Page 54 of Let Me
I glare at him. He looks like he skateboards very poorly and smokes far too much pot in his spare time.
“She isnotyour girl.” I feel anger rushing into my veins. I look to Riley again. “Where are your clothes?” I ask her through gritted teeth.
She frowns up at me, but then she points behind me. I turn and see a dresser at my back, jeans and a t-shirt piled on top.
I hand them to her. “Get dressed.”
“Man!” the guy says as Riley pulls her top on, and then her jeans. I hand her socks and shoes—knock-off Vans, because of course they are—and when she’s ready, she stands unsteadily to her feet.
“What a fucking cock block!”
I don’t bother responding to the guy. If I do, I might punch him in the face. Instead, I wrap my arm around Riley’s shoulder and get her out of there. This place is disgusting.
“I-I don’t know what I was thinking—” she starts to say. Her words aren’t quite slurred, but her steps are definitely not even. She would not pass a roadside sobriety test.
“You were thinking that you’re single and this is a party and why not get drunk as fuck?” I smile down at her, try to block out the memory of her on that idiot’s lap.
She shakes her head as we head down the stairs and I realize two things:
I have no idea where the fuck I plan to take her and
Something is bothering her.
It’s obvious. She looks on the verge of tears. I feel her shoulders tremble beneath me. But in this crowd with this music and the peels of laughter and people banging on tables and some chick calling after me, this is not the place to talk.
I open the car door for her, trying to shelter her against the rain—fruitless, really—and then run around to the driver’s side. I peel out of the muddy parking lot, make a mental note to run through a car wash tomorrow morning. Or get someone to come to the condo.
I hate dirty cars.
The music is on low—Soen—and the only sound is Riley’s steady breathing. Steady, but audible. Like she’s scared. Or trying not to cry.
The highway is, unsurprisingly, fucking packed. It’s a Friday night. We come to a stand-still, and quickly. The party house was in Grove, a five-minute drive from the downtown core, but that five minutes is now going to take us fifty. And I still don’t know where I’m going. I can’t take her to my condo…can I?
She’s my brother’s ex.
They just broke up.
“How’d you end up at that party?” I ask her. The rain has passed for now, but lightning still streaks the sky. I roll down our windows to let some of the night in. I rest my forearm on the windowsill, glance her way. She’s staring straight ahead, her own scrawny arms wrapped tight around her body.
“Morgan invited me. Her parents own the place.”
Then I recognize the name, when she says it.
I guess, then, the better question is: Why the fuck was Benji there? But Benji is always where a party is. And if there’s undergrad girls there, he’sdefinitelythere. I wonder if he expected high schoolers, too. I feel the unexpected urge to break his jaw when I think about him touching Riley.
But he didn’t.
Some stoner loser did that instead.
“Morgan is your friend, right? That came over sometimes?” She seems surprised I remember the redhead, her eyes snapping to mine, but she nods.
That’s not what’s bothering her though. I try again. “I heard about you…” I trail off, glance at her out of the corner of my eye, try to gauge her reaction. “You and Jack.” I don’t saymy brotherbecause I don’t want to make this weird. I’m surprised she even came with me. And I’m more surprised she hasn’t asked me where we’re going. She’s always been the quiet type, but not meek. My brother hated it. But I think some sick part of him loved it, too.
I know I did.
Finally, she looks at me. I hold her gaze at the red light. But she doesn’t say anything. She only nods. I wonder if she’s that upset about it. I always thought my brother loved her, in his own weird way, far more than she loved him. Maybe I just hoped that was true. Maybe I just wanted it to be so. This was a bad idea. I should have left her to it. She’s getting over a breakup. She deserves to be drunk and happy, and not pouting in my car.
“Are you okay?” I ask anyway, tearing my eyes away from her, looking at the road.
