A Midsummer's Nightmare(26)

At least that had kept me from sleeping with him. I knew I was drunk, but I wasn’t sure if I was drunk enough to have let things go that far. Tequila always made me a little too agreeable, though. The thought made me giggle, but I wasn’t sure how funny it really was.

I’d barely taken two steps into the living room, already on my way to get another drink, when Harrison appeared beside me, grabbing my elbow and yanking me off in another direction.

“Whoa!”

“Guys,” Harrison said, dragging me along behind him. “Guys, okay, this is my new friend, Whitley.”

Since when was I his friend?

“She’s the one I told you about…. Greg Johnson’s daughter.”

I was being stared at by a mafia of skinny blonds. Well, okay, there was a redhead in the pack, but whatever. They all had on shiny lip gloss and nail polish, and each seemed to be carrying a different designer handbag.

“Did I just see you making out with Eric Higgins in the kitchen?” one of the girls asked.

“Was that his name?”

Even this drunk, I could see the way these girls looked at me. I stared down at their perfect little noses, eyes narrowed in disgust. I knew these girls. They were the same everywhere. The rich bitches. The snobs. The girls who, my freshman year of high school, had convinced everyone—including my best friend—that I was a whore. Even by graduation, after all the parties and the boys, I still hadn’t done half the things those girls claimed I had.

“Eric is kind of a weirdo,” the redhead said.

“He’s not a great kisser, either,” I told her. “Too much tongue.”

“Isn’t she adorable?” Harrison said, squeezing my shoulders.

“Ouch. Watch the sunburn.”

“Whoops. Sorry.” He turned back to the girls. “She looks like him, doesn’t she? Like her dad.”

A few of the bitches nodded. The redhead was the first to speak, though. For some ungodly reason—maybe because she was friends with Harrison, and he liked me—I half expected her to put aside the fact that I’d been making out with whatshisname, to give me a chance, to say, “Welcome to Hamilton. Where are you from?” I’d even have settled for, “Is your dad that tall in real life?”

Instead, she looked me up and down and said dryly, “Your shirt is on inside out.”

“Yeah.” I giggled, too giddy to be pissed. Plus, her lip gloss looked like clown makeup, and in that moment, it was the funniest thing ever. “I think it is.”

The Blond Mafia just stared at me.

I turned to face Harrison. “M’kay. Well, I have a date with that bottle in the kitchen, so I’ll see you—”

“Whitley!”

I paused, confused. Things were starting to get kind of hazy, and the fact that Harrison’s lips weren’t moving didn’t make sense. How could he say my name if his lips weren’t moving?

Then a very firm hand took hold of my upper arm, and I got it. Harrison hadn’t been the one talking. Nathan was standing next to me now, squeezing my arm kind of hard. I stared up at him. “Sunburn,” I whined, trying to jerk away. He loosened his grip but didn’t let go.

“Oh, Nathan,” Harrison said, smoothing his hair back with one hand. “Hi. Enjoying the party?”

“Not now, man,” Nathan said harshly. He was glaring at me. “We’re leaving, Whitley. Now.”

“What? Why?”

He didn’t answer. He just pulled me along after him as he began winding his way through the crowd. It wasn’t until then that I really looked at him and realized that he had something large and bright yellow draped over his left shoulder.

Bailey.

Shit.

Her long blond hair tumbled down his back, and I could tell by the way she was lying, limp as a rag doll, that she’d passed out.

I stumbled behind Nathan, my platforms slipping from beneath my feet, but he didn’t slow down. A few minutes later we were out in the humid night air. The rush of heat made me feel nauseous, but he just kept going.

“Wait, is she okay? Can we walk slower?” I complained as he pulled me down the sidewalk.

“I told you to watch her!”

He was yelling.

I laughed. Hearing him yell seemed so out of place. Cucumber-cool Nathan was yelling. It was hilarious. Like everything else about that night. Funny and hazy and strange.

“Damn it, Whitley, stop laughing,” he growled, releasing my arm and turning to face me. He was holding on to Bailey’s legs, her dress so short that I could see her pink underwear from where I stood. I wished he would change her position. That would embarrass the hell out of her if anyone saw. “You said you’d keep an eye on her,” Nathan said. “You promised me.”

“She’s fine, though, right?” I said. “She just had a little too much to drink. I told her to take it slow.”

“You shouldn’t have let her drink to begin with!” he shouted. “She’s thirteen, for God’s sake.”

“I had my first drink when I was fourteen,” I retorted. “Not much older than her.”

“Yeah, and look where it got you.”

I froze for a second, stunned.

It took a minute for the words to sink in. I stared up at Nathan, anger burning away the amusement I’d felt before. Scorching the insides of my stomach and chest.