“Stop, Steele.” I can’t believe I’m about to defend Greyson, but here it goes. “Greyson and I have a… thing. It’s kind of fucked up. But I assume he told you.” Lie. “I haven’t said anything because I figured you were cool with it. You know.”
He narrows his eyes. “You have a thing with Greyson.”
“Yep.” I’m going to kill myself for this later. “We like messing with each other…”
He steps back and chuckles, but it’s nervous. “Oh, so… okay. You knew? Because you seemed pretty distraught.”
Well… Fuck. Yeah, I think I tried to beg and plead my way out of it. To no avail. Greyson is hard and unyielding when he wants to be. He’s a monster. Not that anyone needs to know it. I always assumed that, on some level, his teammates knew. And were okay with it.
I guess there’s a thin line between being a demon on the ice and off of it.
“There’s no girl you’d go so crazy over, you’d do terrible things for? To?”
He has the decency to flush.
So there is someone.
I let my curiosity burn through me, quick and instant, and then shove it away. Whether or not it’s Amanda, or some other girl who has the misfortune of catching his eye? I don’t want to know. Talk about a can of worms.
“It was a punishment,” I say softly, closing in on Steele. “But I’ve got it handled. Okay?”
He scratches at the back of his neck. “Yeah, if you say so, Violet.”
“I do.”
He nods and moves past me. He leaves me alone in the hallway, and I lean against the wall. Have pigs flown? Did I really just make up an excuse for Greyson?
“Feeling guilty, are you?”
I glance over and find Greyson at the top of the hall.
“How much did you hear?”
He shrugs.
I narrow my eyes. “Was it a setup?”
He smiles.
Shit. That could’ve been another trap I walked right into. Imagine that.
I shiver, and he strides toward me. I don’t move from where I’m leaned against the wall, because I’m curious. Sue me, but I want to see what he’s going to do. A small part of me hopes he wraps his hand around my throat and pushes me to my knees.
But he doesn’t. He stops just shy of touching me at all.
And then his question hits me again, and I squint at him. “Why would I feel guilty?”
He lifts one shoulder. “I’m just imagining you didn’t sell me out this time because you hate that you sold me out last time.” He does lean in now, his breath fanning across my face.
I bet he tastes like whiskey. Didn’t realize it was the kind of night that required getting drunk fast, but here we are.
“You’re delusional.”
“Am I?” He laughs. “Doesn’t matter how hard I fuck you, baby. I still hate your guts.”
My chest tightens, and my eyes burn. Again.
Shit.
Why the hell am I having such an emotional response? I don’t want to care about what he says. It would appear to be his own special brand of brutality. He makes me obsessed with him and then this. He tears the rug out from under me.
I push him away and slip past him. It doesn’t take me long to find Willow, Jess, and Amanda. They’re dancing with some other girls, drinks in hand. Willow hugs me tightly when I appear at her shoulder, and she doesn’t object when I reach for her drink and take a few gulps of the vodka tonic.
“I’ll buy your next one,” I say, handing it back.
I don’t want to get blackout drunk—just enough to dull the razor edge I’m straddling.
One of the other girls grabs my arm and leans in. “You look like you could use a pick-me-up, not a downer. I’ve got something for that, if you’re interested…”
I raise my eyebrows. “Yeah?”
She extends her hand, fingers uncurling to reveal an innocuous white pill.
“Molly,” she says.
“Violet.”
She giggles. “No, the drug. Well, it’s a cocktail pill. It’ll pick you up like ecstasy and set you down gently when it’s done…” She winks. “I’m Sav.”
I take it from her and put it on my tongue, swallowing it dry. Willow watches me with wide eyes, then laughs. She hooks her arm around my neck and plants a kiss on my cheek.
Ah, maybe she’s already taken one, too.
“How long for it to kick in?” I ask the girl, but she’s already spinning away.
I shake it off and drag Willow back to where Jess and Amanda are dancing. The pianists are playing a Lady Gaga song, but there’s a beat behind it. A thundering baseline that keeps the song moving—and keeps us dancing.
“You find our special friend?” Amanda asks. “Jess is being the responsible one. She’ll get us home.”
Oh, well, that’s a brilliant plan.
“I need a drink,” I call.
They wave me off.
I stand at the bar, silent for a moment, then carefully tug my shirt lower. I don’t have a ton of cleavage, but I guess it does the trick. Seconds later, the bartender pauses in front of me. His gaze goes down, then back to my face.
“You got a boyfriend, sweetheart?”
I smile sweetly. “Nope, but I do hope I can get a screwdriver. And a vodka tonic for my friend.”
He smirks. “I can do that for you.”
“Thanks.” My cheeks heat at the insinuation.
He hands me a glass filled to the brim with orange juice and vodka. I slide him cash and wait for my change, then take a sip. The taste of vodka gets stuck in my nose, but I ignore it.
I’ve stayed away from drugs my whole life. I was the good girl. The one who tried to do no wrong, because I thought that was what would save me in the end.
Newsflash—that’s a fucking joke.
When I rejoin the girls, handing Willow her fresh drink, they absorb me into their circle. I let the music flow through me, and I sip my drink and sway. The others are crazier. They hop around and wave their hands, screaming along to the lyrics.
The green, red, and yellow lights strobe across Willow’s face. I lucked out with a best friend like her. She’s as loyal as they come. Even now, she slides her hand down my wrist to clutch my fingers, keeping her with me as we move closer to the stage.
The dueling pianists have been replaced with a DJ who stands in front of a podium between the huge instruments. He calls something, and the tone echoes through my skin. I wear his words for a moment.
Are you ready to party?
Then they drop off, scattering to the floor.
I grin and twirl. My body is lighter than it’s been in months. My leg doesn’t hurt.
Oh god, my leg doesn’t hurt.
What a miracle.
I hop up and down and sing along to the music. I follow the lights around the room with my eyes, my face, my whole body. Like I’m just trying to tag along on its adventure.
“Hey, hey,” someone says, gripping my biceps.
I stumble back. “I’m good.”
“You don’t look so good.”
My gaze lifts, lifts, lifts.
Grey. Paris. Well, the former holds my arms. I knock them away, and he replaces his arm around Paris’s shoulder. Her arm is around his waist.
They’re twisted together like snakes.