Page 55 of No One But Us

The sight of them together makes me feel broken inside, unable to keep all my pieces together in any reasonable way. James and I haven’t held a real conversation since the morning after we hooked up, but I really believed he would come around. And now I’m faced with proof he won’t. Kristy takes one look at my wounded face and puts a beer in one hand and a Jell-O shot in the other.

“Don’t let her bother you,” she says. “If he was actually interested in Ashleigh, he’d have taken her up on it before now, because believe me, Ashleigh’s always had that on offer. Let’s go talk to Brooks’ friends. They’re all hot. Give James a taste of his own medicine.”

She turns on her heel and heads toward a big group of guys in the corner. All I want to do is leave, but it would be too obvious. I follow numbly in her wake, hoping alcohol will heal some of the pain.

We are welcomed with open arms into this group of strangers, which tends to happen when you’re at a party that is 75% male. Ginny joins us a few minutes later. I didn’t even know she was home, and I sort of wish she wasn’t, given the running commentary she’s got going about James.

“Ugh. Please tell me this is just a one-night stand and not some summer-long rebound. I know he misses Allison,” she tsks, “but with Ashleigh? Good Lord. I hope he wears a condom.”

Given how upset I am, leaving would be the mature thing to do. Certainly more responsible than drinking heavily and watching him out of my peripheral vision.

But as James has pointed out so many times, I’m nowhere near mature.

With cold-blooded practicality, I slam my second beer and choose the best-looking guy I see—the one who, as it turns out, is only a year younger than James. Within minutes he’s getting me drinks, asking about school, and after a few of those drinks, I’m perched on his lap. His name is Justin, he’s in med school, and if the fact that he’s already trying to figure out how many hours apart we’ll be once school begins is any indication, he really, really likes me.

“You know who you look like?” he asks.

I groan a little inside. “That model from the 90s?” I ask.

His brow furrows. “No. The girl from that zombie movie. The one where’s she’s not a zombie, and she helps this zombie boy turn human again.”

I may have found the only guy alive who hasn’t jerked off to a picture of my mom.

I drape an arm over his shoulder. “You’re my favorite person right now.”

Justin somehow procures liquor instead of keg beer, and soon I’m drinking a vodka tonic instead. It doesn’t matter. There’s a persistent knot in my stomach that never leaves.

“I really liked that zombie movie,” he says, putting his mouth against my neck.

“I think you’re confusing zombies with vampires.”

“I think as long as you’re letting me kiss you I’m okay with that,” he answers.

When James appears in front of us, I feel a shot of triumph. If I were being particularly honest, getting James’ attention is probably the only reason I’m in this guy’s lap at all.

“I think you’ve had enough,” he says, pulling the plastic cup from my hand. I suspect he’s had enough too.

“Thanks, Dad,” I reply. “But I think I’ve got it under control.” I yank the cup back from him and proceed to slosh it all over the front of my dress. His eyes travel over me before I’ve even had a chance to assess the damage myself.

“Inside. Now,” he demands.

Justin looks up at James. “I don’t know what your problem is, man, but she seems pretty happy right where she is.”

James grabs my hand and yanks me up. I could resist, and a part of me knows I should, but the bigger part of me doesn’t want to.

He marches me into someone’s room and closes the door.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he hisses.

“I’m having fun,” I counter. “And since when do you care? I thought it just ‘can’t happen’ with us.”

“It can’t,” he says, nostrils flaring. “But I’m staying away from you for your benefit. Not mine.”

I narrow my eyes. “Well, guess what? It can happen with my new friend out there. And his lap was pretty freaking comfortable, so I’m going back to it.”

Before I can even inhale, he’s backed me to the door, his body pressed against mine, his hands pinning me at the hips. His mouth descends, equal parts anger and desire, his hands digging into my skin. There’s a whimper in my throat as I open to him, the hard assault of his lips, his tongue. It’s an angry, desperate kiss, and my response is a desire I feel everywhere, emanating out from my center to the tips of my toes.

His mouth moves to my neck, and I gasp, leaning into him, our hips locked together so I can feel the hard weight of him against me. “You fucking torture me,” he says, his hands pulling my dress down past my shoulders, unclasping my bra. He groans as he cups my breasts, the tip of his index finger brushing against me, eliciting a small, shuddering cry.