Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 175455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 877(@200wpm)___ 702(@250wpm)___ 585(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 175455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 877(@200wpm)___ 702(@250wpm)___ 585(@300wpm)
I’m able to look on the bright side, but as I’m walking down the stairs, I’m hit by a swell of dread. I keep my head down, hoping I can find Grace and slip out unnoticed.
Unfortunately, it becomes apparent that in order to get to the kitchen where I see her sitting on a stool next to Jake, I have to cross the living room full of teenagers. I don’t know how long I was upstairs asleep, but if Carter came down without me, they probably have ideas—
Before I can even complete the thought, Shayne smirks at me and starts golf-clapping. I swallow down a lump of embarrassment, but I can’t keep my eyes from darting around the room to see who else might have noticed, who else might be judging me.
Everybody. That seems to be the answer. Cartwright is smirking, red Solo cup in hand. Erika has her arms crossed. She’s not clapping, she goes the more direct route and says, “Whore.”
My stomach sinks and I head for the kitchen, trying to escape the lewd comments and additional mocking. Trying not to look for Carter. If I see him smirking and enjoying this, I won’t even be able to hold onto a shred of a silver lining. This will be all regret and nothing nice, and I don’t want to deal with that right now.
As if summoned by my thoughts, Carter steps into view. I didn’t see him because he was in the kitchen with Grace and Jake, not in the living room with everyone else. He frowns, glancing around at his friends clapping, making comments, and generally being assholes, then he sees me and understands why.
“All right, that’s enough of that,” he tells them.
“Hey, we shouldn’t be surprised,” Cartwright says, smirking and lifting his chin in Carter’s direction. “We all know Zoey the ho gets around.”
“Nope,” Carter replies, shaking his head. “We’re done calling her that. Knock it off.”
“Aww,” Erika sneers, somewhat playfully—but passive aggressively playful. “Look at Carter, protecting his flavor of the week. How gallant.”
This is more humiliating than I was prepared for. Just coming downstairs after falling asleep makes it so obvious I must have done something with him.
“She must have sucked that dick good, huh?” Shayne says, grinning.
My wide eyes snap to Carter’s accusingly. “You told them?”
Grimacing faintly, Carter says, “Nope. You just did.”
I can’t even look at Grace. I cover my face with my hands, while laughter and taunts fill the room at my back. “Nice one,” they tell him.
“Way to slut it up in my bedroom,” Erika chimes in, reviving the golf clap.
“You know what, Erika,” Carter says, casually. “You’ve sucked my dick, too, so if you’re handing out accolades, make sure to give yourself a pat on the back.” His gaze shifts and he lifts an eyebrow. “Brianna, you wanna talk shit?”
Brianna immediately chirps, “Nope.”
“Well, I ain’t ever sucked your dick,” Clemons states. “I’ll talk all the shit I want.”
“Yeah?” Carter asks. “The way you played tonight, you must be sucking someone’s dick to stay on the team, you slow-ass motherfucker.”
Cartwright barks with laughter. “Oh shit, that’s cold, man.”
Carter wraps an arm around me, pulling me close for a hug and looking down at me. “You okay?”
I can’t entirely contain my surprise. Blinking a couple times, I nod uncertainly.
Then, right here in front of everyone, he bends his head and kisses me. It’s no long, lingering kiss like the ones he gave me in the bedroom, but when he pulls back, settles his arm around my shoulders, and looks back at his friends, no one says another unkind word. No more snide comments, no more teasing. They all fall silent, then slowly return to their own conversations.
It feels like I have heartburn, though. I can’t believe everyone in this house now knows I did something so intimate with Carter. They don’t just speculate or assume, they know. I’m afraid to look at Grace. This is exactly what I tried to warn her about—these parties are not for us. These guys are not for us. In under two weeks, I went from “I’ve never even French kissed” to Carter Mahoney’s personal sex toy. Twice now, I’ve had to bargain with him for basic human decency. Now he’s kissing me in public, and I’m not sure that’s a good thing. I’m not his now. I don’t belong to him just because I turned a potentially traumatic experience into something I could live with.
God, I need to get out of here. I need to leave this demented place and never come back.
Finally forcing my gaze to Grace, I ask, “Are you okay?”
She doesn’t look as horrified as I expected her to look. The alcohol is probably helping all this insanity go down a little more easily. Dutifully picking up two empty water bottles, she tells me, “I am well hydrated.”