Page 96 of Riot Rules
I set my jaw, glaring at him. I think about hitting him, just belting him as hard as I can and running inside, but then I cool down a little. For once, he hasn’t done anything to deserve my ire. He’s rolled with the punches—first Wren bailing, then me losing my temper with my father and demanding we leave, and now this. It’s reasonable that he might want to know what the fuck is going on. I just…I can’t bring myself to tell him.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Look. Please. I don’t ask for much. Can you just come inside and follow my lead?”
“No explanation? None whatsoever?”
I shake my head.
He flares his nostrils, and I think he’s going to be stubborn—whenisn’the stubborn?—but then the sharpness in his eyes disappears and he shrugs. “Alright. Fair enough. S’pose I don’t have anything better to do.”
God love him. I’m gonna owe the bastard for this. Inside the contemporary, sleek house that Presley directed us to, the party is in full swing. We’re definitely in the right place. Red solo cups. Collegiate football jerseys. Bad fucking music. There are people everywhere, and I don’t recognize a single one.
“I take it we’re looking for Carrie,” Pax says. “You might as well at least confirmthat.”
I nod reluctantly.
“Okay. We find the redhead, we find Mendoza, right?” Before I can agree with his logic, he cups his hands around his mouth and screams, “PRESLEY!”
The music thumps on, but across the living room, a sea of people stop their conversations and gape at us. Pax has been splashed all over billboards from Times Square to Tokyo. He’s aggressively walked down some of the most famous catwalks in the world. He does not give a shit when people look at him. I, on the other hand, am fairly averse to the experience. I wince under the weight of all those eyes, but my friend grins, yelling at the top of his voice again.“PRESLEY MARIA WITTON CHASE! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?”
The strangers in the living room exchange confused looks. Presley Maria Witton Chase isn’t a name a person forgets once they hear it…but no one here seems to have heard it. And then there’s a tall guy coming toward us in a navy-blue bomber jacket, and he’s smiling, and his hair is fucking perfect, and I justknowthat this is the prick Carina has gone and fallen in love with.
“Hey guys.” He grins at us both. “It’s Pax, right? Pres described you a little before she left.”
“She’s gone?” Pax looks irritated.
“Yeah, she went this weird shade of green when she realized who she was talking to, and then she started hyperventilating. She actually had a bit of a meltdown.” The guy with the perfect chocolate waves and the perfect chocolate eyes laughs. “I felt bad for her, so I drove her back to the school. She was a little tipsy. Started crying. For real, I don’t think she’s even gonna remember most of this tomorrow.”
Pax narrows his eyes at the guy. “And you are? Pres’ boyfriend?”
“Oh no, man.” He laughs easily, holding out his hand to Pax, grinning like he’s Ryan fucking Gosling or something. “I’m Andre. I’m Carina’s boyfriend.”
There. What did I say? I fuckingknewit. Where does he get off with this fucking boyfriend talk, though? No way they’re already serious enough to be trading boyfriend/girlfriend titles. What am I saying? I actually have no idea how serious they are, or how long they’ve been seeing each other. I know nothing about their relationship, and that is galling as fuck.
Pax turns to me, wide-eyed. “Would you look who it is?” He smirks suggestively. “Andre. Carina’s boyfriend. This is Dashiell,” he says, turning back to Andre. “Carina’s ex.”
Andre’s friendly, Labrador-level enthusiasm does not falter. He’s still beaming, unperturbed, when he offersmehis outstretched hand next. “Hey, dude. Nice to meet you. I didn’t know Carrie had an ex in town. She hasn’t mentioned you.”
I shake his hand up and down, numb to my core. If this were a cartoon, the guy would have just taken a knife and spliced me open from stem to sternum; my guts would be a wet, red splat of gore at my feet. He’s completely oblivious to what he’s just done, but I am so utterly incapacitated that there’s no way I can fight this person now.
She hasn’t mentioned you.
That one sentence seals the deal.
If Carrie was still even remotely conflicted over me in any way, wouldn’t she have mentioned some past heartbreak to a new love interest? Wouldn’t my name have been mentioned in passing? But no. This sweet, seemingly nice person had no clue I even existed until a second ago, which means that I don’t matter anymore. Carrie’s moved on. She’s not in pain anymore. She’s forgotten the hurt and the upset I caused her, and she’s found someone who I already know is going to treat her right.
Andre says something about Carrie having to leave hours ago to help out a friend. He gestures over his shoulder, pointing a thumb in the direction of the keg I can see out in the back yard. “You guys want a beer? It’s pretty weak domestic shit, but I don’t mind it. There are a couple of cases of a local IPA floating around somewhere, too.”
“I love a good IPA.” Pax rubs his hands together, looking around for the cases in question, but I lay a hand on his shoulder.
“That’s really decent of you to offer, but I’m afraid we have to get going actually. We only swung by on our way home to see if Pres needed a lift.”
Andre nods. I kid you not, it looks like he’s sincerely disappointed that we’re not going to stay and hang out with him. “Aww well. Never mind. Maybe next time. Actually, hey, wait here a sec.” He ducks off down a hallway.
Pax thumps me in the arm. “Why you gotta nix hangtime with my new best friend?”
“I swear to god, I willkillyou—”
Andre reappears with two bottles of beer. He presses them into our hands, nodding happily. “There you go. Two for the road. Hope I get to see ya again soon, boys. Oh, what’s up, James. Yo! Hold up! I’m coming.” He looks back to Pax and me, clapping us gently on our shoulders. “Seriously, boys. You’re welcome here anytime. Drive safe, okay?” He bounds off after his friend, disappearing into the crowd.
