Page 32 of G.O.D.S Omnibus

“Well, who do we have here?” he asks.

I hold back the urge to throat punch the drunk idiot. Instead, I step back, forcing him to take his hands off me.

“Someone who wants to get wasted and have a good time... and you are?”

“Aston.”

Ah, the party host himself. It’s a shame really that someone so good-looking screams fuckboy, though it will serve me well for the night. I hate fuckboys and everything they stand for, which is hypocritical of me since I’m the female equivalent, but I never lie about my intentions or say what guys want to hear.

“So, you’re one of those guys?” I ask, refraining from the eye roll.

“I plead not guilty until I know my crimes.” His playboy smile is kind of adorable, I’ll at least give him that. I do also appreciate that his wild, dark curls don’t seem to be tamed.

“The ‘calls everyone by their last name’ kind of guy.”

He laughs, even though it really isn’t funny.

“So, you know who I am?”

He doesn’t answer my question, which is a typical guy thing to do.

“I wouldn’t go that far. A friend told me about this party and how sketchy you were, and I was down.” He raises a brow and shrugs, not denying my assessment of him.

“How about we get some drinks and find my friends? The party is just getting started.” Aston takes my hand and pulls me further into the yard.

I hadn’t realised the yard went off to the right, away from the main party, but close enough to hear everyone. The crowd is small over here; I can see about half-a-dozen guys sitting at a table laughing. Two girls mingle—one looks so desperate for attention she may start dancing on the table, and the other is perched on a guy’s lap as he wraps his arm around her waist.

They all notice as we approach. The desperate girl looks disappointed, but the other girl is almost baring her teeth—she is protective of these guys and that intrigues me.

“Everyone, I found a friend who wants to get wasted and have some fun,” Aston declares. One seat is vacant at the head of the table, and Aston takes us both to the seat and places me on his lap.

“Does your friend have a name?” one guy asks.

“Jolie,” I state.

Aston introduces his friends. “That is Masters, Bates, Roman, and Smith, his girlfriend Ally, and her friend, who I don’t care enough about to remember her name.”

“I won’t remember any of you after tonight, but nice to meet you.”

I don’t mean it—well, I mean the not remembering them part—and not because I’m wasted, but because I don’t care enoughto try or to give a shit who they are. A few guys laugh at me, and Ally continues to stare me down.

“Ally, get Jolie a drink,” Aston demands. He hasn’t missed the way she is glaring at me.

“Are you fucking kidding me? What’s wrong with her legs?” Ally spits. I notice Smith’s hand dig into her waist. So, Mr Aston is the big dog, enough that another guy would shut his woman up—interesting.

“How about shots?” the one I think is Masters asks.

“I’m down.”

Masters pulls out a bottle of Jägermeister and a bunch of shot glasses, lining them up on the table in front of me. I kinda like being Aston’s guest for the night.

I down three and Aston grabs one and so does Masters. He refills the shot glasses, and the others toss them back. Ally slams a bottle of Jack Daniels down in front of me. At least they seem to have good taste. Someone turns on music; it’s not too loud that we can’t hear each other talk, and the vibe is mellow. I’m not sure what Danika meant by them being sketchy—they all seem nice enough.

“So, Jolie, what school do you go to?” Bates asks. I remember his name since he is sitting directly to my right.

“Northwood Pines. I just started. My foster family enrolled me.”

“Who is the family? Maybe I know them? My friend goes there.” I don’t miss the tone Ally uses.

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