Isn't She Lovely (Redemption 0.5)(10)

Just like I never noticed that when I was in what Michael called “Price Charming mode”—which was most of the time—they always stepped back and let me shine.

I certainly don’t feel charming tonight.

Someone calls my name, and I see my usual group of guys gesturing me over to the keg, all of them too wasted to see that I’m clearly not interested.

I give them a sort of vague gesture as though to indicate that I’ll be there in a minute, and with a muttered bye to Wag, I head in the direction of the bathroom. Not because I have to piss, but because I need a minute alone. But there’s a line a mile long, made up mostly of scantily dressed girls. A tall, skinny blonde grabs my hand as I walk by, and I don’t miss the way her fingers graze my palm in a totally unnecessary gesture.

“Hey, Sarah,” I say, giving her a brief jerk of my chin as I start to move away.

“I hear you’re all alone tonight,” she says, not letting go of my hand.

I’m not surprised that she knows. Sarah is one of Olivia’s best friends. But I am surprised by the suggestive undertone in her voice because she’s one of Olivia’s best friends.

“Yup, and I plan to stay that way,” I say, refusing to give her supermodel body a once-over. Sarah’s pretty, but there’s no way I’d hook up with one of my ex’s friends. I may be pissed at Liv, but I’m not total trash.

“Ah, come on, Eth,” she says, trying to tug me closer as she leans forward slightly. “I can make you feel better.”

The blatant invitation to her best friend’s recent ex is a turnoff, so I merely give her a quick half smile and pull away. I make it about five steps toward the back door before another girl whose name I can never remember locks her arms around my neck, pushing herself against me like a kitten who accidentally drank too much vodka. She’s talking at me, and I catch the word dick and suck and drunk, but she’s slurring too much to make a full sentence, and instead of being turned on, I feel tired.

When did this whole scene start to feel so f*cking trashy?

I foist the drunk girl onto one of my frat brothers and head out the back door. It’s not any cooler out here than it was in there, but other than a few couples making out, it’s relatively quiet.

I sit on a crumbling brick wall, wondering what the hell I’m still doing here. Normally my night would be just beginning, but now all I can think about is getting back to my air-conditioned apartment, where I don’t have to talk to anyone.

Then again, being alone means more time thinking, and I’m not sure I want to do that either.

I run a hand over the back of my neck, rolling my head on my shoulders, when I see her. She’s only a couple of feet away, but with the black shirt, pants, and boots, she blends into the night.

“Kendrick,” I say, tilting my head up toward the sky so I don’t stare at her boobs.

“Price,” she says in the same bored voice.

Neither of us says anything for several minutes, and it’s kind of nice to be around someone who doesn’t expect me to perform.

“For the record, I like this version best,” she says after several moments of silence.

“Huh?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her lift a shoulder. “Your personas. There’s that nauseatingly charming one I met the first day. There’s the sulky one in the hallway just now. And then there’s this one. Quiet and a little sad. I like him best.”

I turn my head to stare at her. “You like me sad? You really are a ghoul.”

She looks totally unperturbed by this as she fiddles with one of her earrings. “Well, I don’t want you suicidal or anything. I just like that you’re not trying so hard.”

I don’t even know what the f*ck she’s talking about. Trying so hard? Does she think I’m like a clown who picks and chooses his moods based on his environment?

Being charming is easy—nobody looks too hard at charming. Nobody expects you to be anything other than flirty and a little funny. Figures that this sour little critter would be repulsed by that.

“How’s your face?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Fine.”

I narrow my eyes and study her. Her tone is flippant, and although she really does seem to be fine—there’s no red mark to signal an impending bruise—I get the feeling that she’d say she was fine even if she wasn’t. As though she doesn’t think anyone would care one way or the other.

“Sorry about … in there,” I say, breaking yet another awkward silence.

“You mean where you got all handsy?” she asks in that unperturbed voice of hers.

“I didn’t get handsy,” I snap. “I was just making sure I didn’t knock your teeth out.”

Stephanie gives me this big, shit-eating grin as though to say, See? All teeth accounted for, and I roll my eyes.

But I’m smiling a little bit all the same. She’s so damned different from anyone I’ve ever met before, and oddly, I find my mood improving.

“How’d you get dragged into this shit?” I say, gesturing toward the thumping house, where the back window reveals someone doing a keg stand.

“What, you mean you don’t think I belong?” she asks, her eyes wide in mock surprise.

I pat the wall next to me and give her an inviting smile. “Come closer. I can barely hear you.”