Nothing But Trouble (Malibu University Series)(26)

Strangled bursts of laughter come from Kellan’s entourage and the pretense of a smile he’s wearing quickly transforms into an expression of barely leashed rage. He takes a step closer and Brock stiffens, looking down on Kellan with clear warning in his hard stare.

“Take another step and you’ll get these straight in the sphincter,” Zoe calmly states. She points to the Louboutin heels she’s wearing, the ones with the tiny studs on them. “Although you might like it and we both know what I mean.” Then she lifts her hands in a gesture of surrender. “No judgment.”

Kellan turns cherry red.

“Keep walking, Blythe,” Brock orders. At the same time he pins Zoe with a silent command to stop, a flare of anger turning the sharp edges of his cheekbones pink under his deep tan. “Keg’s that way.” He points to the far side of the patio. “Move, or I’ll escort you out.”

Kellan’s furious glare shifts between Zoe and Brock. He mutters, “Bitch,” as he walks away with his friends. This is better than binging on an entire season of Gigolos.

Brock’s frown persists and it’s aimed at Zoe.

“What?” she says, uncertainty drawn on her delicate features.

He shakes his head. “That was harsh.”

Zoe’s eyes go theatrically wide. “Did you hear what he called me?”

“He’s an asshole,” Brock practically growls. “Everybody knows it. Why can’t you ignore him?”

I can feel the weight of his judgment and it’s not even directed at me. Zoe’s face falls, her confidence wanes.

“I didn’t start it––” she argues quietly.

“You bait him.”

“Brock…”

He exhales loudly, tugs at the collar of his t-shirt. “You’re better than that.” He turns to leave and Zoe blanches.

“Brock…”

Casting one last disappointed look at her, he walks away. And leaves behind a vacuum. The silence stifling. We all exchange looks while Zoe stares after his broad, retreating back. Her body stiff, her hands fisted at her sides, eyes glassy.

“You’re designated driver, Ramos.” Her voice sounds flat. No sign of the kick-ass Zoe I’ve come to love and appreciate. I hate seeing her like this.

“Sure…y-yeah.”

She holds up her keychain. Dora takes it and Zoe turns to Blake. “Let’s party.”





Chapter 11





Alice


By midnight, the luster of the party has worn off and I’m ready to go home. While Zoe is hammered, Blake’s not quite there yet. For the past hour, the two of them have been taking turns playing an arcade video game with a couple of random guys in the game room (yes, this house has a game room) while Dora and I have been watching from the wings.

“Three out of five,” one of the guys announces while Blake and Zoe celebrate another victory by high-fiving each other.

“Didn’t they say that when they lost the last two sets?” I toss out.

“Last three,” Dora corrects.

“Do you want to get out of here? My armpit is starting to hurt again.”

She nods enthusiastically, which makes me chuckle. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say Dora’s here against her will. “I’m heading to the bathroom. Be right back,” I tell her as I push away from the wall behind me.

It’s nearly impossible to move around the packed house. I get jostled and pushed around. The sweaty bodies buttressing me are the only reason I’m still upright.

Reagan’s nowhere to be seen. Makes sense. I doubt he was in the mood to come out for a party tonight. Win or no win.

Halfway across the room I pass Brock, who’s deep in conversation with the blond guy, Dallas. His expression serious, big hand gripping Dallas’s shoulder. “I’m worried about you…” I hear him tell his teammate.

I catch his eyes and ask him where I can find the bathroom. Meanwhile the blond conducts a blank-faced inspection of me, his bright blue eyes sharp and assessing. Nothing about his demeanor indicates he’s high or drunk so I assume the reckless behavior comes naturally.

“End of the hallway on the right,” Brock shouts back and returns to his conversation.

Getting through the crowd takes forever. When I finally reach the hallway, it’s blessedly empty. And long. Door after door confuses me.

Did he say last door? On the right or left? I can’t think straight with the music blasting. Consequently, I pick a random door on the right and push it open.

Wrong door. Definitely wrong door.

Two girls and a guy occupy a large bed. He’s lying prone. One girl, a blonde, rides his dick and the other, a brunette, his face, which is obscured save for the dark hair against the pillow.

A creepy sensation rides across my skin.

The blonde girl moans. The other shouts. Meanwhile I can’t move a muscle. I’m rooted to the floor for what feels like forever, long enough for the chick on his face to come loudly.

My gaze lowers to the tiny dolphin etched on the outside of his calf. The girl riding his dick turns and giggles and his big hand squeezes her thigh. I think to myself, she sounds drunk. Which doesn’t matter, but manages to snap me out of my paralysis and sends me into action.

Slamming the door shut, I stand there for a moment to process what I just witnessed. My heart crawls up into my throat and my stomach turns into a churning cauldron of bile. My body knows there’s something wrong before my brain can catch up.