Page 77 of Did They Break You

He’s the only reason I’m at this party.

And as I circle my fingers around the bottle, close the cabinet and hop down from the counter, my Chucks thudding on the floor, I’m glad I’m here.

I give a shallow bow as some guys from the football team and a few of their girlfriends clap and holler for me, sitting at the table in the dining room.

“I could’ve gotten that,” Cort says, his voice deep and low.

I roll my eyes as I meet his. He’s sitting at the head of the table, his arm hooked around the back of his chair, beer bottle in one hand, his other resting on the dark wooden table. It’s the informal dining room. The Adlers have an official onethat’s long and narrow with dim lights and a rectangular table covered with a burgundy runner that could seat like, sixteen people. I’ve got much the same at my own house.

But it’s never held that many people. No one but me and Silas, when he decides to grace me with his presence.

I hold up the bottle, shaking it a little, whiskey sloshing up the sides. “I think I did fine,” I tell Cort with a small smile.

He rolls his own eyes, mocking me as he takes a pull from his beer, his lip ring clinking against the rim of the bottle. For a second, as everyone gets back to drinking and smoking pot and making out, Cortland holds my gaze and I don’t move.

His eyes are lined with red, hooded and a little unfocused. I glance at the table, reluctantly breaking our eye contact, and see a few empty bottles lined up together. One has a joint in it. Cortland is a little high, and it makes me feel nervous.

In a good way.

Since our time together has been so limited, I’ve never really seen him let go. Always so easygoing and calm, I’ve often wondered what he’d be like if he just… lost it. Just like I’ve often wondered why my brain is so fucked up. Maybe all that horror has gone to my head.

Breaking me from my thoughts, someone starts yelling at the table, “Shots, shots, shots!” pounding their fists in time with the words. I see Chase is leading the cry. He snags a bottle of rum from the center of the drinks on the table, and Brinklin, across from him, pushes the plastic shot cups his way.

Chase is a little shit. He treats girls poorly, slaps their ass and grabs their tits in the hallway, crowds them up against lockers. I don’t know why Cortland is friends with him.

“Come sit with me, baby.” Cort’s words stir something in me. He doesn’t raise his voice, just jerks his chin to his lap from across the room.

No one even looks up.

“Let’s do this shit,” Brinklin, across from Chase, is saying, raking a hand through his brown hair. Then, sensing his friend isn’t paying attention, he turns to me, where I’m still holding the whiskey Cortland told me about and I wanted to try. “Wanna play,pretty baby?”Brinklin taunts me, arching a brow.

I see Cort’s gaze shoot to his teammate at that nickname.

Then someone knocks into me, sending me flying a few steps. I whirl my head around just as Cort says, “Watch where you’re fucking going.”

Storm Leary, his light blue eyes flashing with amusement as he brings his joint to his lips, inhaling, the cherry glowing bright. “Sorry,” he says, exhaling through his pierced nose, not sounding sorry at all. “I’m kinda fucked up.”

My heart skips a beat as I take him in. Helooksfucked up. His nose looks swollen, there are deep circles under his eyes. I know he’s got a weird home life. The rumors about his family are insane. But then again, him running into me… he’s always kind of a dick, so I’m not entirely surprised.

“Come take shots with us, Remi,” Chase croons as Storm walks around the table, taking a seat as Cort shoots him a glare.

My face flames as I see Chase staring at me. I hold up the whiskey. “No, I’m good. I’m sticking to this.” I toss them all a smile, feel Cortland’s gaze shift to me.

“I don’t wanna tell you again,” he says softly, and his friends whistle, Storm smirking as he gets high.

I’m both annoyed and turned on with Cort’s voice. His command. But maybe this is what I’ve been wanting to see.Him letting go.

Still holding the bottle, I sashay over to the table, trying to remain calm, but my stomach is flipping. Then I plant my assin Cortland’s lap, and he rests a possessive hand on my hip, squeezing me hard enough to hurt.

Just a little.

“Why don’t you slow down, pretty baby?” he whispers against my neck, planting an open mouth kiss just above my collarbone.

A chill runs down my spine.

But I don’t listen.

I don’t slow down.

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