Page 1 of Shattered Stars
1
Tristan
I’mhigh as a fucking kite; all the adrenaline and adulation from that match still thumping though my veins, desperate to go somewhere, fizzing so strongly I can feel the ends of my fingertips practically singing with magic.
Usually I’d pump all this fucking energy right between some girl’s thighs. Hell, on a night like this, I’d fuck girl after girl, not giving a shit whether that breaks their hearts and hurts their feeble goddamn feelings.
But things are different now.
So different, I hardly recognize myself.
I’m not interested in just any girl.
There’s only one I want to unleash all this energy on, and I’m staying as far away from her as I fucking can.
That leaves me with only one alternative. An alternative that has the blood leaping in my veins with excitement.
I kick the half-dressed girl perched on my knee off my lap and rock up onto my heels, scanning the party.
Spencer’s not here, but there’s enough noise from outside to know the party’s spilled out into the gardens.
I crash through the dancers, ignoring the people that call my name and brushing away hands that try to grab me.
I find him leaning against a tree, staring into space, far away from all the other revelers who are dancing and singing and fucking.
He’s no longer clutching the trophy and he doesn’t look like a man who just won his team – damn his school and his country – the most important match of all our careers. He looks defeated.
“Hey,” I say, jerking my chin at him and catching his attention. “You want to get out of here?”
He swings his gaze around slowly.
“Where?” he asks.
“The warehouse.”
Something in his eyes gleams immediately and he nods his head.
“Just us?” he adds.
I glance at all the drunk fools in the garden and falling out of the common room. It’s mostly losers and hangers-on. Most of the other jocks and cheerleaders have disappeared, probably off fucking each other somewhere.
“Yeah, just us,” I say, smacking him on the shoulder.
We take my car, parked in the underground parking lot, even though Spencer hisses about the fact it’s not built for a giant like him.
“It’s faster than your truck, man,” I say, revving the engine and making the machine roar. “And I want to get there quickly, you know.”
He does. His body’s jerking and twitching with untapped energy just like mine.
We dissect the match as I speed us along the dark country lanes towards the glowing city in the distance, debating how wecould have played things better, congratulating ourselves on the plays we nailed, discussing how we’ll do things differently in the future. Although it’s mostly me doing the talking, he sits there grunting his agreement or shaking his head.
“They never stood a fucking chance,” I say with a grin. “We had those fuckers from the start.”
Spencer nods again but doesn’t smile. He seems lost in his thoughts.
“What’s with you?” I ask. Usually, I wouldn’t be able to get him to shut up about this stuff. He’d be gloating his fucking head off. Instead, he stares straight ahead, out of the window. “You got knocked on the head or something?”
“Summer went for the Pig Girl this evening.”
