Page 20 of G.O.D.S Omnibus

4- Being fostered by Brennan’s parents.

5- Brennan being a God.

Chapter Seven

Jolie

Sinclair, Danika, Joshua, and Jimmie arrive at the party together. Big Dan, the security guy I met earlier, lets them through easily when I flaunt him my barely there red bikini that peeks out from under my loose-fitting summer dress.

Danika is talking nonstop about how excited she is, in contrast to Joshua, who hasn’t said anything, but his eyes bug out of his head every time a half-naked girl walks past.

Sinclair looks sexy as fuck in her pink bikini, her long strawberry blonde hair falling past her shoulders in large curls. Jimmie just looks like Jimmie, or how I pictured he would look, wearing an obnoxious Hawaiian shirt along with fluro-green board shorts.

We find the stereo system first, and I reprogram it to stop playing the depressing music the guys have chosen. It’s supposed to be a party, not a rock concert.

“Go have fun,” I say to Danika. She shrieks, pulling poor Joshua along with her. “Want to find the drinks?” I ask the others over the current rock song playing; how the lead singer still has a voice blows my mind.

They nod and we make our way through the crowd. Sinclair bumps into a friend on the way, so I tell her to have fun and find me if she needs anything. Jimmie dances his way onto a makeshift dance floor, and I stand and watch for a minute. I wave, and as he waves back, I head off to the kitchen.

Red Solo cups are stacked on the kitchen island; I take one and move across to where the spirits are lined up. Spying the tequila, I pour a decent shot and throw it back—the liquid lines my throat, the burn welcome. I repeat the process, even though I know no matter how much I consume, nothing more than the burn will happen. I just don’t get drunk. I have tried, but just as I start to think I feel something, it vanishes.

The squeak of footsteps on the wet floor alerts me that someone is behind me.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” a deep voice says.

I spin around, noting that the guy is good-looking in a preppy sort of way, his golden blonde hair styled to perfection, his body ripped.

“And what a shame that has been.” He doesn’t pick up on my sarcasm.

I turn back to the bench, brushing him off—one thing players hate is being ignored.

A strong Jack Daniels will get me in the mood. I pour the amber liquid into my red cup, adding some ice cubes from a bucket in the sink. I can feel Mr Preppy’s eyes following me around the kitchen.

“Where did you come from?” he asks, stepping up close to my back.

“From here. I live here at the Myers house.”

His body goes rigid for a split second, which makes me think he and Boston must have some kind of beef.

“Want to go out by the pool?” The damn fool smiles like a kid in a candy store.

“No,” I say, walking away. “Maybe find me later,” I throw over my shoulder.

One thing I have never been able to explain is my strong sixth sense. Feelingtheirglares stab me in the side, I struggle to ignore the urge to turn and acknowledge them.

I have felt it all week, their eyes following me, and it gives me an overwhelming sense of security. Which is stupid—I don’t know them, and I’m still on the fence as to if I even like them. I sure as shit don’t trust them.

Shrieks of laughter fill the air, girls running from guys with water guns.

I wander around the party. I haven’t bothered to attend one in a very long time—what’s the point? Half-naked girls trying to get a boy’s attention, drunk boys becoming predators. To top it off, every time I try to get some kind of buzz going, it doesn’t even last that long. I swear I must have a super metabolism that soaks up the alcohol as soon as I drink it. Who am I kidding? I still love to party because what else is there to do other than try to kill myself with alcohol poisoning in an attempt to get my stupid ass drunk?

An hour passes and people watching becomes boring. The Gods sit in their corner, half-naked girls vying for their attention. Laughn is the only one without a girl perched on his lap. Instead, his pet for today is seated on the ground beside him, wearing a bikini and a dog collar with big, studded spikes. I don’t see the appeal or what she gets out of it, but she isn’t being held against her will, so whatever kink floats her boat is okay with me.

Boston’s ice-blue eyes meet mine. A grin pulls at his lips as his hand wraps around his lap-girl’s waist, and she leans back into him. He whispers something in her ear and she giggles. Laughn motions for me to join them, but I shake my head, taking a sip of whatever concoction Jimmie made me the last time I passed him and the group of guys he knows from school. I look towards the others. Marlow seems oblivious to what’s going on, leaning back in the expensive sun lounge, a girl straddling his lap reverse cowgirl.

The same girl from the first party is curled up in Case’s lap, and her friend sits between Davis’s legs. I shake my head at them; they should have run and never returned after the last party.

“Body shots!” someone screams, drawing out the second word.

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