Page 39 of Ecstasy
I glance at my phone after I lock the Jeep. I’ve only been here once before. The night I met Zara at some party here. I was just trying to buy weed from the dude who lives here. I know him, but not well.
All I do know is that he better not have his hands on my girl when I walk into that house.
I rub my palms on my pants, walking up to the front door. I can’t stand to be in this subdivision longer than necessary. I want to get in and get out. This is where all the shit went down last fall, when my life almost went to shit because me and Eli made a stupid decision.
But I don’t particularly want to think about it, so I put it out of my mind.
I have several texts from Zara.
Her:Hurry up, handsome.
Her:I can see the music!!
Her:Where r u?
Clearly, she’s drunk off her ass. It’s amazing, how I want to kill her and save her all at the same time. I’m not sure which I’ll end up doing tonight.
Sighing, I shove the phone in my back pocket and knock on the door.
It swings open almost immediately, and a woman that isn’t Zara grins at me, a plastic cup in her hand. I don’t know who she is, and she looks older than a typical college student. She’s got curly brown hair and a heavily lipsticked smile.
“Welcome, partner,” she says, clearly drunk, and steps back to let me inside.
I nod, not returning her smile.
Still Be Friendsby G-Eazy is playing. There are tons of people in this little house, packed in tight, and the smell of tobacco and marijuana assaults my senses.
Someone tries to put a drink into my hand, but I don’t take it, pushing past them.
It doesn’t take me long to find Zara.
She’s on top of the coffee table, twirling round and round, her arms spread wide. She’s wearing a black mini skirt and a hot pink, short top that shows off her pale, taut stomach, heels accentuating her slim legs. Her head is tilted back, her long, white-blonde braids down her back.
People are standing around the table clapping and cheering as she spins faster and faster.
One dude with short, bleached-blonde hair and a cartoon character on his shirt isn’t clapping, and he’s watching Zara like a hawk.Jax.Where everyone else is chatting to each other, rubbing shoulders and laughing as they clap, Jax only has eyes for her. I can’t really read his expression, but I’m happy to see his eyes are on her face, not her body.
He seems to actually give a fuck about her. Ironic, because I’m pretty sure she gets all of her drugs from him. One day, I’ll need to do something about this dude.
But that day is not today. I just want to get my girl and get out of here.
I look back at Zara’s long and lean body, sexy as hell, the muscles in her pale thighs flexing as she spins. She has scars, just under that miniskirt.
I don’t know what they’re from. One night, I trailed my fingers over them in the dark when she was naked in my bed. She rolled over, out of my grasp. I’ve never asked her about them.
I’m not sure I want to know about that kind of pain, when she’s still clearly in so much.
She’s humming, I realize as I get closer, shouldering my way through her enraptured audience. A few people look up at me, someone whistles, but I ignore them, my eyes on her.
The dude with the cartoon shirt is beside me and he says, without taking his eyes off Zara, “Hey, Alex.” He says it loud enough for me to hear over all the people in here and the music blasting, but not loud enough to draw attention. Although being the tallest fucker in this room does that all on its own.
I can’t really read his tone, so I just say, “Jax,” with a head nod.
I glance at him before I turn back to Zara. She has her eyes closed, and the table isn’t high enough to give anyone a view of underneath her skirt. But still, I don’t like all these people staring at her. I don’t know what the hell she’s on, but I want to pick her up off the fucking table and take her back to my Jeep. Something tells me Jax won’t let me do that without causing a problem.
He’s short and stocky though. I could easily take him. Still, I’d rather not cause another scene just yet. Watching Rihanna’s sobbing family tomorrow morning at the funeral will be enough of a scene to last me a lifetime. Thinking of it makes my fists clench, dread twisting my stomach into knots.
Goddammit, why couldn’t she have died in someone else’s fucking pool?
