Fighting Fate (Fighting #7)(9)

She’s not the only one wondering. It’s his damn birthday party at his own freakin’ house and yet he’s MIA. My tongue throbs, reminding me of my surprise that will, no doubt, end badly. Happy birthday! No blowjobs or kissing for two weeks!

“Axelle, did you hear me?” Mindy follows my gaze to the group of girls.

“No guy can rock a pair of skinny jeans like Cliff. His ass is like…” The blonde makes the shape of his ass with her hands, and I have to agree. He’s got a nice ass—small, perfect for the rocker/emo thing he has going on, but firm.

Mindy’s eyes widen. “They’re talking about Clifford.” She whisper-spits his name like it’s a dirty word.

“Yeah, so? He’s mine. They can talk all they want.” I force as much confidence as I can muster, when inside I’m on the verge of tears and I have the vodka to thank for that.

I can fake confidence like a champ. Hell, I learned from the best. My mom put on one hell of a show my entire life up until a few years ago. Then she found her safe place to fall, the shelter of the love of a great man where she can finally be herself.

I’m not there yet.

Not even close.

“…fingers are so long.”

“…seen the bulge in his jeans? His dick is huge!”

“…get too drunk to leave and crash here.”

Mindy snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Hello?”

I rip my attention away from the gossipy girls and focus on my friend. “Yeah, sorry. What were you saying?”

“Those bitches are after your man.”

I shake my head and wave her off with a huff. “I’m not worried about them.” I am. I so am. “Come on. Let’s grab a drink.” And hunt down Clifford before they do. I grip her hand and lead her to the kitchen, weaving around the giggling girls as we go.

The kitchen, like the rest of the house, is modest, but a decent size. The rental is close to campus, so the owners must know it’s going to get trashed, and everything is cheap and easily replaceable.

Ryder and a few of his friends are standing around a bar—or more accurately a stack of Solo cups, various bottles of booze, and a few liters of soda and fruit punch.

I give Ry a hug and stumble a little. His eyes go wide on my feet. “Hot shoes.”

“Thanks. When did you get here?”

His gaze slides from my peep-toe heels, up my jeggings, to my translucent black long-sleeved shirt, which I’ve paired with nothing but a black push up bra. His mouth twists and his eyebrows pinch together. Mumbled words fall from his lips, but I don’t catch them.

I lean in. “What?”

“Nothing.” The way he continues to scowl at my clothes makes me think he doesn’t approve of what I’m wearing.

Self-consciousness crawls over me, making me want to cover up with my arms, but then I look around. Mindy’s in a similar outfit, but her jeans are high-waisted, and she’s paired them with a barely there crop top. Some of the co-eds outside had on micro-minis and stilettos. What I’m wearing is modest in comparison.

“What’re you drinking?” Ryder motions to the booze.

“Vodka and fruit punch.” Mindy answers for me.

Ryder’s mouth pulls up on one side. “Long time, Min.”

Her cheeks flash pink, and she gives him a sultry grin. “Too long.”

I practically roll my eyes. These two have been f*ck buddies for months, and every time they see each other it’s like the flame that flickers between them gets doused with gasoline.

She squeezes in close to talk with Ryder, and I scan the kitchen, looking for Clifford.

Ry hands me a drink, and I take a long pull of the puckery-sweet liquid.

“So, Axelle, how’s this semester treating you?” Theo, Ryder’s friend and band mate, pushes back his shaggy hair to reveal his piercing blue eyes.

“Great. You were right about History of World Religions. It’s a lot more entertaining than I thought it’d be.” Theo told me last semester that Professor Conway had a sexual analogy for everything. He wasn’t kidding.

He laughs. “Because the emergence of Eastern Religion was like gently prying open the dew-soaked petals of a flower, like…”

“Foreplay!” We say in unison.

“Shots!” Mindy hands me another Solo cup, this one filled with clear liquid that burns my nose.

May as well, I’m not driving. I throw back the shot, but it takes me three times to get it all down. I finish my punch and have one more while scanning the area, looking for Clifford. By the time I’m through with my second drink, I’m feeling a little foggy and a lot tired, and I have to pee.

“I’ll be right back!” I call to Mindy, who is curled up under Ryder’s arm. Guess she’s no longer worried about calling the football player.

I wander through the party to the bathroom, but there’s a line, so I search for a place to sit and rest. My ankles wobble with each step, and I use the narrow hallway walls to steady myself. I may have drunk too much. Again. I reach the end of the hallway when a sharp sting meets my ass.

“Ouch…” My response is delayed, but I rub the burn on my ass and look up into the hungry eyes of my boy—um…hookup, Clifford. “Hey, where’ve you been?”

He grips my hips and pulls me to him, and I have to tilt my head back to see his face. “You drunk yet?”