her weaker and less significant.

Fun fact: It doesn’t.

Being taken seriously or looked at like I’m my own person, however, has definitely been a challenge. But I don’t see it changing anytime soon, especially not with the guy in front of me.

“So, you’re Colt’s little sister?” Burrows confirms, continuing his examination of me with his head cocked to one side. He’s probably searching for any resemblance between Colt and me, though I doubt he’ll find it. I have red hair, freckles over every inch of skin, and am basically a walking stick while Colt has dark hair, olive-ish skin, and muscles. The only things we have in common are our potty mouths and obsession with sports.

That same sugary-sweet smile spreads across my face as I fake curtsy. “The one and only. Now where were we? Oh, yes. I believe we were discussing the terms of our bet. When I win, you can buy me dinner.”

“When?” he challenges, hobbling closer to me.

I tilt my head up but don’t back away from him. “Did I stutter?”

He snorts. “All right, I’ll take the bait. And if I win?”

I shrug one shoulder. “What do you want?”

“A date with you.”

“So I…still get dinner?” I verify.

“Apparently.”

My eyes light up. “Deal.”

“Deal,” he agrees, handing me another Ping-Pong ball. “First to five?”

“Five?” I question. I realize how stupid I must sound right now, but I’m also drunk off my ass thanks to the Crush and vodka, so it’s not exactly my fault.

“First to land five balls in the cups wins,” he explains.

“Oh. Deal.”

He nods. “Ladies first.”

I blink slowly, attempting to concentrate and toss the small white ball onto the table. It bounces once but misses the cups by a long shot and lands on the ground, pulling a dark chuckle from the man beside me. Following suit, he grabs a second ball and bounces it onto the table. With a wet plop, it lands in a cup, and the crowd around us cheers.

“Drink up, Blake,” he urges, his mouth tilting up while his triumph rolls off him in waves.

I laugh and drink the warm beer. My nose wrinkles as it spreads across my tongue.

Gross.

Once I’ve gagged it down, I grab the still-wet ball from my cup and bounce it off the table toward my targets.

It misses. Again.

“This is gonna be a quick game,” Burrows jokes, landing another ball into the row of cups across from us.

I groan and swallow more stale beer back. “How are you so good at this?”

“‘Cause I start the game sober. Leaves me a little more wiggle room than my opponents,” he informs me and waves his hand toward the table. “Your turn.”

My vision is blurry at best, and my tongue feels swollen in my mouth as I take the ball from Burrows’ fingers and attempt to throw it at the table. I swear the ground is moving beneath my feet. As the Ping-Pong ball slips from my fingers, I lose my balance and stumble into Burrows’ rock hard chest.

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