“Crew. I’m sorry, but I need to talk with her.”
Hurt flashes in his eyes, but he’s quick to school his features, placing both hands on my chest and shoving me away. “Fuck you, Anderson.”
He storms out of the room, and a second later, I hear the front door slam. He’s gone. I fucking hurt him, when all of this could have been avoided. Now I’m left here with her, about to end this relationship, and hope I can save the other one in time.
I’ve always been the nice twin. How the fuck have I managed to wind up in a situation like this?
Chapter Nineteen
Crew
After leaving Anderson’s last night, I drove straight home, angry as fuck, and somehow managed to pass out. I woke up this morning with no messages from him, no missed calls, no nothing.
Guess he picks her.
Tonight, I fucking refuse to sit around the house and mope. Refuse to feel sorry for myself. Refuse to wait obsessively by the phone for the call that may never come. I’m going to do what I fucking do best: get really fucking high and push all my problems into the tiny little box in the back of my mind, pretending they don’t exist.
I’ve just finished getting dressed, when my phone rings from where it’s sitting on my nightstand. It’s Kalen.
“What’s up, bro?”
“Aye, Crew. Still coming through tonight?”
“Hell yeah. I’m getting dressed now and will head over soon.”
“Dope. Picked up some good shit this afternoon. Hope you’re ready to go wild.”
“Ah, speaking my language, my man.” Switching the phone to speaker, I cross the room, grabbing my wallet and shoving it in my back pocket. Kalen’s invitation couldn’t have come at a better time. A house filled with drunk, sweaty bodies is exactly what I need to get my mind off Anderson and his stupid fucking bitch of a girlfriend.
“Aight. I’ll see ya when you get here.”
“Later.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m sliding into the Audi, letting my phone connect to the Bluetooth. Pulling out of the driveway, I turn up the volume asLow Lifeby Future and The Weeknd vibrates through the speakers.
My phone sounds from the cup holder where it’s sitting, letting me know there’s a new text. Grabbing it, thinking it’s just Kalen wanting to know where I am, my pulse quickens when the name on the screen saysAnderson.
Anderson: Hey, man. Can we talk, please?
No. No, we can’t fucking talk.
Too little, too fucking late, my dude.
The phone starts ringing.Anderson.Now he wants to talk? He had all fucking night and all fucking day today.
Fuck him.
Dropping it back into the cup holder, I ignore the next two calls that come in consecutively after that. He can say it to my damn voicemail if it’s so important.
By the time I pull up to Kalen’s, the driveway is packed with cars, as is the street. The front door’s wide open and you can hear the music from here. This is exactly what I need. Fuck all the bullshit. Fuck Anderson. Fuck Calina. Fuck ’em all.
I don’t see Kalen right away when I get inside. Sweaty bodies line every square inch of this house, the front yard, and the backyard. It’s fucking wild in here. The bitter, sweet scent of marijuana hangs heavy in the air. Making a beeline for the kitchen, I grab myself a red Solo cup filled with some concoction that tastes like fruit.
There’s a chair in the corner of the living room that I park my ass in, people watching. Bringing the cup up to my lips, I take a long swig, certain there is more alcohol in this than juice, but it’s fucking delicious all the same.
Music is thumping loudly through the speakers, there’re several kegs in my line of sight out the back door, and drunk people are standing around in clusters, dancing on top of one another, or making out and dry humping in the corner. The temperature inside the house is scorching, and several chicks have removed their shirts—either dancing in just their bras or completely topless. The lights have been turned off, only the glow of twinkle lights illuminating the space. All the mischief and debauchery blanketed by the promise of darkness.
From across the room, my eyes find Kalen amongst the chaos. He’s dancing with a hot as fuck brunette, her lips painted crimson, dressed in all black down to her combat boots. He’s behind her, hands firmly planted on her hips, her ass backed right up to his cock and their bodies moving to the sensual beat ofDirty Mindby Boy Epic. Her head is thrown back on his shoulder, hand wrapped around his neck, fingers weaving through the hair at his nape.