Page 3 of Don't Let Me Go (Don't Let Me 2)

She’s also insanely good at reading people, and I hate knowing it’s exactly what she’s doing to me at this very moment.

With a quick side-eye toward her, I grumble, “Don’t judge.”

“No judgment,” she clarifies as a few hockey players join us in the kitchen and start reaching around our bodies to make their own drinks. Keeping her voice low, she adds, “Wanna talk about it?”

“Nothing to talk about.”

“Are you sure?” She watches as I splash some more vodka into my cup and top it off with Sprite while glaring at the Crush soda as if it offended me.

I chug this drink down, too, clearing my throat to relieve the burn.

Okay, that one was a little stronger than the last.

Mia frowns. “Blake––”

“I’m fine,” I rush out.

With a sigh, she touches my shoulder. The same shoulder left bare thanks to her dress I’m wearing. The dress that somehow caught a certain someone’s attention as soon as we walked up to the infamous Taylor House belonging to the devil himself.

I shrug out of her grasp and pour another drink, making a mental note to pace myself after this. Heaven forbid I end up shitfaced in my brother’s best friend’s house.

Well, technically, I guess it’s Colt’s house, too, since he lives here. But he doesn’t have quite the same stick up his ass a certain someone else seems to have, so I’m not sure if he counts.

So. Fucking. Annoying.

Once the players have their drinks, they disperse, giving us another ounce of privacy.

“Seriously, Blake. You sure you’re okay?” Mia asks. “Do you want me to get you some water or something?”

“Look around, Mia. It’s a party. A college party. And what does one normally do at college parties?” I tip my cup in her direction, then lift it to my lips. “Drink, of course.”

“Drinking at a party is fine as long as it’s to have fun and not to erase a certain brother’s best friend from your mind.”

My lips purse, and I take another small-ish sip. So sue me. “Who said I’m trying to erase a certain brother’s best friend from my mind?” I lift my hand and stop her from replying. “You know what? Don’t answer that. Because it doesn’t even matter. I’m not going to do this anymore,” I decide, more to myself than anyone else. “It’s like you said. This is the perfect time to turn over a new leaf. Be who I want to be, attract who I want to attract, and I’m not going to play his game again. I’m done.”

“So, what are you going to do?” she asks.

“I’m going to…” I bite my lower lip as my gaze catches on a group of people cheering in the backyard. A pair of French doors are propped open in the kitchen, probably to let in the fresh air. They lead to the back of the property where a patio table is set up. It’s littered with red Solo cups, and there’s a concrete pad beneath it. My smile widens when a Ping-Pong ball bounces off the surface and into the grass. “I’m gonna play a game of Beer Pong. Wanna join?”

She frowns. “Blake, are you sure Beer Pong is a good idea?”

I’m not sure if it’s the copious amount of alcohol streaming through my system or my newfound desire to move on with my life and make a new name for myself. But at this point, I don’t really care. Besides, if there’s anything I’m good at, it’s being one of the guys. It’s all Theo ever saw me as, anyway. And the guys outside? It looks like they’re having fun. I’m in desperate need of something fun.

“Seems like an excellent idea to me,” I announce, keeping my head held high. “You wanna come?”

With another sigh, she looks out the open doors leading to the backyard and turns to me. “I’m gonna go use the ladies’ room first. I’ll meet you out there.” She points her finger at me. “Don’t get bombed.”

“Who said I’m gonna get bombed?”

Her gaze narrows as if she isn’t convinced. “I’m serious. I really don’t want to clean up puke tonight.”

I laugh and head toward the exit as I call over my shoulder, “I’ll be fine! See you in a few.”

I walk over to the Beer Pong setup a few feet away, the cool wind kissing my cheeks and bringing an ounce of clarity with it. There’s a small crowd––most of them are guys––and they’re laughing as a Ping-Pong ball plops into a cup. The person closest to the cup groans and downs the warm beer inside. Once he’s finished, he raises his hands in surrender, slightly stumbling to the left. “All right, man.” He laughs and tosses the cup onto the grass. “You win.”

“Any more takers?” his opponent calls, searching the crowd huddled around the table. Apparently, I’m not the only one who finds the game interesting.

Stepping forward, I announce, “I’ll play.”

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