Chapter 36: Sadie: Wallflower

SADIE

I usually pride myself on making decent decisions. I weigh the good against the bad, think about what could go wrong, and try not to make choices I’ll regret five minutes later.

Agreeing to go to a frat party just to spite Trey? Worst decision I’ve made all week. Possibly my entire college career.

That becomes clear the moment Michael pulls up in front of Delta Rho.

Music pounds through the walls hard enough to make the windows tremble, people pour across the lawn with red cups in hand, and smoke keeps billowing through the crowd like somebody set half the place on fire.

Seriously, does nobody care about their lungs anymore?

"Oh, this is gonna be a fun night," Lola quips, poking her head toward the window as Trey pulls in beside us with Walker, Nash, and Cam packed into his car. "You’re going to love it."

Yay, but I don’t share her optimism, mostly because I’m freezing.

Every inch of skin this absolute disaster of an outfit leaves exposed keeps reminding me that nighttime air exists, and I only have myself to blame for agreeing to wear it.

There is still time to leave. Technically.

I could grab Michael’s keys, steal his car, and drive myself straight back to the apartment. Except I can’t drive, and campus cab services stop running at ten, which would have been useful information to remember before agreeing to come all the way out here this late.

So, I’m stuck.

"Ready?" Lola asks once we’re out of the car, studying my face.

My first thought is to say no, but then Trey climbs out of his car.

I straighten a little and give her a reluctant nod. "Yeah. Ready."

Together, we push our way toward the front door, and the music gets louder with every step until the bass is vibrating through my teeth.

"It’s only one night, Sadie. Just one night," I mutter to myself.

As if my body has ever cared what I tell it. There’s a switch inside me that flips in situations like this, and my knees go weak while my heart starts pounding too hard.

The second we make it inside, holy hell.

Everything hits me at once: the music, the heat, alcohol and perfume mixed with smoke, bodies moving in every direction, and colored lights cutting across faces I don’t recognize. For a moment, it feels like I’ve been dropped onto a huge stage without a script.

There have to be at least four hundred people crammed into this house. Maybe more. Whatever used to be the living room has been stripped bare, with couches and tables shoved against the walls to make room for a makeshift dance floor.

People pack the middle of it, jumping, grinding against each other, shouting lyrics I can barely hear over the song.

Some stand in clusters with drinks between them, others are squeezed onto the furniture along the walls, a few are making out, and near the stairs, a group of guys are yelling over what seems like a drinking game.

Lola doesn’t seem bothered by any of it as she catches my arm and steers me farther into the room after Michael and Jordan, leaving me responsible for about six things at once—keeping up with her, making sure nobody steps on my already injured feet, avoiding every shoulder and elbow that comes too close, and resisting the urge to tug my top higher so no one sneaks a peek at my breasts. Not that I’m enough of a big deal for anyone in a house with four hundred people to notice specifically. But still.

By the time we reach the corner where a group of hockey players has gathered—at least I assume they’re hockey players from the Boreal jacket one of them is wearing—I’m sweaty.

One of the jocks looks between Lola and me, his grin widening. "And who are these pretty ladies?"

Dawson answers before either of us can. "Lola and Sadie."

"Hi," I manage, while Lola gives him a much brighter smile and slips into conversation like she’s known him all night.

Then one of the guys looks past us toward the entrance. "Oh, Cap’s here?"

Something shifts around the room, or maybe it only feels that way because my attention goes straight to the door.

Trey comes in with Walker, Nash, and Cam, and even with this many people packed into the house, space opens around them as they move through the crowd.

It reminds me of one of those movie scenes where the popular guy walks into a party with his friends and everyone forgets what they were doing just to watch him.

This isn’t a movie, though, and Trey Mercer really does have that effect on people.

I hate admitting it, but he looks good. Better than good.

He’s wearing a loose white shirt with the top buttons open, a silver cross resting against his chest, and baggy dark trousers sitting low on his waist. Rings cover his fingers, and his hair has gone messy around the edges, dark curls falling over his forehead and making the whole thing even worse for me.

If only the personality matched the packaging. Telling me he never hooked up with Paige doesn’t change the fact that he’s still a condescending jerk.

"Cap!" someone near us calls as Trey reaches the group. "Look who finally decided to bless the party."

Another laughs. "Thought you were too important for us now."

Trey glances around. "I am. You’re welcome."

A few of the guys laugh as his attention lands on me and lingers just long enough to make me aware of my outfit again. Then someone hands him a beer, and he turns away.

Lola finally unhooks her arm from mine. "What do you want to drink?"

I hesitate. "A Sprite would be nice."

She makes a face. "Bestie, I don’t know how easy that’ll be to find here, but I’ll get you the closest thing to it."

"Thank you," I say with a pout.

She squeezes my arm before disappearing toward the kitchen, slipping through the crowd without getting shoved once. A couple of guys get waves along the way, and she stops to say something to one before moving on.

Fitting in here seems effortless for her. I sometimes forget that being best friends doesn’t mean we live the same kind of life. Lola goes out, knows people, and can walk into a packed room without looking like she wants to escape through the nearest wall.

Meanwhile, I’m already wondering how long I can stay in this corner before someone notices.

"You gonna stand here all night?"

The voice comes from beside me, loud enough to cut through the music, and I turn to find Michael peering down at me.

His gaze drops straight to my chest and stays there, the smirk on his face making it worse as he looks me over as if he’s entitled to the view. It’s probably supposed to make me feel attractive or flattered or something along those lines, but all I feel is naked.

Funny, Trey looked at me far more shamelessly in my room earlier, his eyes dragging over my tits and legs with enough heat to make me wonder what exactly was going through his head, and I still didn’t feel this exposed.

"Bad leg," I say with a small laugh, shifting my weight carefully. "Guess I’ll have to be a wallflower tonight."

"Wallflower?" he asks, extending the beer in his hand toward me.

I blink at him.

Okay, maybe wallflower was an ambitious word choice for a frat party at eleven p.m. Lesson learned. The whole athletes-don’t-read theory has officially been reinstated.

Also, I hate that the bottle in his hand makes Trey’s warning come barging straight back into my head.

Watch what you’re drinking and who hands it to you.

I wasn’t going to drink beer tonight anyway, especially not one somebody else has already been holding, but Michael feels a lot more suspicious now than he did thirty seconds ago.

Trey Mercer, get out of my head.

"I don’t drink beer," I tell him.

His brow lifts. "Really? So what do you drink? I can make you anything you want."

"Actually, Lola has already—"

Movement near the stairs hijacks my attention, and when I turn, Ezra and Paige are just reaching the bottom.

My stomach twists.

Paige has on some tiny little dress that leaves most of her legs bare, her red hair loose down her back, and she still looks annoyingly gorgeous without seeming like she tried too hard. Ezra’s beside her in dark jeans and a fitted shirt, one arm around her waist as they step away from the stairs.

He stops dead in his tracks when he sees me, his eyes widening enough that I nearly look over my shoulder to check if something more interesting is happening behind me.

Then his gaze moves slowly from my face down the length of me before coming back up, and the double blink that follows makes it clear I’m the one surprising him.