Page 10 of Sins (The Sins Trilogy 1)
Chapter Four
Anthony
Music comes thumping out of the house. Even the lawn under my shoes seems to vibrate. Caleb is lucky his neighbors aren’t pulling guns on him for the noise. The good people of Tempérane believe in firm and clear communication.
A rotund idiot with a huge zit on his nose blocks my way at the door. “You got an invite?” His words come out loud and slurred, his breath stinking of cheap beer.
I cock an eyebrow. “Do I need one?”
He sways back and forth. “Everyone does.”
“Not Anthony Blackwood,” I say coldly.
“What?” He blinks, then peers at me. “No way. Tony?”
“Don’t be presumptuous. Only my family and friends can call me Tony.”
He flushes. “Right. Anthony.” He shoves a hand in my direction. “I’m Bobby. Bobby Darton. We went to Southdowns Elementary together.”
His name isn’t familiar, but I recognize his family. His father works for mine. I don’t take his hand.
Clearing his throat, he drops it. “I thought you were in Europe. Or up at Princeton.”
“You thought wrong.” I slide by him and walk inside.
The party is already ripe with one too many drunks. People who can’t hold their liquor really shouldn’t indulge. Disgusted, I scan the crowd.
Some girls stumble toward me with loopy grins. They’re uniformly tall, leggy, with big tits and bottle-blond hair. They flutter mascara-caked eyelashes, drawing my attention to their alcohol-hazed eyes, then lean forward to show me cleavages encased in dresses that are too tight.
“Hey, handsome,” one says, her voice too loud and brassy. “Wanna join us? We’re gonna have fu-unnn.” They lift their drinks and grin.
One of them hops a bit, making her tits bounce. “What do you say?”
Attractive, if you like plastic and no depth. I turn away, uninterested.
“Oh, come on!” another one says, slurring her words. “Don’t be lame!”
Morons.
I march forward. Too many people are barely standing upright. More than half are underage, and most likely treating this as a God-given opportunity to overindulge. It’s the last place someone like Ivy should be with that scantily dressed girl. Drunk boys do stupid shit.
I move around purposefully, looking for her. When people don’t get out of my way fast enough, I just shove through. But I don’t see her.
Damn it.Ivy isn’t anywhere on the first floor or the yard or the pool. Did she go upstairs?
Fuck.
“Hey, Tony! You decided to come,” Harry calls out to me, raising two plastic cups. “I was getting this for Danny, but you can have it instead.”
He pushes one of the cups at me, and I take it out of reflex.
“Can’t party sober,” he says, like he’s telling me the greatest secret of the universe.
I stare at the dark liquid dubiously. “What’s in it?”
“Cranberry and vodka. It’s fantastic.”
I take a sip, then make a face. “I can’t believe you drink this.” The vodka tastes cheap—no smoothness at all.
