Four Years Later (One Week Girlfriend #4)(20)

“Kinda like he doesn’t know me, right?” She flashes me a tentative smile and shrugs. “How are you going to introduce me?”

“How do you want to be introduced?” I toss back at her.

She grimaces. “I don’t know. Your friend?”

I stare at her for a long moment. “They’re going to think I’m f**king you.”

Chelsea gapes, her mouth dropping open. “Are you serious?”

“They think I f**k every girl I bring around the house.” I give them good reason to think that, too.

She actually flinches. “Do you have to keep saying that?”

“Saying what? ‘Fuck’?”

“Yes.” Her expression is pained. “It’s so …”

“Fucking vulgar? Yeah.” I laugh when she glares. I can’t help it. “Sorry. Come on, let’s get this over with. And be prepared. Plug your ears or something, because Des curses like a motherf*cker.”

CHAPTER 6

Chelsea

Funny how I was at a bar with my best friend yet still felt incredibly uncomfortable. Powerless. Out of control.

Here I stand with a guy I barely know at a house I’ve never been to, with a crowd of rowdy people, total and complete strangers who are partying inside and are either drunk or high or both. And I’m not scared at all.

It’s because I’m with Owen. He makes me feel safe.

I follow him as he approaches the front porch, my gaze going to his friend Des. Owen’s right. The guy looks perfectly harmless, with a stupid smile on his face and a can of beer clutched in his hand like it’s his precious lifeline. The girl with him is plastered to his side as best as she can be, all voluptuous curves and bottle-blond hair, with blood-red lips and blinding white teeth. She gives me a withering stare, dismissing me on sight.

Great. She hates me. I’m not a fan either.

“Des, what the hell are all of these people doing here?” Owen asks as he stops right in front of the couch. I come up behind him, then step to the side so I don’t look like I’m hiding. I refuse to let the girl with the scary red lips intimidate me.

“I don’t know, but I’m drinking a f**king beer and smoking a J,” Des says as if he has zero cares in the world—which is probably pretty close to the truth. I recognize him. He was with Owen the night I saw them at the diner. “You should join me, bro. You look a little tense. Wade invited me over earlier and we decided to call a few friends. Figured you wouldn’t f**king mind. I mean, look—you brought a guest and everything.” Des waves his beer can at me.

“Yeah. Great.” Owen runs a hand through his hair, something I notice he does when he’s irritated. It’s all messy and sexy and I want to grab hold of it, yank his head down to mine, and kiss him.

Yikes. What in the world is wrong with me, thinking like this?

“So who’s your guest to our fancy party? She’s pretty.” Des smiles brilliantly at me. He’s cute. Dark hair cropped close to his head, warm brown eyes that are rimmed with red from the joint-smoking.

Probably that cloud of smoke that still hovers above him is why he doesn’t recognize me.

“Uh, this is Chelsea.” That’s all Owen says. Waves a hand at me like I don’t matter, which hurts a little, but I push past it. I guess he’s trying to not make this a big deal and I can’t blame him. I’m just his tutor. I’m not important to him.

“Hi.” I smile at Des, then cast a more wary smile in the blonde’s direction.

“This is Marcy.” Des shoots the blonde a lusty gaze, which she returns with gusto. “We just met. But we’re already old f**king friends, right, Marcy?” She doesn’t respond.

“Awesome,” Owen mutters with a jerky shake of his head. “We just stopped by to get my keys. I need to take Chelsea home.”

“Don’t go home, not yet! The party just started. Have a beer, smoke a bowl, f**king relax. Or maybe get relaxed by f**king around for a little bit. Whatever.” Des laughs when Owen shoots him a disgusted look. “Man, since when did you turn into such a downer?”

Owen doesn’t reply. I feel like things are being said without words and I’m not catching on. Not that I would. I don’t know anything about Owen beyond his school file and what little information I’ve gleaned since meeting him.

We leave the porch and head into the house, which is filled with smoke, lots of people, and loud music. The kitchen is especially packed as they all drink beer either from cans or the infamous red cups. There’s a keg on the dining room table, and I wonder just how spontaneous this party was.

Considering I have zero experience with keggers, I have no idea how easy it is to obtain kegs of beer.

Everyone in the room seems to look at me like they wonder where I came from, not that I can blame them. They don’t know me. I’m sure they all know Owen. They’re in his house, after all. And I’m just some silly girl pretending that she knows what it’s like to be young and easy and carefree.

The girls glare. The guys stare. I feel like I’m on display, that Owen is lord and master of the house and if they could, they’d all bow to him and thank him for finally coming home.

Heaving out a big sigh, I push past my dramatic thoughts and keep close to Owen, not wanting to lose him since the deeper we get into the house, the more crowded it becomes. When he grabs hold of my hand and yanks me close, I literally gasp, surprised that he’s actually touching me. His fingers curl around mine and I try to ignore the reaction that pulses through me from his touch, but I can’t. I swear my knees just went weak.