After We Collided (The After Series) (37 page)

“No, what about him?” The mention of his name makes my stomach turn.

“He got arrested, then just got out of jail yesterday,” he explains.

“What? Really? What did he do?” I ask.

“He killed someone,” the redhead answers.

“Oh my God!” I gasp, and everyone begins to laugh. My voice is much louder now that I’m on the verge of being intoxicated.

“He’s just fucking with you; he got pulled over and had some pot on him.” Tristan laughs.

“You are such a dick, Ed,” Steph says, and swats the guy’s arm, but I can’t help but laugh at how quickly I believed him.

“You should have seen your face.” Tristan laughs again.

Another thirty minutes go by with no sign of Hardin. I’m getting slightly annoyed by his absence, but the more I drink, the less I care. Some of that is due to the fact that Molly is within eyeshot, and I can see she’s found herself a blond plaything for
the night. His hand keeps snaking up her thighs, and they’re both so drunk they look sloppy and ridiculous. Still, better him than Hardin.

“Who’s up now? Kyle has obviously had enough,” a guy with glasses says, gesturing to his drunken friend who is lying in the fetal position on the carpet.

I look over at the table lined with cups and put two and two together.

“I’ll play!” Tristan shouts, gently pushing Steph off his lap.

“Me, too!” she chimes in.

“You know you aren’t very good,” Tristan teases her.

“I am, too. You’re actually just mad that I’m better at it than you. But I’m on your team now, so there’s no need to be intimidated.” She bats her lashes playfully, and he shakes his head.

“Tess, you should play!” she yells over the music.

“Um . . . no, I’m okay.” I have no idea what they’re playing, but I know I would be terrible at it.

“Oh, come on! It’ll be fun.” She brings her hands into a praying motion to beg.

“What is it?”

“Beer pong, duh.” She shrugs dramatically before bursting into drunken laughter. “You’ve never played, huh?” she adds.

“No, I don’t like beer.”

“We can use the cherry-vodka-sour mix instead. They literally have gallons made. I’ll grab one from the fridge.” She turns to Tristan. “Line up the cups, boy.”

I want to protest, but at the same time I want to have fun tonight. I want to be carefree and let loose. Beer pong may not be so bad. It can’t possibly be worse than sitting on that couch alone waiting for Hardin to come back from wherever the hell he is.

Tristan begins to put the cups back into a triangular formation that reminds me of bowling pins. “Are you going to play?” he asks.

“I guess. I don’t know how, though,” I tell him.

“Who wants to be her partner?” Tristan asks.

I feel foolish when no one speaks up. Great.
I knew this was—

“Zed?” Tristan says, interrupting my thoughts.

“Er . . . I don’t know . . .” Zed responds, not looking at me. He’s been avoiding me the entire time that I’ve been here.

“Just one round, man.”

Zed’s caramel eyes flicker to me quickly before moving back to Tristan and giving in. “Okay, yeah, one game.” He comes and stands next to me, and we both stay there silently as Steph fills the cups with the alcohol.

“These cups have been used all night?” I ask her, trying to hide my disgust at multiple mouths drinking from them.

“It’s fine.” She laughs. “The alcohol kills the germs!”

I notice Zed smile out of the corner of my eye, but when I look at him, he looks away. Yup, this is going to be a long game.

J
ust toss it across the table into any of those cups, and they have to drink the cup that the ball lands into. Whichever team knocks out all the other’s cups wins,” Tristan explains.

“Wins what?” I ask.

“Uh, nothing. You just don’t get drunk as fast because you don’t have to drink as many cups.”

I’m about to point out that a drinking game where the winner gets
less
to drink seems counter to the party mentality, when Steph shouts, “I’ll go first!” She playfully rubs the small white ball against Tristan’s shirt before blowing on it and tossing it across the table. It bounces off the lip of the front cup before rolling into the cup behind it.

“You want to drink first?” Zed asks.

“Sure.” I shrug and lift the cup.

When Tristan tosses the next ball across the table, he misses. It falls to the floor, and Zed picks it up, dipping it into the lone glass of water on our side. So that’s what that is for. It’s hardly sanitary, but this is a college party . . . what do I really expect?

“Yeah, I’m the one who sucks,” Steph taunts Tristan, who only smiles at her.

“You go first,” Zed instructs.

My first attempt at playing beer—well, cherry-vodka-sour—pong seems to be going well, given that I make my first four shots in a row. My jaw hurts from smiling and giggling at my opponents,
and my blood is singing from the liquor and the fact that I love to be successful at things, even college drinking games.

“You’ve played this before! I
know
you have!” Steph accuses me with a hand on her hip.

“No, I’m just skilled.” I laugh.

“ ‘Skilled’?”

“Don’t be jealous of my killer peer dong skills,” I say, and everyone within a five-foot radius bursts into laughter.

“Oh Lord! Please do not say ‘skills’ again!” Steph says, and I hold my stomach while I try to stop laughing. This game was a better idea than I thought. The large amount of alcohol I’ve consumed helps, and I feel carefree. Young and carefree.

“If you make this, we’ll win,” I say to encourage Zed. The more cups he drinks, the more comfortable he seems to be around me.

“Oh, I’ll make it,” he boasts with a smile. The small ball cuts through the air and lands directly into Steph and Tristan’s last remaining cup.

I squeal and jump up and down like an idiot, but I could care less. Zed claps his hands once, and without thinking, I wrap my arms around his neck in excitement. He stumbles back a little, but his arms reach my waist before we both pull away. It’s a harmless hug—we’ve just won, and I’m excited. Harmless. Steph’s eyes are wide when I glance over at her, making me look around the room for Hardin.

He’s nowhere to be found, but so what if he was? He’s the one who left me alone at this party. I can’t even call or text him, because he has my phone in his pocket.

“I want a rematch!” Steph yells.

I look at Zed with wide eyes. “Want to play again?”

He looks around the room before answering. “Yeah . . . yeah . . . let’s do another.” He smiles.

Zed and I win for the second time, which causes Steph and Tristan both to playfully accuse us of cheating.

“You okay?” Zed asks as the four of us leave the table.

Two games of beer pong are enough for me; I’m sort of intoxicated. Okay, more than sort of, but I feel amazing. Tristan disappears with Steph into the kitchen.

“Yeah, I’m good. Really good. I’m having a great time,” I tell him, and he laughs. The way his tongue rests behind his teeth when he smiles is so charming.

“That’s good! If you excuse me, though, I’m going to go get some air,” he says.

Air
. I would love to breathe in air that isn’t thick with cigarette smoke or the smell of sweat. It’s hot in this house, too hot. “Can I come?” I ask.

“Um . . . I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he replies, looking away from me.

“Oh . . . okay.” My cheeks flame in embarrassment.

I turn to walk away, but he gently grabs my arm. “You can come. I just don’t want to start any trouble between you and Hardin.”

“Hardin isn’t here and I can be friends with whoever I want,” I slur. My voice sounds funny, and I can’t help but giggle at how weird it sounds.

“You’re quite drunk, aren’t you?” he asks and opens the door for me.

“A smittle—a small . . . a little.” I laugh.

The crisp winter air feels amazing and refreshing. Zed and I walk through the yard and end up sitting on the broken stone wall that used to be my favorite spot during these parties. There are only a few people outside because of the cold. One of them is throwing up in the bushes a few yards away.

“Lovely,” I groan.

Zed chuckles but doesn’t say anything. The stone is cold against my thighs, but I have a jacket in Hardin’s car if I need it. Not that I have any idea where he is. I can see his car is still here, but he’s been gone for over . . . well, two beer-pongs-plus.

When I look over at Zed, he’s staring off into the darkness. Why is this so awkward? His hand moves to his stomach, and he appears to be scratching the skin. When he lifts his shirt up slightly, I see a white bandage.

“What’s that?” I ask nosily.

“A tattoo. I just got it done before I came here.”

“Can I see it?”

“Yeah . . .” He shrugs his jacket off and sets it down next to him, then pulls back the tape and bandage.

“It’s dark over here,” he says, pulling out his phone to use the screen as a light.

“Clockwork?” I ask him.

Without thinking, I run my index finger across the ink. He flinches but doesn’t move away. The tattoo is large, covering most of the skin on his stomach. The rest of his skin is covered by smaller, seemingly random tattoos. The new tattoo is a cluster of gears; they appear to be moving, but I’m going to say that’s just the vodka.

My finger is still tracing his warm skin when I suddenly realize what I’m doing. “Sorry . . .” I squeak and jerk my hand away.

“It’s fine . . . but, yeah, it’s sort of like clockwork. See how the skin appears to be torn right here?” He points to the edges of the tattoo, and I nod.

He shrugs. “It’s like when the skin is pulled back, what is underneath is mechanical. Like I’m a robot or something.”

“Whose robot?” I don’t know why I asked that.

“Society’s, I guess.”

“Oh . . .” is all I say. That’s a much more complex answer than
I expected. “That’s actually really cool; I get it.” I smile, my head swimming from the alcohol.

“I don’t know if people will get the whole concept. You’re the only person so far that gets it.”

“How many more tattoos do you want?” I ask.

“I don’t know, I don’t have any more room on my arms, and now my stomach, so I guess I’ll stop when there isn’t any room.” He laughs.

“I should get a tattoo,” I blurt.

“You?” He laughs loudly.

“Yeah! Why not?” I say with joke indignation. Getting a tattoo sounds like a good idea at the moment. I have no idea what I would get, but it sounds fun. Adventurous and fun.

“I think you drank way too much,” he teases, rubbing his fingers over the tape to reattach the bandage to his skin.

“You don’t think I could handle it?” I challenge.

“No, it’s not that. I just . . . I don’t know. I can’t imagine you having a tattoo. What would you even get?” He tries not to laugh.

“I don’t know . . . like a sun? Or a smiley face?”

“A smiley face? This is definitely the vodka talking here.”

“Probably.” I giggle. Then, when I’m quiet, I say, “I thought you were mad at me.”

His expression changes from laughing to neutral. “Why did you think that?” he asks quietly.

“Because you avoided me until Tristan made you play beer pong.”

He lets out a breath. “Oh . . . I wasn’t avoiding you, Tessa. I just don’t want to cause any problems.”

“With who? Hardin?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

“Yeah. He made it clear that I need to stay away from you, and I don’t want to fight him again. I don’t want any more trouble between us, or with you. I just . . . never mind.”

“He’s getting better, sort of, anger-wise,” I say awkwardly. I don’t know if that’s true, exactly, but I would like to think him not killing Trevor already says something.

He looks at me doubtfully. “
Is
he?”

“Yeah, he is. I think—”

“Where is he, anyway? I was surprised he let you out of his sight.”

“I have
no
idea,” I say and look around, as if that would help. “He went to talk with Logan, and I haven’t seen him since.”

He nods and scratches his stomach. “Weird.”

“Yes, weird.” I laugh, thankful that vodka seems to make everything much more amusing.

“Steph was really happy to see you tonight,” he says as he puts a cigarette to his lips. A quick flick of his thumb brings a lighter flame to life, and soon the smell of nicotine invades my nostrils.

“I could tell. And I’ve missed her, but I’m still upset over everything that happened.” The topic doesn’t feel as heavy as it did before. I’m having a great time, even though Hardin isn’t around. I laughed and joked with Steph, and for the first time it felt like I could put all of this behind me and move forward with her.

“You’re brave for coming here,” he tells me with a smile.

“Stupid and brave aren’t the same thing,” I joke.

“I mean it. After everything . . . you didn’t hide away somewhere. I probably would have.”

“I did hide for a little while, but he found me.”

“I always do.” Hardin’s voice startles me, and I grip on to Zed’s jacket to prevent myself from falling off the stone wall.

M
y words are true. I do always find her. I usually find her doing things that drive me fucking mad, like hanging out with fucking Trevor or Zed.

I can’t fucking believe that I came out here to find Tessa and Zed sitting on a wall talking about her hiding from me. This is
bullshit
. She latches on to Zed to steady herself as I stride across the frozen grass.

“Hardin,” Tessa squeaks, clearly surprised by my presence.

“Yeah, Hardin,” I say.

Zed scoots away from her, and I try to stay calm. Why the hell is she out here with Zed alone? I specifically told her to stay inside, in the kitchen. When I asked Steph where the hell Tessa was, all she said was “Zed.” After five minutes of searching the entire fucking house—mostly the bedrooms—I finally looked outside. And here they are. Together.

“You were supposed to stay in the kitchen,” I say, adding “babe” to soften my harsh tone.