Page 68 of Habits

Hisgrowl.

“Get your fucking hands off of her!”

Andrew

Taking a sip from the flute in my hand, I wish, for the hundredth time in the last hour, that it was something stronger than the bubbly shit they distribute around here like water.

Kid throws a party for his classmates and is judged by adults, but out here those same adults are giving alcohol without the blink of an eye. What a bunch of hypocrites. The biggest of them being my father.

The asshole smiles at the old dude he’s talking to, schmoozing him to empty his pockets and fill his budget for the campaign.

I tuned him out twenty minutes ago. He wanted me to be here, fine, but he didn’t say anything about having to interact or play nice.

I take another long sip, imagining it’s Scotch, the strong, smooth liquid sliding down my throat burning just right. But there is no burn, only the tickle of the bubbles.

Where is the real booze?

Looking around for the bar, I hear my father calling my name, but I wave him off without even throwing a backward glance. He can deal with the old guy just fine on his own. I’m here to show people that we’re one big, happy family. I did that by showing up. Mission accomplished, time to get buzzed if I plan on surviving the next few hours here.

I tug at the neckline of my shirt, trying to loosen the red tie around my neck. I tried to ditch the tie, but Dad insisted. I guess part of the black-tie even means you have to actually wear a tie.

Huh, go figure.

The crowd is not as big around the bar as it is around the tables and the dance floor. I guess the rich like to be served more and think drinking champagne makes them fancy as shit. I slide onto the open stool, signaling the bartender to give me a double Scotch. The night is long and if I plan to survive it, I’ll have to get buzzed. Hell, maybe I’ll even sneak out and have a smoke. There is nothing like a few puffs of sweet Mary to calm you down. Just thinking about it makes my blood buzz. I could slip out for a while; it’s not like anybody would miss me.

A guy in some classy penguin suit the waiters wear pours me a generous two fingers of their finest and slides it my way. My hand wraps around the cool crystal as I lift the glass in the air in thanks and take a sip.

“Well, well, well …”

Slowly, I lift my eyes to meet the gray ones as he slides into the seat next to mine.

We haven’t spoken since he came to Derek’s house to tell me I’m not good enough for his sister. Not that his opinion matters.

“What brings you here, Sanders?”

Out on the ice, we’re as good as always. Now that Derek is back in the game after his concussion, we’re playing fiercer than ever, yet … there is still tension between us that didn’t exist before.

Tension I put there when I kissed his sister.Fuckedhis sister. Not that he needs to know about that part. If he does find out, I’m sure he’ll cut my dick off so I won’t be able to fuck anybody ever again.

“Better question is, what bringsyouhere? This doesn’t seem like your scene. Who’s hosting the party?”

I shrug nonchalantly, taking another sip from my glass and signaling the waiter to bring him a drink, too. “No party. Daddy dearest needed family to join him while he charms everybody in this room into thinking what a great mayor he’d make. Honest. Charismatic. Family man and a single father. You know the drill.”

“So the rumors are true?”

“Apparently.”

Not that it interests me in the least. Next year, I’ll be far, far away from here, and I’m not coming back. I’m not particularly interested in playing hockey professionally, but I know some scouts are looking at me. And if playing hockey takes me away from here … why the hell not?

I tilt my chin in his direction. “What about you?”

“Dad works for the hospital, and since this is a fundraiser for the hospital …” He leaves the rest of the sentence hanging in the air, taking a sip from his own glass. I know what he means. Just like me, he’s here for hisfamily.The only thing I’m not sure about is—is he doing it because he has to or because he wants to?

And if he’s here for his family that also means …

I turn halfway in my chair, letting my eyes slide over the crowd, looking for her dark hair.

“She’s with a date, you know.”

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