Micah nodded. “Yeah, for five minutes before we threw his ass out.”
That would piss Carter off. But why would they toss him out? And wasn’t he supposed to be at Mom’s party? Or had he escaped as well?
I didn’t care, as long as the prick didn’t show back up here.
“He had a lot to say about you before he left,” one of Ava’s friends chimed in. Izzy, I thought. She was blonde, tanned, and gorgeous. Definitely a standby girl.
“I just bet,” I grumbled.
“He said your mom’s a bitch.”
I let out a short laugh. “Mystepbrother needs to come up with new material.” I wasn’t going to deny that for once, I agreed with Carter. My mother was a bitch.
“He mentioned that she’s having a party. So why aren’t you there?” Izzy asked as she traced a nail around the rim of her drink.
I stared at her, wondering if I could sew her plump lips shut. I’d grown tired of the questions—of being on display. “Stuffy parties aren’t my idea of a good time, and I didn’t want to hang around while her guests laughed behind her back,” I admitted, a slight hardness moving into my voice. It was the truth. These girls were as fake as they came, but I refused to stoop to their level. I wanted them to understand that I knew who my mother was—I acknowledged her ambitions and the methods she used to get what she wanted. I didn’t agree with them, but I wanted Ava and her crew of mean girls to know they couldn’t hurt me by pointing out the obvious. Yes, my mother was a gold digger. Get over it.
“But sleeping around is your thing?” Ava chimed in, wiggling on Grayson’s lap, who definitely didn’t seem to mind.
“Enough with the girl bullshit,” Grayson interrupted, grabbing the beer someone handed him. “I’m sick of listening to your catty jealousy. Take it somewhere else.”
Another guy whose name I didn’t know pulled out a deck of cards. His buddy beside him started to clear off the long rectangular coffee table in front of the sectional. I took another drink of my beer, trying not to make a face. Beer wasn’t my choice of liquor.
Micah leaned forward closer to the table. “Do you play?” he asked, a playful excitement sparkling in his light blue eyes.
I eyed him cautiously. This guy was trouble. I could see how Mads had fallen for his charm. “Play what?”
Micah’s smile was pure wickedness. “Strip poker.”
I had to admit, there was something about Micah that was utterly captivating. My lips twitched in response to him. “Why does that not surprise me.”
He lifted a cocky brow, taking the deck and shuffling the cards in his large hands. “So are you in, new girl?”
I flashed him a smile. “Only if you want to find yourself completely naked by the end of the night,” I boasted. Poker was my game. Dad taught me. When I was little, I used to stay up late during his Friday poker nights. Eventually, I joined in, hanging out with the guys at my dad’s mechanic shop. The cards always smelled like grease and gasoline, just like Dad.
I shook my head, clearing the memories and the sadness that accompanied them. Now was not the time to go there.
Micah laughed, a boisterous, rich sound, but everyone else in the room groaned. Obviously, I’d stepped into an inside joke that was over my head. “I’ve been wondering what color bra is under that shirt since you walked into the room. It is now my mission to find out.”
“I’m sure she’d take it off,” Ava bit out.
Grayson dumped Ava onto the couch and groaned. “You have no idea what you’ve done.”
“This fool loses on purpose,” Fynn chimed in. “If I have to spend another night looking at Micah’s bare ass, I’m fucking going home,” he said, but there was humor in his words, green eyes sparkling with it.
“I’m out of here.” Grayson stood up, grabbing a girl who was not Ava. I could guess where they were going. As he sauntered out of the room, he shot me a sidelong glare. Something told me Grayson didn’t like me much. Not that anyone here really did, but his went deeper than the other guys’. Why? What had I done to him?
There ended up being about eight players, including Micah, Ava, Fynn, Izzy, Brock, and myself. The first few rounds were painless, with Ava and Izzy both losing their shirts, seeing as they didn’t have many clothes on to begin with. Neither wore socks or shoes.
Micah lost the third round. And much like Fynn predicted, I swore it was deliberate. He flashed me his hand and winked before moving straight for the pants. I rolled my eyes as he stood up, unbuttoning them. With a holler and a few whistles around the room, Micah did a little hip action before sinking down beside me in his boxers.
I laughed, shaking my head at him. “You’re crazy,” I said.
He flopped an arm around my shoulders. “And don’t you forget it.” He smelled like beer and cologne. It wasn’t a bad combination.
The rounds were dealt, the clothes came off, and the drinks kept coming. It was just the distraction I needed, and for a few hours, I didn’t think about Angie or the party. Even Ava was semi-tolerable, and it made me wonder. Perhaps the Elite weren’t as bad as everyone made them out to be. Were they just misunderstood like I was? Or had they actually earned every negative mark on their rap sheet?
When the game ended, Brock and I were the ones who were mostly still dressed. Micah did get to see what color my bra was, to his delight.