Very Bad Things (Briarcrest Academy) (16 page)

“Forget
those stupid MasterCard commercials.

Watching
two chicks duke it out in high heels . . . now, that’s priceless.”

–
Sebastian
Tate

EMMA LIVED ON the same tree-lined
street I did, so I pointed out my house to Sebastian as we sped by, noticing
with surprise that lights were on inside. At least one of my parents had made
it home for the weekend. I checked my phone to see if they had called or
texted, but they hadn’t. It’d been over a week since I’d talked to Mother, even
more for my father

I did have a text from Finn, and I opened it without
thinking, flinching when I saw the disgusting image he’d sent. And even though
I’d seen that picture a thousand times in my head, it still sickened me. His
text said,

--Happy belated birthday, sis. This pic reminds me of the
good times we used to have. Pretty soon we can do it again. Call me. I don’t
want to have to show this to your friends . . .

My breath whooshed out, imagining him showing this picture
to Mila or Sebastian or Leo. I leaned my head back against the car seat,
concentrating on breathing evenly, praying they wouldn’t notice my freak out.

After a few minutes, we arrived at Emma’s, and Sebastian
dropped us at the door and went in search of decent parking for his car.

On the stone steps of the porch, Mila and I were greeted by
a blue-and-orange banner that said
Briarcrest
Academy Senior Class
Rocks!
We smirked at each other and opened the ornate glass doors and
walked into a madhouse. Music blared, bodies gyrated, and alcohol flowed
freely. Several couples kissed and groped each other around the room, and if
the gossip was right, then some would end up in the bedrooms upstairs. It was a
known fact that Emma’s parents were notoriously lenient, even staying in a
hotel so she could host parties. Just another reason she was popular.

Cuba waved us over when we walked in, so Mila and I headed
his way. He was sitting on a couch with a girl in his lap that I recognized
from the dance team. I cocked a smile at him and raised my brows at his date.
He shrugged his shoulders in a way that had
meh
written all over it.
Huh. Did that mean they weren’t together?

One of Mila’s friends stopped her, but I kept going. Sex was
on my mind, and Cuba was in my sights. First, I had to get this flirting thing
down. It had come easily with Leo, but with Cuba it required work.

I reached the couch and plopped down beside him as
gracefully as I could in my dress. He grinned and dance girl studied me from
her perch. She had short blonde hair with streaks of pink, which made me think
she liked to have fun. Her brown eyes looked a bit glazed as if she’d had a few
drinks already. But the one thing that really caught my eye was the football
jersey she had on. And if I had to make a guess, I’d say it was Cuba’s. Damn.

“There she is,” he said, running his golden eyes over my
dress. “Are you ready to party?”

“Are you?” I replied, subtly checking out his well-defined
arms in his tight designer shirt. He saw my gaze though and lifted his arm and
flexed, showing me his ripped muscles. He gave me a suggestive look. “Anything
else you wanna see? I’ve been told I look good naked.”

I blinked, feeling confused. Dance girl was right
there.

Dance girl looked away, her expression seeming unconcerned
with Cuba’s attentions.

A waiter walked by with a tray of shooters. Glad for the
distraction, I grabbed two, dance girl grabbed two, and Cuba took the whole
tray. We chuckled as the waiter took one look at Cuba’s girth and backed away.

I smiled and took the tray from him, sitting it in my lap.
“Just what the doctor ordered,” I said, counting out twenty-one lemon drop
shots in my head. “That’s seven a piece, guys,” I told them, dividing them out
on the tray. The tart scent of lemons hit me as I took five of mine, one after
the other, shuddering after each one.

“Yeah!” I called out, tossing the last empty glass to the
floor, smiling as they clinked together. These were way better than the vodka.

“Whoa,” dance girl squealed. “You’re
nothing
like I
thought.”

“Thanks,” I said, pleased.

As she took a shot, I checked out dance girl some more.

I made eye contact. “Hi. I don’t think we know each other?
I’m Nora Blakely, sometimes referred to as the smartest kid at BA, although I’m
not. That particular crown belongs to Drew Mansfield, the jerk that dumped me
last year . . . but I digress . . . who are you?”

She smiled. “I’m Bridget. And I know who you are. I voted
for you last year for class president. I can’t stand Emma Eason, and you seemed
nice. Cuba says you’re pretty cool,” she said, tossing one back.

I grinned widely. “You’re not part of the Emma fan club?”

She laughed hard, like I’d just told the best joke ever.
“Nope. She fucked my boyfriend freshman year, so yeah, I can’t stand her. I’m
only here for the free booze and for Cuba, of course.”

My eyes went back and forth between them, trying to figure
out if they were friends or lovers. She
was
sitting in his lap, looking
all cozy. Yet, he was staring at me like I was his favorite dessert. I sighed.
I wanted them to be friends, like I was with Sebastian; I wanted Cuba to be
mine tonight.

“Bridget is a pretty name,” I commented, while Cuba leaned
back and seemed to watch our bonding with bemusement. “So, let me ask you: how
do you spell Bridget? Do you use a fancy spelling, like the French version,
B-r-i-d-g-e-t-t-e? Please, tell me you don’t. If you do that’s fine, but I met
this one girl tonight. She’s Tiffani-with-an-i, and she’s dating this guy I
know and she’s a . . . well, I haven’t exactly decided what she is yet, but I
will.”

“No, silly, I spell it the regular way,” she slurred,
slapping me on the arm, like we were friends already.

She took another shot and let out a big belch. I laughed,
fascinated by her carefree spirit. I bet Bridget had a ton of happy stories.

“Why are you staring at me?” she asked, snickering into her
glass.

“Have we ever had a class together?” I asked, curious about
her.

“Please. I barely pass the classes I have now, and you’re in
like all the AP courses, so no,” she said, giggling, which didn’t make much
sense, but I guess when you’re drunk, everything’s funny.

“How many have you had?” I said, giggling along with her.

She never answered; she leaned her head back on Cuba’s
shoulder and closed her eyes. Bridget, without the fancy spelling, was out.

“She’s had way too many,” Cuba told me, easing his arm
around her so she wouldn’t slip off.

“Are you with her?” I asked, the alcohol making my tongue
loose.

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “But it doesn’t matter. If you want me,
I’m yours.”

What?
But, but what about Bridget I wanted to yell at
him! She’s
his
girl tonight and a potential new friend to me. And wasn’t
she wearing his jersey? Yes, yes, and yes. I sighed with disappointment. “No
thanks,” I said and stood up, weaving from the quick movement.

“Wait a minute, Nora,” he said, easing Bridget from his lap
and propping her up against the other side of the couch. He grasped my hand and
pulled me back down until I was pressed tight against his side. And it wasn’t
unpleasant. His body was hard and muscled from playing football and he smelled
delicious, the spicy scent of his cologne teasing my nose. He took my leg and
pulled it up onto his, until I was facing and half-way straddling him. If
anyone looked, they would have seen my underwear. I didn’t stop him.

“I want
you
tonight,” he said, rubbing my exposed
thigh, his nose running up my neck. “Bridget and I aren’t exclusive, and she
doesn’t mind sharing . . . or watching if you want.”

“I see.” No, I didn’t. Not really.

I suddenly felt hot and sticky, and my head had started to
hurt a little, maybe because my woozy brain was having a hard time processing
his words. Why had I killed all those shots? “Cuba, I’m afraid you’ll need to
tell it to me straight, because it’s possible I’m hallucinating here. Are you
suggesting you actually be with us both . . . like a threesome?” I said,
whispering out the last part.

He chuckled at my lowered voice. “Tonight it could just be
me and you. Maybe if she sobers up, we’ll invite Bridget?”

I spent several seconds in a daze, looking him over,
absorbing his unruly black hair, the caramel complexion, and those beautiful
eyes. And somewhere in the middle of gazing into his eyes, I imagined I saw a
similar sadness in his, much like my own reflected back at me. Who was this
guy? Maybe he had dark secrets, too? The kind that could destroy him if anyone
found out?

I separated my eyes from his, thinking about his naughty
suggestion. A truly bad girl would jump at the chance to be with a guy and a
girl at the same time. It was just an extra body, right? I squinted at him, my
brain analyzing how it would work, trying to picture whose arm would go here
and whose leg would go there. Who got to have sex first? What would the extra
person do while the other two were busy? Maybe do a critique?

It was a lot to think about.

And Cuba. No doubt about it, he was incredibly handsome.
Even though he had a giant-ass ego, I sincerely liked him. But was it enough to
be with someone who wanted another person to join in?

Why was I waffling? Isn’t this what I wanted? To destroy
perfect Nora?

“Let’s go find an empty room,” he said in a husky voice, his
thumb rubbing little circles over and over on my bare shoulder. “You won’t
regret it, babe,” he whispered, the yellow of his gaze mesmerizing me,
reminding me of a calico cat I’d had once.

I’d loved that cat.

You know, everyone has a little voice inside them that
whispers advice, and my internal whisperer-person, whom I pictured as a cooler
me in black leather pants and riding a Harley, was letting me have it.
Sometimes I get distracted and don’t heed that voice. But now, I listened to
that tough bitch on the motorcycle. I listened to my gut.

I sighed regretfully. “I will
never
share my man.”

He gave me a smoldering look, unfazed. “Is that so?”

“I want all the attention,” I said softly, not able to
resist brushing his hair off his face. He caught my hand, brought it to his mouth
and kissed my palm. He took my index finger, put it in his mouth, and sucked. I
shivered. He wasn’t Leo, and he didn’t make my heart race, but he was extremely
easy to look at.

But, it didn’t feel right sitting on him and gazing into his
eyes when I’d been kissing Leo just a couple of hours ago.

I wanted to want Cuba. And it pissed me off that I didn’t.

“Nora!” Sebastian said from across the room, interrupting my
thoughts and stomping over to us. He glared at me sprawled out on Cuba and then
at all the empty shooter glasses scattered on the floor. “I’ve been looking for
you,” he said, putting his hands on his hips. Like he was the boss of me.

“Here I am.”

“So, I see,” he said, scowling at Cuba. He stuck out his
hand to help me up. “Come on, let’s head outside to the pool and get some air.”

I ignored his hand and picked up another shot from the tray
and tossed it down. I got up and looked back at Cuba. “Someday, I’m going to be
first.”

He shrugged like he’d already forgotten me. “If you change
your mind, babe, let me know.”

Sebastian and I walked toward the patio door, and he tried
to take my elbow, but I snatched it back. “What’s your deal?” I slurred.

“Cuba was hitting on you, and I didn’t like it.”

“Why? I thought he was your friend?”

“You are, too. Look, he has a bad reputation when it comes
to girls. I don’t want you to get hurt.”