I blinked at Kenna, and my eyes portrayed my answer. Fuck yes, I thought the four of them were tucked away safely in their dorm every night. To see otherwise didn’t make me feel good.
Mads rolled her eyes at me, reading my expression.
Taking the bottle from her hand, I downed the remaining beer. “Party’s over,Maddy.” She hated to be called that. I emphasized the nickname because I wanted to annoy her—an angry Mads would get out of this house faster than a drunk one.
CHAPTERTHREE
MADS
Afrown tugged at my lips. He knew how much I hated that nickname. “I know what you’re doing. And it’s not going to work,” I said. Never in a million years would I have believed I’d end up here… with Micah. I was either growing soft as I matured or dumber. The jury was still out. I’d never been a believer in second chances, yet Micah had a way of getting a person to do the impossible, the unexpected.
A lot had happened over the last two years. So much, and because of it, I learned not to take life for granted, or those I cared about, and the truth was, regardless of our past, I had always loved Micah. He had the power to make me ridiculously happy or crush my soul. It had been difficult allowing him back into my heart, and so fucking scary. Opening up meant I could be hurt again. I would rather feel physical pain than the grueling agony of a broken heart.
Micah’s eyes darted over my head, and despite being slightly inebriated, the hardening of his jaw didn’t escape my notice. When his eyes meet mine again, he tried to cover his irritation with a lopsided grin. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Why areyouhere?” I countered, vaguely aware of Kenna and Ainsley hopping off the pool table. How the hell had I let those two talk me up there to begin with? I strictly remembered mumbling something about no dancing on tables, and yet…
I had no excuse.
Booze, tables, and dancing went hand in hand for me. It was like pizza and pop. Or milk and Oreos.
Micah reached out, twirling a strand of my hair around his finger and lightly tugging on it. “Do I need a reason?” He was doing that thing again, trying to distract me, but my brain couldn’t figure out why.
Our relationship was fairly new and far from perfect, but I had known Micah forever. I knew him. Although I didn’t want to jinx what we had going, we had a lot to work on. Trust was our biggest obstacle. No surprise considering our history. Micah and I both tended to be rash, acting before we thought, a trait that could get us both in trouble.
It had been a long time since I thought about the night Micah destroyed any hope I had of having a healthy, trusting relationship. I had become jaded and cynical since that night, and despite all that, I had done exactly what I told myself I would never do: I gave the jerk a second chance.
Except Micah really wasn’t a jerk. He was a lot of things, including a flirt, reckless, and facetious, but he was also incredibly generous, attentive, funny, and always there when I needed him.
Clean slate, I kept having to remind myself, but still, the memory of him sleeping with another girl would always haunt me. She hadn’t been his last. We had both been with other people since then, and yet we found our way back to each other.
Not easily either.
Suspicion shoved aside the warm fuzzy feeling of the few beers I’d had. I wasn’t ashamed to admit that, regardless of all the parties I attended, I was a lightweight. No matter how much I drank, my tolerance never grew. “Normally I’d say no, but this is a party, after all. Since when do you ever voluntarily leave a party early?” I pressed my lips together as I stared at him, the buzz I had going fading a tad. “Why do I feel like you have ulterior motives for being here?”
His hand slid to the small of my back as he leaned closer to my ear. “Turns out I’d rather spend the night with you. And this party is so dull, it could hardly be considered a party.”
Smooth. But that was Micah.
Curse him and his damn light blue eyes and cocky dimples. Ugh. I was such a sucker for dimples. And tattoos. Micah had both. It was like a double whammy straight to my ovaries. “I bet.”
Kenna stumbled into Micah’s side, latching on to his arm to catch herself. “Why are you being such a douche? It’s our first party.”
“Thanks for the invite, by the way,” he retorted, giving her a butt-sore glare.
My cousin rolled her eyes. “The Elite don’t need an invitation.”
This was true. Micah grinned in response. “Damn right we don’t.” But this was college, not Elmwood Academy. He might not admit it, but I knew he and Brock were a bit uneasy. They were at a new school and down two Elite.
“Okay, then.” Kenna exhaled like that matter was settled.
It wasn’t.
Brock shook his head. “Not okay. We’re going,” he stated firmly, not an ounce of wiggle room in his tone or in the pointed look he challenged Kenna with.
She crossed her arms and glared back. “What the hell is happening? You’re killing my buzz. I’m not ready to be sober. You used to be the fun Elite.” She pouted at Micah.
He flashed her a grin. “Manipulation won’t work on me.”