Page 3 of The Inevitable Us

She’sgoingoutagain.Of course she is. My Uncle Brody’s sixty-fifth birthday party was yesterday, and most of my family is still in town to play tourist. I should be sleeping after a twelve-hour shift; I should be spending time with my family. Instead, I’m trailing after my boss’s teenage daughter again.

It took longer than I’d like to pick up my personal vehicle and change. I’ll stand out too much in my suit, and Rosalie would recognize my work vehicle instantly.

My sister Angelique is awake with her infant daughter when I walk in to change.

“Why such a rush?” she asks, bringing my newest niece, Ava, over her shoulder to burp. Angelique and her husband Mark have taken “be fruitful and multiply” seriously and are on their fourth child in eight years of marriage. Not that I blame them. My baby nieces are tiny dark-haired angels that have me wrapped around their little fingers. They’re a reminder of what I don’t yet have; what I want for myself.

“Gotta go back to work a few more hours,” I remark, evading the truth. “Someone’s sick. I need to get out of that suit and into something more comfortable while I can.”

Angelique scans me up and down with all too knowing eyes, “Never seen you go to work in less than a suit.”

“Yeah, no one’s home except Rosalie,” I deflect, looking down at my gray Henley and jeans. “No one’s going to see me at this time of night.”

I lean down to kiss Angelique’s cheek, rub Ava’s little head, and kiss it. “Mia texted me from her tablet earlier and asked when I’ll be home. I told her I’d take her out for donuts when they wake up.”

“You’re going to be exhausted,” she warns.

“Meh, don’t get to spoil them enough as it is. I’ll just nap before my shift.”

I walk out the door with a wave in Angelique’s direction, grateful Mom and Dad are staying at a hotel. Mom would’ve asked even more questions, delaying my departure even more.

By the time I drive to the frat house, Rosalie’s car is already parked on the street, the engine still warm. I only live two blocks away, so it’s likely she just made it inside. I yank on the car doors to make sure she locked them and double-check her right rear tire again. I told her earlier today that I think it has a slow leak and added some air to the tire, but she’s not taken care of it yet.

As I walk down the path, I text my usual guy to let me in the back door. The bass thumps loudly, rattling the windows in the large brick two-story house.

Trust Fund Ken is waiting at the door with yet another girl draped over him. I give him my customary warning glare as I slip inside the building. It hadn’t taken much to come up with dirt on the fraternity’s president after Rosalie started to hang out with them earlier this year, and Mr. “I don’t know who that belongs to” is happy to allow me into their parties in exchange for my silence. He probably thinks I’m a perv who likes to watch the young girls, but I’m just there to watch one — Rosalie.

It’s easier to hide in the crowd than usual tonight with the party’s theme. Tonight I just have to find a dark corner and stay there. While trying to tune out the smell of cheap vodka and the loud cheers coming from the beer pong table, I watch Rosalie dance in the blacklight. Her face is lit up in shadow by a pink glow stick necklace she’s wearing like a halo on her head. Glow Sticks are looped together to form a loose belt around her waist, accentuating each movement as she dances. Her hips are swaying in a gracefully dangerous, slow, supple tempo as she raises her arms over her head and curls her fingers invitingly.

I’ve considered showing myself once or twice at these parties, but each time Rosalie handled the situation before I’ve made my way over to her to intervene. The first time a guy got handsy while they were dancing, I watched with pride as she turned around and, in one fluid motion, had him in a wrist hold, bending his wrist back. I’d gotten close to see her mouth, “Say please,” to the fucker, batting her eyelashes saccharine sweet. He’s left her alone since.

The second time the guy, whose name I think is Justin, used a cooler as a punch bowl. I’d watched as they’d thrown in sour candy, fruit, blue fruit punch, and six full bottles of bottom-shelf vodka. Rosalie had refused to touch it, but Justin kept insisting and insisting until she finally took the cup from him and walked towards the bathroom. I’d followed behind, observing as she’d ditched the cup on her way without taking a sip and exchanged it for a plastic cup she watched being poured from the keg.

I’ve watched Justin carefully ever since. Getting a girl drunk to take advantage of her is the oldest trick in the book. Despite the fact she’s currently going through a young and partying phase, Rosalie is being smart about it.

My hands ball in a fist when I watch her teeny tiny white dress ride up while she’s dancing with Andrea. I watch as the guys, Justin and Chad, walk from the front door to the dance floor to join Andrea and Rosalie.

I think I see Justin pull out his phone again for a second, and I wonder if he’s gone live or checking social media. The hair on the back of my arm sticks up watching the seemingly innocent action.

My cousin Billy is at his father’s apartment up the street. I decide to text him.

Sawyer: Get here. Quickly

Billy: Are you at another frat party?

Sawyer: Smartphone with intricate passcode. I’ll need you to get into it to delete pictures.

Billy: ETA three minutes.

Each second I wait, I consider walking up to the men and confronting them, to jump in and get Rosalie away from them. But cracking into phone passcodes is beyond my scope of knowledge, and I have no idea what Justin has on the phone. With only me to watch, they could do anything with their phones while I busy myself with the other.

I ignore the multiple pings on my phone, keeping my gaze on Rosalie, watching carefully until I see Billy make his way to me. I pull out my phone to check social media for alerts on Rosalie, to see if anyone’s posted the pictures Justin’s taken, and my blood runs cold.

My heart is beating in my ears as I make my way up to them with Billy. I mentally count to ten as Justin tries again to get Rosalie to dance with him. An emotion I refuse to acknowledge overtakes me as I flick on my phone’s flashlight. This ends now.

Chapter three

Rosalie

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