Page 50 of You Were Never Not Mine

“The girls love this song.” He makes the switch, the heavy bass making the entire room vibrate, and he’s not lying. All the women throw their hands up in the air and start shaking their asses to the beat.

I watch them, wishing my dick would find at least one of them semi-interesting when I do a double take, positive that I’m hallucinating but no. It’s her.

Sin.

She’s with her silly little friend who let that one guy grope her in public, and the two of them are dressed like utter tramps. Some of the girls give them side-eye as they push through the crowd, laughing once they walk past, and I can’t help but feel a glimmer of pity for them. They are obviously first-year students experiencing this weekend, and it shows.

I track her with my gaze, drinking her in. She’s wearing some whorish red dress that she keeps tugging on, clearly uncomfortable. I hate how it shows off her shoulders and tits and legs. How the tight fabric clings to her ass and those shoes make her look like a streetwalker. The garish gold straps that wind up her slender calves—tasteless.

The women may be looking at them with disgust, but the men are blatantly checking them out—Sin in particular. An unfamiliar feeling rises within me when one of the men approaches her and asks her to dance. She doesn’t refuse him because of course she doesn’t. Instead, she smiles and nods and lets him take her hand. He pulls her into the center of the room, surrounded by his bros, and they begin to dance. She moves easily to the beat, her expression faltering when he pulls her in close. He rests his hands on her hips and I want to rip them off his body. He tugs her even closer, his hips thrusting like he’s trying to fuck her and that’s it.

I see red.

There is no thought when I make my way through the crowd, pushing past people as if they’re made of air. None of them protest or call out to me—I’m their leader after all—and the jackass dancing with my Sin is oblivious to my rage as I approach them. When she spots me, her eyes go wide, and her lips push together in the sexiest fucking pout I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life. The next thing I know, I’m yanking the asshole away from her. Violently.

“What the fuck, man?” the guy yells, his gaze meeting mine.He shrinks back the moment he realizes who I am. “Oh. Hey. Sorry.”

“Keep your fucking hands off of her.” I’m seething. Furious. I won’t even look at her. It’s like I can’t.

“I didn’t know you two were together!” He throws his hands up, and I swear to God a whimper escapes him. “I’m sorry!”

He’s screaming like a little rat, the fucker. I just glare at him for a moment. The music still plays but no one is dancing. They’re all watching me.

I never lose my cool. I don’t try and start fights at a party and I definitely don’t haul people around like I’m going to knock heads together. I’m not that type of person. Any issues I might have, I handle with dignity.

Tonight, I have lost all dignity, thanks to one silly little girl who makes me feel things I don’t understand. And when I turn to finally look at her, I see that she appears as angry as I feel. Good.

This ought to be interesting.

Chapter Twenty-Four

SINCLAIR

The past

We got invited to a party and I’m trying to play it cool, but it’s so hard. The seniors are holding the gathering out at the ruins, the old building that burned like over a hundred years ago or whatever. It’s where they have the annual Halloween party, one of my friends told me. That’s happening at the end of the month. I hope I can go. Feels like a good sign that we got invited to this party, which is just a casual night of drinking. That’s how they described it anyway. We all went to Lolo’s dorm room and got ready together, all of us lamenting our wardrobe choices and worried the boys would see right through us.

Which they’re going to do. We’re freshmen and we look like it. As we arrive, I see the older girls watching us, their expressions incredulous as we approach. One of them even yells, “What areyoudoing here?”

“We were invited,” Lolo tells her, earning a few laughs forher response. Lolo is our unspoken leader. Her actual name is Lauren, but she hates it, so she insists we all call her Lolo, which she claims is a childhood nickname. I feel silly calling her Lolo but whatever.

We climb the steps, entering the burned-out shell of a building that has no roof but somehow still has walls. There’s a massive ice chest sitting in the room, the lid open and lots of beer cans nestled in ice inside. We all take one, including me, and I open it, the liquor inside hissing and I lean forward, taking a sip of the foam that’s already spilling over.

Oh God, that tastes so gross.

Choking it down, I clutch the beer can and watch my friends talk casually, their eyes in constant motion. Looking for a boy? I’m guessing yes. That’s Lolo’s main goal. She wants a boyfriend and she wants him to be older because she’s sick of being treated like a baby.

Direct quote.

“Oh, here comes August Lancaster!” Lolo starts hopping up and down, her excitement palpable. “He’s the ultimate catch.”

I almost snort out loud at her words. Is she for real? August is the freaking worst.

“He’s so good-looking,” says another one of my friends.

“Right? I mean look at his face. And his lips! Swoon.”

The face that’s always sneering? The mouth that’s always saying crappy things to me? Give me a break.

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