I should be ignoring him like I’m ignoring Daniel, who for some reason is still trying to talk to me. Despite the fact that I’ve made it super clear that seeing him screw someone on a picnic table was enough for me, he won’t let it go. He just pretends that we’re fine. He says we have plans to go out next week, but that’s so not going to happen.
I got ahold of Alex’s cell number from Ryan’s phone the last time he was at the house. I thought I’d been really sly until he tracked me down and yelled at me. Apparently Alex freaked a little when she got crazy excited text messages from me and didn’t really trust that it was legit. He said something about not getting laid that night because, once she knew it was me and not some crazed killer, she and I spent the entire night texting back and forth. I’m working up to asking Dad to let me hang out with her, but he’s been on edge about something lately, and I know better than to ask for shit when he’s in a pissy mood. It doesn’t matter, because we’re on our way to being besties—once I can knock Nic out of the top spot—and after I decide whether or not to give Jeremy another chance, we might be able to double date.
The loneliness from losing Tracie is clearly getting to my brain. If I don’t find someone else to hang out with soon, I might start accompanying Grandma to her flower-lady meetings where they sit around and talk dirt and plants all day.
I have tried to keep myself busy with helping the club put away all the Christmas decorations Aunt Ruby put up. For the most part, the clubhouse isn’t a place I spend a lot of time at, but during the holiday season, Ruby makes sure the guys keep it mostly family friendly. With one charity run after another and all the visiting family members that seem to make it into town, the clubhouse becomes a hub of activity for all ages. Aunt Ruby is typically one hard-ass lady, but during holidays, she turns into a leather-clad biker version of Martha Stewart, just with a foul mouth and a mean right hook. But once New Year’s Eve comes around, apparently all the family joy fizzles from the place, and it turns into a whorehouse for dick-sucking sluts.
Shoving a broken Santa ornament into the plastic trash bag I’m holding, I force myself to take a deep breath. Being reminded of Chel and her oral skills is not helping me get over all the bad shit that went down with Jeremy. It’s just that the day Jeremy picked me up at the Jennings’ house, he seemed so angry and worried. And he let me elbow him and snap at him. I know enough that Forsaken—prospect or not—don’t let a chick do that unless they care about them. So he cares about me, but the question is by how much.
I’ve stowed myself away in the game room, which is set behind the main gathering room at the front of the clubhouse. I chose this room because of the large, worn pool table that serves as an expansive table top for organizing all this junk the guys call memorabilia. There is everything here from old beer cans to women’s lingerie to Santa hats. I think I even saw a used condom earlier, but I threw that entire box in the dumpster out back. I don’t even care what was in there.
I’m a good two hours into the project when I decide to give up. I didn’t technically volunteer to help clean up, it’s more like Dad grounded me for distracting Jeremy and this is my punishment. But I didn’t argue, and that should count for something, so it’s kind of like I volunteered.
The clubhouse is quiet right now, with the guys all out doing God only knows what. Peeking around the corner, I double-check that I’m alone. When I’m confident I won’t get busted, I go for my best casual walk across the main room to the bar area and grab a cold beer from the fridge. I’m already grounded and expelled from school, so what can Dad really do to me at this point? Tell me I can’t see my friends? I mean, they’re all in school still, so it’s not like I get to see them much anyway. Still, I run back into the game room with the beer and use the bottle opener on my key ring to pop it open. I doubt Dad would let me keep it if he knew I had a bottle opener, but oh well. It’s not like he sets the best example. I take a sip of the beer and grimace. It tastes like total shit, but the guys drink it all the time, so maybe it’ll grow on me.
Hardened rubber claps against the concrete, growing louder with every step, in an unmistakable rhythm of a walk so distinctive that I already know it’s Jeremy. I shove the beer behind the box I was sorting pre-beer break. He rounds the corner at his usual gait, then slows, does a double take, and gives me the signature Forsaken chin nod. I sense his mood before I really see the expression on his face. I force my hands to start moving, organizing this crap so that I’m not as distracted with knowing that he’s here. Which is a feat in and of itself because he’s incredibly distracting, especially because he’s giving off these sullen vibes, like something’s wrong. He just keeps staring at me, and I’m doing everything I possibly can to ignore him.
It’s not working.
“Are you lost?” I ask.