Going Under (The Blackhawk Boys Book 3) Page 3

  Mason: Fuck yes. I just found out I passed A&P. Time to celebrate.

  Keegan: I might need something stronger than beer, but I’m in.

  Arrow: Enjoy your freedom, assholes. Drink one for me.

  I hesitate, my thumb hovering over the screen. I should go to my apartment and clean, because my roommate is a complete slob who’d rather live in a cockroach-infested sty than wash a dish, but I’m still reeling about Alex. Seeing her is like waking up under ice-cold water and having no idea which way is up—which might be a reasonable analogy if seeing her only turned me upside down and inside out, but the cold water analogy is all wrong for the other ways her presence affects me.

  And now I’m going to see her at work all the time.

  I type a quick reply, letting the guys know I’ll meet them there. Half of Chi Omega attends Trent’s parties, and a pretty sorority girl and half a case of beer might just get my mind off one gorgeous, off-limits brunette.

  * * *

  Alexandra

  “You’re sure I look okay?” I fidget with my scarf as Bailey surveys me. We’re parked along the street in front of a house just off campus.

  “It’s adorable that you don’t know how hot you are. Stop fidgeting. It’s just a party, not a job interview. We’re here for the free booze and, if we’re lucky, a few dances with some cute boys.”

  “Right,” I mutter, as if I have any experience dancing with cute boys.

  “You don’t have to hide, you know.” Her gaze dips to my mouth and the scar that begins there and continues down my neck. “It’s really not that bad.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. You haven’t seen me without a shirt.”

  “Yet,” she says, waggling her eyebrows. “But maybe if I play my cards right tonight…”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re a dork.”

  “You missed me,” she says, grinning.

  “You have no idea how much.” When I say it, I realize how true it is. Bailey and I met at a support group for family members of addicts. Even though we only got together outside of that setting on a couple of occasions, we slipped into a friendship back then that I’m easily falling into again. It’s odd how much easier it is to bond with someone when they understand the kind of demons you’re up against.

  Taking a breath, I pull down the visor to look in the mirror. I frown at my reflection. I don’t want to have to meet a bunch of new people who are going to ask questions about my scars, or worse, not ask questions, but wait to whisper and get their answers from the rumor mill.

  Is this what Sebastian saw when he looked at me today? A plain girl who could have passed for pretty before the fire?

  “What are you thinking so hard about?”

  I draw in a shaky breath. “I need a favor.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  I wrinkle my nose. I was hoping my time in Boulder would help me find some self-confidence and maybe my own sense of style. I know I’ll never be gorgeous like Bailey, since these scars aren’t going anywhere, but I’d like to be a little more comfortable in my own skin. “Have you ever given someone a makeover? Because I know it’s too late for tonight, but I need one. Like, ASAP.”

  A slow, mischievous smile curls her lips. “Well, you’ve asked the right girl.”

  “Seriously? You’ll do it?” I’m not sure if I’m more giddy or relieved. I’ve never had a clue when it comes to fashion and makeup.

  “Makeover lesson number one?” She reaches over and flips up my visor so I can’t see the mirror. “You. Are. Beautiful. We’ll take on the rest another time.”

  “I definitely missed you.” I climb out of the car before I can psych myself out, and Bailey follows, punching the button on her key fob to lock the doors.

  She slides her arm through mine, and we walk through the damp grass toward the front door. “Is this your first college party?”

  “Yep.” I take a deep breath. “I assume it’s like everything I’ve seen in the movies and I’ll be swept off my feet by my soulmate before the end of the night?”

  She winks as she knocks on the door. “Absolutely.”

  The door opens, and we’re swept into the party in a flurry of greetings and movement. Bailey keeps me close as we’re pulled through the crowd to a table by the television. Bottles of alcohol sit lined up alongside various two-liter bottles of soda.

  “Here’s the strategy.” Bailey speaks into my ear as she positions two plastic cups in front of her. “Always start with diet soda. Everyone will assume it’s rum and Coke or something anyway. Then, if the party is lame, your buzz isn’t lying to you and telling you to stay. And if the party is good, you can decide if you want to drink. But always mix your own, drink less than you think you can handle, and if you want to keep the buzz to a minimum, stick to the cheapest beer on hand—lower alcohol content combined with the taste of piss will keep you from overindulging.”

  I arch a brow. “Spoken like a pro.”

  “Don’t look so surprised. I’ve had years to perfect this strategy.” She shoves a cup of diet soda in my hand then takes me by the wrist to lead me down the stairs.

  The music echoes off the walls, and my skin seems to vibrate with the beat, but the lights are low, and no one who looks at me will be able to see how awkward I feel. Bailey and I dance to a few songs, and I’m feeling much more relaxed, even a little buzzed on the energy of the room.

  “What do you think?” Bailey asks, raising her empty soda glass. “Liquor or beer?”

  “I’m good with diet,” I shout. I wrinkle my nose. “Is that okay with you?”

  “Of course! You do you.”

  A short guy taps Bailey on the shoulder and whispers something in her ear. She nods at him before turning back to me. “A friend of mine is outside looking for me. Do you want to come?”

  I shake my head. “You go. I’ll get a refill.”

  “Don’t take drinks from anyone, and text me if you need anything,” she says. “Otherwise, I’ll meet you back here in ten.”

  It isn’t until Bailey’s gone that I realize how much her carefree energy was putting me at ease. Maybe a little rum in my Coke wouldn’t be a bad idea after all.

  I head upstairs to find the beverage table, and the first thing I see is Sebastian Crowe.

  Chapter Four

  Alexandra

  My heart stutters an awkward little dance step before hammering heavily.

  Sebastian’s sitting on the couch in the front room with a redhead straddling his waist. People mill all around, but my eyes are drawn to him and I can’t look away.

  The redhead combs her hands through his hair and whispers something in his ear. When she pulls back to look at him, he grins before kissing her. He has one hand in her hair, the other curved around her hip. The girl is perfect. Smooth ivory skin, long red hair that flows down her back and curls at the ends, cut-off shorts, and a crop top.

  I’m still staring when he breaks the kiss and whispers something in her ear. Is he suggesting they go find a room? Maybe offering to take her home with him? Is she his girlfriend, or does he pick up a different girl at every party, a college football star notching his bedpost like a bad stereotype?

  Once, Martina warned me to stay away from Sebastian. She said he was bad news. But he’s the only guy who’s ever made my heart pound and my skin feel all tingly. After the fire, he was the only guy who looked at me as if he didn’t see my scars.

  My gut twists with a confusing mix of jealousy and disgust. Some days, I hated the way he made me feel. I hated that he was the only one who understood my love of classic cars and that one of his smiles had the power to put me in a good mood all day. I hated that he almost kissed me two years ago and didn’t. But right now, more than anything, I hate that he’s touching someone other than me. I hate the way girls throw themselves at him. And I hate that I’ve never had the courage to do it myself.

  As if he can sense me staring at him, he meets my eyes over the redhead’s shoulder and blinks in confusion.
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  My cheeks heat. I feel like a voyeur caught looking in someone’s bedroom window.

  I shouldn’t have come to this party. The stench of beer fills the air and makes me sick to my stomach, and my eardrums ache from the loud music in the basement. It’s sweet of Bailey to include me, but I’m not a party girl. I never have been. That was my sister, Martina—the loud to my quiet, the sexy to my plain, the vibrant color to my black and white. I guess I felt a little of my sister in my blood tonight, because until this moment, this was where I wanted to be. I didn’t come for the beer or the weed or the possible hookup like Martina would have. I came here because I wanted to spend my first full night back in Blackhawk Valley acting like a girl who’s going to live her life instead of hiding from it.

  I shouldn’t have come. He’s going to wonder why I’m staring at him, and how can I explain it? He whispers something in the redhead’s ear, and I bow my head and walk away.

  The kitchen is crowded with a mix of strange and familiar faces. I went to high school with some of these people, but I always kept to myself. With the exception of Bailey, I never knew how to talk to perfectly put-together girls who liked boys better than books and parties and fashion more than Netflix marathons and pajamas.

  I grab a red plastic cup from the counter and turn on the faucet to fill it.

  “Why are you wearing a scarf?” a girl with short black hair asks. “It’s, like, ninety degrees outside.” Her eyeliner is thick and as dark as her inky-black hair. Judging by her strapless top and short shorts, she wouldn’t know the first thing about being afraid to show her skin.

  The blonde next to her chuckles and reaches for my scarf, pulling it off my neck with a single tug. “Because she’s hiding Freddy Krueger skin under there. Don’t you remember her from high school?”

  Instinctively, my hands fly to my neck and collarbone to cover the puckered skin. I should yank the scarf back from her, but I’m frozen in horror, picturing her holding it above her head and taunting me when I can’t reach it.

  A tall guy with broad shoulders and glazed eyes steadies himself with the edge of the counter as he takes in my scars. “What’d you do? Run into a burning building to rescue orphans or something?”

  “Who invited you here anyway, Krueger?” the blonde asks. I’m so embarrassed I feel like I could puke.

  “I did.” All eyes swing to Sebastian as he steps into the kitchen and snags my scarf from the blonde. “Learn some fucking manners, Mandy.” Stepping close to me, he slides the thin cotton scarf behind my neck and loops it around loosely. He meets my eyes and swallows hard. “You okay?”

  I lift my chin. “I’m fine.” It’s not the first time I’ve been mocked for my burns, and it won’t be the last. I should tell him that I didn’t need him to come to my rescue, but I can’t put the words together when he’s standing so close and I’m feeling so vulnerable.

  He slides his hand down my arm, his fingertips grazing my skin. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the riot in my belly to calm and the electric shiver to go away. He takes my hand and interlaces his fingers with mine.

  “Why would you be with her? Doesn’t her skin gross you out? Why not be with someone pretty?” the blonde asks. “Someone who looks good naked. Like me.”

  “Mandy!” The inky-haired girl smacks her friend on the arm. “Jesus. You’re such a mean fucking drunk.”

  Sebastian cuts his eyes to Mandy. His jaw is hard, and there’s so much anger in his eyes that I almost feel sorry for her. “Pretty like you?” he asks. “In the last sixty seconds, you’ve shown everyone in this room just how ugly you are.”

  “Ooh! Burn!” the drunk guy from earlier says. His eyes go wide as he seems to register his word choice. He turns to me. “I mean, fuck, not burn burn.” He doubles over with laughter.

  “Wanna get out of here?” Sebastian asks.

  I nod weakly. I don’t know where he wants to go, but he could ask me to go to Jupiter with him right now and I’d agree.

  Outside, the moon is bright and round. The frogs and cicadas sing their nighttime songs. It’s still hot even though the sun set hours ago, and the promise of rain weighs heavy in the air. I reach for my scarf, flapping it so my skin can breathe. Tonight, Bailey said my scars aren’t that bad, but the truth is I could ditch the scarf and the worst of them still wouldn’t show. Mandy’s not the first mean girl to cut me down because of them, and she won’t be the last. When it happens, I remind myself I was lucky, considering how bad it could have been. Lucky it wasn’t worse. Lucky most of my face was spared. Lucky to be alive. Some days I believe that, and others it’s harder.

  I’m not sure if Sebastian and I are walking to somewhere or just away from the house, but we move along the sidewalk side by side.

  “Thanks for coming to my rescue.” I pull my phone from my pocket and text Bailey.

  Me: I’m just going to walk home. Will you be okay?

  Bailey: Are you sure you want to leave? I’ll drive you. I haven’t had anything to drink yet.

  Me: No. It’s not far. I want some fresh air anyway.

  Bailey: Where are you? I don’t want you walking alone.

  I’m too embarrassed to face Bailey right now. I don’t want to rehash what happened in the kitchen or have her try to talk me into remaining at a party I suddenly feel ridiculous for attending in the first place.

  Me: I’m not alone. I found an old friend.

  Bailey: Oooh. Then why didn’t you say so? ;) Text me when you get home. And use protection. Condoms in my glove box if you need one.

  I feel guilty for lying to Bailey. Well, I didn’t lie. I did find an old friend. But I made it sound as if he’s walking me home, and I’m not about to ask him to do that.

  Sebastian leans against a peeling beech tree in front of the house, his dark eyes lazily assessing me. He looks so freaking edible, from his neat beard to his tight shirt and tattoos to the way his jeans hang on his narrow hips. He’s out of my league, and I’m embarrassed that I dragged him away from his perfect girlfriend/date/hookup.

  “I’m taking off,” I say, motioning to the house. “Go back to your girlfriend.”

  “My girlfriend?” His brow wrinkles, and judging by the glazed look in his eyes, I’m pretty sure he owes his confusion in part to intoxication.

  “The redhead who had her tongue down your throat?”

  The corner of his mouth quirks up in a grin. “Ah, yeah. Lacey. She’s not my girlfriend.”

  “Your date. Whatever.”

  “She wasn’t my date either. Just a girl at a party.” He pushes off the tree and steps toward me. “Were you texting your boyfriend? Is that why you’re so anxious to get away from me?”

  I laugh. “No. I’m just letting my friend know where I am. I don’t have a boyfriend.” As soon as I say it, I wish I could snatch the words from the air. Why did I tell him that? Did I think I needed to make that clear so he could make his move? “I’m going home.”

  As I turn away, he falls into step alongside me. “I’ll walk you.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I want to.” His arm brushes mine as we walk. “I’m sorry about those assholes back there.”

  I shake my head. “No, I’m sorry you had to come to my rescue.”

  “Mandy’s a bitch.” The words slur together and come out sounding more like one—Mandeezabitch—telling me my suspicions were right and he’s not sober.

  “I didn’t mean to ruin your night.”

  He releases a puff of air. “Are you kidding me? Seeing you is the best part of my whole day.” His voice is low and rough, but his words curl at the edges. “I knew I missed you, but until I saw you this afternoon I didn’t realize how much.”

  “Are you high?” I don’t mean to sound so judgmental, but the question comes out too sharp to hide my feelings. It’s one thing if he’s had a few drinks, but I detest the idea of him doing more, and I’m having trouble imagining him saying something like that without some serious drugs in his system.

>   He flinches, then shakes his head. “I had a few beers.” He reaches into his jeans, pulling out a handful of bottle caps. “More than a few, I guess.”

  “Why do you save the caps?” I ask.

  “Easier to keep tabs on how much I’ve had.” He spreads them out on his palm and winces. There have to be six or seven there. He tucks them back into his pocket and waits for me to meet his eyes before he continues. “Just beer. I don’t do that other shit anymore. You know that, right?”

  I take a deep breath. I didn’t know that. I don’t know anything about Sebastian or his hobbies or his life since I left, and I’ve spent the last two years making a concentrated effort not to care. To be fair, in high school I never knew for sure that he did more than drink. Martina told me he did, but I didn’t want to believe it. The word anymore tells me she was right.

  We walk in silence down three blocks and cut through the park before rounding the corner to my parents’ house. With each step, I remind myself not to give too much weight to his words, not to get too excited about him saying that seeing me was the best part of his day. He’s been drinking, and the thousands of what-ifs running amuck in my brain won’t change what is.

  The porch light casts a soft green glow on the lawn, and I can see through the front windows that Mom left a living room lamp on for me.

  “Thanks for walking me home,” I say as we climb the front steps. Of course, it didn’t occur to me until this minute that we’ve been walking in the opposite direction of his parents’ house. “How will you get home?”

  He looks over his shoulder toward the street. “I have an apartment now. It’s only three blocks north. I think I can handle the walk on my own.”

  Folding my arms over my chest, I nod. Standing here with him now, I can’t help but think of the last time he was on my porch. The last time we were alone in the dark. The memory makes my hands shake. “I don’t want you to think you need to do this now that I’m back.”