A chorus of people celebrate as we reach the keg. Someone shoves a fresh beer in my hands and Marissa drapes herself against my side. A hollow despair stabs me in the chest.
Marissa Hill is a cute little thing with pouty lips and a tight ass. I should know, I’ve been balls deep in it. She’s been gunning for the head cheerleader spot since freshman year. Now that she has it, she’s got it in her head that she and I will rule the school as our royal court.
I’ve been avoiding my on-again-off-again girl most of the night. I do a quick scan of the people nearby, hoping for some excuse to slip away from her.
She presses her tits against my bicep and bats thick fake eyelashes up at me. Her brown hair is swept into a high ponytail with one of her oversized evergreen and white SLHS cheer squad bows.
“Where have you been all night, baby?” Marissa walks her manicured nails along my forearm. She pitches her voice low and seductive. “I’ve been trying to get you all to myself. I want to give you a special birthday present.”
Marissa is a Coyote Girl.
It’s what we call the groupie chicks that hang around the football players.
She was the first girl I kissed and the first I slept with. Ever since then, she’s been climbing into my bed and hanging off my arm like I belong to her.
“It’s my birthday. Everyone wants a piece of me tonight.” I bark out a laugh and slam my cup against one of my teammates’ when he toasts to me. “I’m just spreading the love.”
Marissa’s glossy pink lips twist. “You shouldn’t ignore me.”
“Riss.” Defense faltering, I tuck her against my side. I’m keeping an eye out for a way out of this conversation. “We agreed to a break last month. It was your idea.”
“That was before.” Marissa hitches her shoulder. “I miss you.”
My gaze travels down her body from her caramel-colored eyes to her tight white crop sweater that reveals her flat tan stomach. There’s no denying she’s sexy as hell. But no matter how many nostalgic memories I have of the first girl I thought I loved, I can’t dredge up any desire for her now.
“Bishop! Get over here!” Devlin shouts at his best friend.
It’s a weak distraction, but I turn my attention to Bishop instead of answering Marissa. She complains under her breath and rubs against me like a fucking cat in heat.
My jaw clenches in exasperation. Jesus.
Bishop leaves the group at the kitchen table and heads our way.
He is another junior, but he’s allowed to hang out because he’s Devlin’s friend. Bishop is also the principal’s son and has a mischievous streak a mile wide, so he’s handy to have around in our group. He sidles up, hands stuffed in the pockets of his varsity soccer captain zip up.
Bishop surveys the handful of us huddled around the keg and narrows his eyes.
“No, no, no.” He holds up his palms. “This just won’t do. This is Lucas Saint’s birthday.” Bishop flashes us a grin and points to me. “There needs to be about eight hundred percent more shots going on. Especially for you, Saint.”
Whoops and hollers follow Bishop’s suggestion. Bishop and Devlin disappear for a few minutes, then return with a bottle of Jack Daniels and cups.
“Can you handle eighteen shots, or will you puss out on us?” Bishop presents me with a plastic cup and brandishes the whiskey.
“Fuck you, you damn sadist.”
I snatch the cup while Bishop snickers. He pours shots for everyone.
“Want to do a body shot, babe?”
Marissa peeks at me through her false lashes. She pretends to lift the bottom of her cropped sweater higher, like she might show off some underboob. I think she’s aiming for coquettish, but it misses the mark by miles and falls firmly under slutty.
I open my mouth, but my brain derails before reaching an answer. Goddamn it, the break was her idea and I’m getting sick of these games.
“To our golden boy, Saint,” Devlin toasts, saving me from dealing with Marissa. I flash him a grateful look and he lifts a brow. “And to you seniors fucking off after this year.”
Devlin ducks with unrepentant amusement when I swipe at him.
“Let’s get fucked up!” Bishop howls like a coyote and downs his shot.