Page 40 of The Worst Kind of Promise
Awkward tension bobs between us before guilt eclipses me, and a sigh precedes my response. “Sorry. I’m not really in the mood for talking.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” he teases, brushing his pinky toe against my ankle.
His touch doesn’t have the same effect that Kit’s does. It’s not life-altering and electric. It doesn’t make my heart trip or my nerves spike. It’s…unwanted.
I don’t want to drag this conversation out. I don’t want him to think I’m interested. I’d make a beeline for the house if that was a socially acceptable way to escape a situation.
The stranger reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small baggie of God knows what. Either he’s as dumb as a doorknob, or he doesn’t understand social cues. He’s about as persistent as the wedgie I’m getting from my bottoms right now.
“I think you could use this.” He shakes the mysterious thing in his hand, and I credit my curiosity to my shortage of sensibility—thank you, Kit.
What looks like white powdered sugar swishes around in the bag.
“What is that?” I ask, though deep down I think I have a very clear idea of what he’s offering me.
“A pick-me-up. Something to help you have some fun.”
My spine snaps straight, the cadence of my heart speeding up. I might not be a big party animal, but I’m a college student. I know what drugs look like. I try to steer clear of them because the thought of being out of control terrifies me, but I’ve known plenty of peers who swear by Adderall before midterms.
I can’t believe I’m actually considering his offer. The all-consuming pain from my talk with Kit continues to chafe me, to rub my emotions raw.
“Whatis it?”
He opens it, dangling my ecstasy escape in front of me like a carrot on a stick. “A little friend of mine named Molly.”
My brain misfires. Molly? Dear God. The only “hard” drug I’ve ever done was marijuana, and that was only because I accidentally ate a pot brownie at a party once. I then spent the rest of the night curled up on the bathroom floor, having the worst trip of my life. I made a promise to myself to never dabble in drugs ever again.
But here I am—at a fork in the road. The high road tells me to distance myself, to confront my emotions in a healthy way. The low road—which looks very appealing right now—tells me to take the drugs, stop feeling, and forget about Kit Langley. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad idea. I deserve a break. Plus, I’m surrounded by people. I doubt anything bad will happen to me.
People do Molly all the time, right? And they don’t end up in the emergency room.
I’m walking a tightrope, hundreds of feet up, not sure if there’s water beneath me to break my fall. Maybe falling is the least of my worries. How much more damage could my body sustain after Kit’s death blow? One hit shouldn’t hurt. If I’m lucky, the pain will disintegrate.
“Do you want it or not?”
I nod.
When he holds out the daunting bag, I wet my index finger, dip it into the snowscape of powder, and stick it into my mouth.
15
DON’T DO DRUGS, KIDS
KIT
THIRTY MINUTES EARLIER
Faye Hollings is the closest thing I have to infinity right now. I want to stay in her arms until my body memorizes every touch, every indent of smooth, pliable flesh. I want to hear her voice on repeat in my mind, be able to pinpoint her raspy inflections in a faceless crowd. I want to douse myself in her peachy scent, drag it through my nostrils, bottle it up whenever I need to revisit that warm familiarity that lies within her very being.
I can’t get enough of her. And even though I know we shouldn’t be doing this, sneaking around is insanely hot. The thought of kissing her around a darkened corner, where anyone could stumble upon us. The thought of clamping my hand over her fuck-me lips when she comes loud enough to alert the neighbors. The thought of making her ride my face when we’re pressed up against the bathroom door, all while there’s a line of people waiting outside. I’ve never felt desire this strong, this seismic before.
I haven’t been able to get our sexcapade from yesterday out of my head. Every time I close my eyes, I’m transported back to the bedroom, and my cock convulses when I think about the way she cried my name, the sounds our combined arousal made with the accentuators of slapping skin, how she came so hard she soaked my dick and the sheets beneath her.
I’m in public right now. I don’t need to be sporting a half chub.Especiallynot around her brother. I haven’t seen Faye all day. Then again, I’ve been busy helping the guys set up for the party. People are slowly starting to file in.
She’s probably getting ready upstairs, slipping into a nanoscopic bikini, running lotion up her long, tan legs. I want to be the one on my knees for her, lathering shea butter over her flawless skin, watching as she tips her head back blissfully, how her top shifts just enough to give me a view of the underswells of her breasts. Jesus, I need help.
I’m about to head inside to look for Faye when Hayes stops me, a pack of beer hugged underneath his arm.
